Hatred of the Young

The sounds of war surround us, we push on, running and hiding as we go, tears streaking our faces. Not even a week ago all was peaceful, all was calm, then it came, like a thief in the night, the war exploded. We had heard of it all over the world, but we are a small town, nothing to worry about, we thought we were safe, but we weren't, we were deceived by our leaders, by our own parents, we were deceived. We hear a scream and a scuffle, and look back. Magule falls to the ground, face in the dirt, he doesn't move, his blood quickly soaking into the dirt, another child lost, another young soul forced into oblivion. We clench our fists, our eyes pressed shut as we all hold back our tears and curses. We can not stay, we can not save him, he is gone, and we will all soon be. The sounds of war come closer, the buildings around us suddenly alive with fire, we quickly continue our flight. Migule still fresh in our minds as we push on, determined in our own ways to never forget him, to never forget, to never forgive what we have lost, to this mindless chaos.

We hide once more, quickly, for a single moment. Water, putrid water, is passed around, it is all we have, all we have had for days now. As we rest for our moment, we hear the sound of rain, sweet rain, but bitter to our ears. The shots ring out once more, and we know we must move. The rain still coming, we push on, it soaking through our clothes, stinging our eyes as we run. The sunset casting shadows, long shadows as we run, we use the shadows, running like rats, forced to hide as we move, the fear for our lives pressing down on our hearts, making our feet heavy. As we run to our last shadow, the a sound of hate rings over our ears, my knees become weak, my feet stumble, my chest burns. I look to my sister, my brother, my friends, and my lover. The rain burns, hot against my face, like acid, it burns my eyes as I take my last look to the sky. Falling to the mud, the rain falls around me, and I hear a scream, the scream of love, the scream of hatred, and the scream of fear, all in one, and one in none. The rain burns as I feel it against my back, my breathing heavy, the taste of iron in my mouth as I feel my blood running with the rain, leaving my body, as I leave this war, these lies, and this hatred, brought on by those before us, left to be dealt with by us, the young.

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This hatred that we all feel, will it ever end, or will it consume us all? Will we be able to let it go as we come together as one, or will we harbor it, let it consume our lives, let it burn us alive from the inside of our hearts, spilling over to our lips, our minds, our actions? Will it ever end?

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Today I heard the song "Young" by "Hollywood Undead" and as I listened to the lyrics, my mind began to work this story out, a picture of the world to come if we don't mend our hatred, and let it all flow. It is a dreary scene, but one that I see as true if we continue down this road of hatred towards each other.

. . . And Found

“Dearest” is all that I hear, “sweetheart” “lover” they all prick my mind, turning my thoughts as I glance at the speaker. A smile creeping over my lips, my mind cluttered with thoughts, all bringing a smile, all making my skin tingle, my fingers twitching, longing. Your smile, your eyes, your face, your hair, your touch, your laugh, flowing over my mind, my smile growing. I am found, found in you, in you my love, my dearest, I find myself in you.

Lost . . .

The day drags on, tearing at my consciousness. I feel lost, not knowing where I am, not knowing what I should be doing. I look to my left, seeking your face, but find emptiness. I reach to my right, grasping for your warmth, but cold blankets are all that I find. I mumble to myself 'Why was I sitting here?' lost in my thoughts, forgetting all that I once longed to do, all that I wanted to reach, now replaced by you, my love, my sweetheart, my dearest, my one and only.

Something Technical

As most of you know (if you've read my into post) I'm studying to be a computer scientist, and in this semester, we finally did something technical already, well, a week ago now, but I haven't gotten time to write about it. We had to analyze and write a short summary of a article that was released in late 2008 about the iPhone. The article was about designing and publishing applications for the iPhone as a third party company. As a sort of test to people aside from my professor, here's the article;


The iPhone SDK, a development kit meant to be used with the iPhone. It was first portrayed that the iPhone wouldn't support 3rd party applications, but it was soon after reviled that with the Safari browser, that web applications could be made to feel like native applications, and about a year later, Apple reviled that they had a development kit for the iPhone, the iPhone SDK. The SDK is rather straightforward, and easy to install, unlike some, though it has some quirks, like that it must be run on a Mac, and can't run on a Windows machine.
For one to use the iPhone SDK, they would need a basic understanding of how programming works with the language C, though that really isn't enough. To be able to program for the iPhone, one needs to learn Objective-C, a language almost exclusive to the iPhone and the Mac. The difference between the two languages is mostly in syntax, and a few extra keywords that were added. A simple example is a method invocation, in C++ it looks like; "object.method;" where in Objective-C, it looks like; "[object method];" Slightly different, yet different enough that some extra knowledge is needed.
The tools that come with the SDK are in essence, all that one would need to program for the iPhone. The tools include a IDE for project and resource management (the Xcode IDE), a companion tool for the Xcode IDE, an Interface Builder, a debugger, and an iPhone simulator (note not a emulator). All of these tools do what one would expect. The Interface builder is a drag and drop IDE that works with a layout of the iPhone. It can as well tie buttons to method calls, so that when the button is clicked, it activates the associated action, or method. As well, An outlet can be bound to a variable, for example, a text label would be exposed as a Outlet, and when bound, it would on runtime, be bount to the controls on your use interface, so as to say, when the label's text property is set, the Outlet's text would change as well.
The simulator is exactly that, a simulator of the iPhone, but it must be noted, it is not a emulator, so it does not include some features that the real iPhone does, such as GPS input data and the accelerometer, though that could be somewhat easily remedied with a interface that sends the simulator data to sample. As well, since it is not a emulator, it does not cycle-for-cycle equivalent of the actual iPhone. Though most of these can be over looked slightly, there is still great benefit to having at least one actual iPhone to test the code on.
For the small team, there are a few obstacles that are hard to face, especially for a small private company. To use the iPhone SDK fully, publish the finished program, and distribute it, assuming that each of the developers had a Mac computer, it would realistically cost only a $99 subscription fee, or $299 for in-home release. However, if on-device debugging and testing, costs another $99. All things considered this isn't so bad, $198 to get everything done, after a few sales, you should be all made up for, however, if each of the team members does not own a Mac, or have one to use, the price is much higher, with the lowest priced Mac upward of $550, have a team of half a dozen, and the cost quickly becomes a few thousand dollars. For a small group of people, if everything is already had in hand, and money isn't a problem, then it can be done, however, it depends on the group, and what is had in hand.

Photoshop

I've recently tried to flex my creative muscles, for both personal reasons, mostly betterment, but partly because I've needed mildly different images then I was able to find, such as this one;

The original image had brown hair, but I needed it with greyish white, which I was able to do. But as I fiddled, and fooled around, trying to make things work, things kept coming to my mind about what I was doing, and what I probably should be doing to make it "proper". It could only be taught from basics, but then the rest was inspiration, like painting, or drawing. It takes time and practice to get it right. In layman's terms, learning Photoshop to create art in a digital formal is like learning to paint or draw, it takes practice (time), and inspiration.

However, after some more time of fiddling, a few hours really, things began to make more and more sense, and something nagging at me came to the top of my mind, despite it being complicated, it was rather easy to figure out the basics, it was frankly, user friendly, especially in transferring images. One thing that I had played around with in my past, though never used to it's full extent, was dreamweaver, another program made by Adobe for the HTML and JavaScript programmer (technically scripter but we can look over that.) One of the things that is sometimes a bit of, frankly, a pain in the butt, is moving between programs especially editing programs, and making it an easy flow, not having to stop, think, configure, play around, then finally be able to what you wanted to in the first place. But that wasn't quite so with PhotoShop, it was veryeasy to move between programs, easily transferring the image, and then being able to manipulate it further as I needed.

In short as an overview, in case you don't like reading huge amounts of text, instead just like to read the last paragraph, in the digital world of PhotoShop, Dreamweaver, and other editing programs, it takes time, practice, and inspiration to use photoshop, yet, it is an enlightening and easy experience due to the program's ease of use and user friendliness, especially with our most daunting of tasks, working with finished products, by moving them between programs, then finally to our clientele, be it that I have none... Yet...

Dedicated to Chantel Odom

Sunrise

The suns rays began to filter through the branches, tumbling into my eyes, ambers, oranges, and reds painting a perfect picture against the window. The sun had only just began to slide over the horizon, making it high enough to see, once more. I squinted slightly, the brightness painful at first, I adjusted, my eyes no open once more as I absorbed the scene, it's beauty amazing me, captivating me. It had been years since I had seen the sun rise, or set, and it was beautiful, truly beautiful. As I stood there, I remembered the beauty I had seen while tossing the morning news one neighbors front doorsteps. I moved, hoping for a better view, but none could be found, and sighing, I returned to my place, watching as the sun rose a little more, it's rays tumbling through the branches, then suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder, my father's, it was time it seemed as he spoke, "There's work to be done, breakfast starts at eight." Nodding, I looked back over at the sun, and turned to begin my work a few last words echoing through the scene "Can't they eat breakfast at noon?"

Poetic license

Definition:
Poetic license: Distortions of fact and literary convention made by a writer—not always a poet—for the sake of the effect gained. Poetic license is closely related to the concept of "artistic freedom". An author exercises poetic license by saying that a pile of money "reaches as high as a mountain" when the pile is actually only a foot or two high.

In the last two days since I have made my last two posts, consisting of stories, I have had now three people ask me if I needed to talk, if I was really as bothered as I sounded. I am glad to say however, that I am not as bothered as I sounded, I was inspired by a smile and rather insignificant situation that inspired me, gave me a idea, and I ran with it, as far as I could, and received some of the reactions that I had intended, and some that I had not, but thankfully, mostly reactions that I had intended.

With that been said, and my conscience clear, I will pass to you a grain of salt to be taken with all that I say, and bid thee a farewell, until you read again, and I leave another note.

Thoughts...

I close the browser, a remnant of a tear in my eye, why though, I'm not quite so sure. It was only a cartoon after all, not something someone should cry over, or is it? Worlds were shattered, lives changed, destroyed, built, lies made, covered, discovered, and rewritten, a sick, twisted play, yet sadly, palpable as truth, as something we all feel, fear it maybe, understand it, better still, but we all can feel it. Hatred overflowed from what I had watched, sadness had poured from it as well, love could be seen, when one watched close enough, and even new life could be seen, though just for a moment.

My eyes now shut, the tear stinging as it yearned to roll down my cheek, free from my eye, I tried to understand why I was feeling this way, why I felt like I could sit here, for hours, and just cry. "Why" I thought, "Why am I crying? Why do I feel that I have lost someone so close?" This feeling stabs through me, breaking my will, shattering my resolve to be... To be what?

The tear now gone, retreated from my eye, I understand, if only for a moment, why I have cried so, why I have felt such pain in my chest. Because I feel what I saw, I understood what was seen, and I could put myself in such a painful place as what I had watched. Solitude, loneliness, fear, and worry, a constant battle to be heard, and to feel anything, to feel... Alive.

~~~

The cold seared my face, biting it, the temperature; too cold. It had not even been ten minutes since I had sat here, typing, thinking, and who knows what else in the time it took me to write out my little thoughts. But I was outside now, still dark, the sun not even rising yet. I looked up, an icicle hung from edge of the roof, as I breathed I could see it sway back and forth from my breath. My feet beginning to feel the cold of the hard wood through my thin, black socks, socks I had been given not even a month ago as a way of saying, "we love you", yet that was just what I had finished thinking about, how it felt they didn't love me. The tear came back to my eye that I had pushed away moments before, that I hadn't let run down my face, and stain my desk, and once more, as if by a cruel irony, I felt it's sting once more.

I turned to walk farther, not wanting to walk through snow, I choose cold wood instead. Running my hand over the railing, I continued to think, holding back that tear, the pain stinging my eye, and my nose. I breathed deeply, the cold stung, a pain that felt welcomed. Looking out across the cold, dark yard, once covered in snow, long since turned to ice, I wondered what drove me on, what held me back. What pushed me forward to torture myself like this, but what forced me to hold back the pain? I leaned out, looking down at the last pieces of earth exposed at the edge of the snow, the patch of black, cold, hard earth staring back at me.

My mind still ran, my thoughts spilled over, not sure where to go with them, when to stop them, where to lead them. They revolved, spun around, twisted, turned, yet they always came back, back to one solitary point, myself, my feelings, where I was that very moment, and I realized what was on my mind, what had bothered me for even longer then just the moments before, and why I was able to say moments before that I could have cried for hours, and have that statement be true, I truly was lonely, in not only my life, my heart, but in what I wanted, and in what I yearned for, I was truly lonely. Turning to go inside once more, to warm hopefully more then just my hands, I felt the tear run down my cheek, slipping off of my chin as I turned, calling to the cold wood. I looked down, watching as the tear splashed against the wood, I saw as it turned to ice, peeling off the wood slightly, and turning once more, I felt a small piece of my heart do the same, flaking slightly under what I had felt.

Are they really thankful?

As I walked the halls of my school this morning, something caught my eye. People, only a handful, it was early, classes weren't to start for another half hour, but they were there already. Each one, looking at me, then looking away, quickly. I had not slept that night, my hair was clumped, uncombed, my face unwashed, and uncleaned, my eyes slightly red from lack of sleep. As I watched each one of them look away from me, I wondered what was on their mind, what thoughts passed through their heads. Each looking away, a look of almost gratitude on their face, like they were glad, of what, I wasn't quite so sure. I passed the thought off as me simply thinking to much, my mind running wild when it shouldn't be.

I walked into the bookstore, my mind wandering back to the people, those four that had already looked away from me. I tried to pull my mind back to the task at hand, finding a school book, one that I wished I didn't need to have, but need it I do. Finding the book, I walked up to the checkout area, waiting for someone to help me, I leaned against the railing, my mind again drifting back to the people. But it was suddenly pulled back to the task at hand as the young man walked up to me, probably the same age as me, wearing once more the same clothing I had seen him in three times before, a mixed white and black t-shirt, a large silver chain, black hat, and light blue jeans.

Without thinking, I turned to the counter, placing my books down and taking out the card to pay with. As I looked up, card in hand, I saw it again, that look, the same as the four before, and I realized what it looked like. Pushing aside my thoughts, I paid, and left, thanking him as I so often did without thinking. The thought again rolled around in my mind, but this time, it had weight, the weight of a thousand years of pain, or so it felt to me. Walking out of the door of the school, my car a half minute walk from the building, I saw it one last time, that look, this time from a young woman. Almost cringing, I knew the look now, I understood it, a look of thankfulness, and I thought to myself, 'Could they really be thinking to themselves that they are thankful that they don't know me? Because I haven't washed today, I haven't combed my hair?' And I still think, sitting here, these thoughts still crushing all other thoughts in my mind, are they really thankful?

Where are you?

I turn over, the sleep draining from my eyes once more, eluding me, hiding where I can not find it. Sleep once found me with ease, in all places, all times. Movies, classes, chairs, they were all sleep's domain, but now, sleep has fled from them all. I reach forward, my hand grasps sheets, cold sheets, devoid of the warmth of one that I long for, the one that I love. My eyes slip closed, my arms pulled close, grasping for the warmth of someone, anything, but it never comes. Cold, just cold is all that my arms feel. The clock blinking, my eyes blinded by it's glow, I turn over once more, will I find sleep this time? I , mutter to myself, "Sleep, where are you? Dear, where are you?" But no answer, never an answer, the words echoing into my room, disappearing behind the piles of clothes, the books piled on the floor, it dissipates, gone, like sleep. I press my eyes shut, pain flashes from my face, my lip's now cracked, the taste of blood from the dried, cracked lips, my eyes closed tight, painfully tight. I can feel something now, is it sleep? Is it fear? Or is it hope? My eyes open once more, a tear sliding across my cheek, cold, as I murmur once more, "Where are you?"

Tired

So I never did get around to drawing... Well... Kinda, I read about it... And I don't think I'll ever get around to being good at it... Who knows.

So more school today, and this time I actually had to think! Imagine that! (No really, I had to think today) So I've tried to fall into a routine today, and it's sort of worked, not being used to getting up at 6:45 in the morning and needing to suddenly get up at 6:45 in the morning isn't so great for the body or mind, but one has to manage have they not?

Tomorrow doesn't look to be much slower then today, which isn't so bad, but it isn't so great either. I do not think that I will be much else then tired for the next few days, I should get around to doing something, but who knows.

-Dae, down and out (for now...)

First day of School

Today was the first day of school this semester, and it was different then what I remember a first day of school being. I felt today like I did nearly nothing in the department of learning, especially in my computer class.

As I sat there in the class, listening to the teacher, I couldn't help but think that I was either desperately spaced out, or I really wasn't learning anything at that moment. I had expected to begin going over theory of programming, possibly begin to talk about history of the theory of programming, and possibly talk about what the class was about, object oriented programming. But instead, it seemed like we only talked about everything that we'd learned in the first semester of school, this being the fourth.

In the end, the day wasn't a total waste, I managed to knock out the last kink in my schedule, and turn over a new leaf in my working of the homework. Since I've been home today, I'm done I think more homework in about thirty minutes then I've done in most days last year, this being one of the better achievements of the day.

Tomorrow being a new day, and not having any classes, it will be a day of slight relaxation, more school work, and maybe some personal betterment in the departments of exercise, possible tests of my drawing skills (which need major improvement to be called skill) and who knows what else. Signing off for now. Take care, until you read again.

Back in business?

It's been a while since I've actually made a single post on my blog, but I'm shooting to change that, make it a regular thing, at the least once a week. School has started again, I have a new job, so I've decided that it's time to turn over a new leaf, and I've decided that it's time to pick this up as well. So hold onto your hats, tighten your boot straps, and get ready to read, because this blog is going back in business!