A Formal Apology/Another Moment on Mattè

I would like to begin the post with an apology not only to my undisclosed readers, but to myself and this blog/journal as well. Its been neglected for a out a week now, though I assure you all it was not in vain. I have been deep within the production of my novel as of late, actually making real progress regarding the dialogue and flesh of my characters. Since Day 1 of this journey into Mattè and writing my novels and stories within it, my most difficult challenge has lied within that itself. I have all the details and imagery in my head: I can see it as clear as my own home and backyard. I’m just a new writer with a litany of excuses as to why I can’t put these details and images on paper. All the same, this pool of excuses have begun to run dry and I’ve finally started to make progress with my weaknesses as a writer. I guess part of the progress can be attributed to this blog and my ongoing short story about O’Shaughnessy-16 and The Myth of the Monte Carlo, as it has helped substantially with my practicing narration and scene depth etc. and its not even a lot of writing. Regardless, I’m proud of myself and ashamed all for the same reasons. To the point though, lets get back to Mattè. We shouldn’t keep our beautiful world waiting..


Today lets talk about The Grove, known in the olden days as none other than Grovyllon..

I would like to begin by noting that The Grove is not the same as a grove. The Grove is not your typical small group of trees settled down within a valley. The Grove is not something you walk to, through, or around in a matter of hours or days even, no. The Grove, my undisclosed readers, is a vast, seemingly endless aggregation of trees and forestry stretching farther than the eye can see. Although virtually none other than the (omitted) themselves have seen any part of The Grove outside of the city of (omitted), one can reason without a doubt that it is quite a large territory. It is said that when viewing the city of (omitted) from the very center, atop its grandmother tree named (omitted), one can only see the tops of trees ranging of all shapes and species to and fro – horizon to horizon. Alas, it is also said that the very same grandmother tree has never actually been scaled entirely without said scalee falling to a grisly death of utmost “natural” cause. So who truly knows, my undisclosed readers?


 

Find out when I finally write my book. It’s coming, Fall 2016…..

Jokes. Maybe within 4-5 years. It’s honestly an entire anthology I’m working with here, not a simple novel in less-than-poetic prose – oh no. This is true beauty I’m attempting to sculpt and mold here. And I’m using hand-me-down tools with rickety handles, innit? So let’s do this. Majic ensues. <— And that isn’t a typo. Oop, teaser teaser.

~Wolfgang Matthews

Post-scripture: And for those that might actually care, here’s a melody fit for the angels and demons alike. No one can dislike this.
Iron & Wine – This Must Be The Place (A Naive Melody)

Some Captain for ya!

 

Post-scripture: I swear I could cry right now. We love our fur babies.

Nightmare – Daily Prompt

Nightmare – Daily Post


A quick punch into my past. About a year or so ago, Sara was in line to take head as the Assistant Manager for a shoe store at our local mall. This is quite a feat for her age. Well, her boss, the Manager took a vacation for a week and as result Sara was left to both house-sit said Manager’s home and manage the store in her absence. Well, naturally I was staying at said house with Sara. They had this glorious cloud of a california-king sized bed and one morning after Sara got ready for work, we couldn’t find the keys to her car. Well after frantically tearing someone else’s house apart for a solid half hour and concluding that they had been sucked into a hidden vacuum of space, Sara ended up having to contact her sister for a ride to work. Note at this point that the poor girl was already late; and when Sara is late, no one is happy. Well, to the point, it wasn’t a whole ten minutes after she left that I laid eyes upon the mischievous keys. They were simply wrapped up within the massive cloud of a california-king sized comforter for this massive cloud of a california-king sized bed. I blame it on the luxurious lifestyle. Some of us just simply aren’t fit for fancy things. All the same, here’s a few haiku(s?) about one of the days in which I almost died (figuratively speaking, of course.) Enjoy!


 

Can’t find Sara’s keys

She’s gonna be late to work

Her glare is lethal


 

Piercing winged eyes

Porcelain cheeks, knees get weak

Angel in disguise


Temper like an ox

She’ll slay you with her smile

Sara, she’s a fox

~ Wolfgang Matthews

Post-scripture: Every time I try to write about Sara, even the bad parts, it always ends up turning out like the haiku(s?) above. My poet-mind went from describing a nightmare to describing her beauty within the nightmare. Ohhh, I can’t help myself. We love us.
Go on, click the link already. It truly is an amazing song from a truly talented musician. Ash Roth is so much more than hip-hop and rap. Dude’s got funk!
Asher Roth – Tangerine Girl

In other news..

Can someone from WordPress explain to me how and/or why I have “742” followers via email, says my site? I really don’t believe this number, especially given the fact that my entire site has only had a whole ~650 views. I just don’t understand. Comments on the subject would be truly appreciated.

A Moment on Mattè

The fauna and wildlife of Mattè isn’t entirely unlike our own planet Earth. It has trees and birds and seas and giant snake-squid creatures called Sarongea also. The sky is  blue as most grasses are green while the air is transparent and clean in between. Had humanity waited some 50,000 more years to begin destroying our own planet, she might look a bit like Mattè – but just a bit.

The deserts here are fierce and grand, covering nearly 50% of one of the three continents in the known world. The mountains are high, reaching altitudes yet to be discovered by Ienity- the generally human-esque race of Mattè. Ienity is also responsible for the creation of known history itself, as before they came, before the Great Cataclysm itself, history is unknown and untold. At least, thats what is apparent anyways: who knows what might lie deep beneath the vast sandlands – or what is hidden, forgotten, within the passages of all those mountain peaks lining The Gorge and The Ring alike. Who knows?

~ Wolfgang Matthews

All good things come in 3’s

I confess, I fail you all. I’ve gotten so worked up over a post-theme for Wednesdays that I’ve been cheating and working on it 3 days in advance. Alas, I do have a little bit of fun for postage. Although my third post is all but a post at all, I will leave ya’s with re-prints of three old poems from back in the day-day while going to University. Don’t judge me too hard now.

~ Wolfgang Matthews


Blame Game
Free Verse Poem Draft 6 (Final)
Written By: Dean Estes

Let’s play the Blame Game.
She said, “I know I can win it.”
          But what’s winning when winning is ending before we’re finished?
What’s winning when winning is ending with transgressions?
You blaming me for my wrongs is a step in the right direction, but three rights don’t make a left when we’re left with a misconception.
          But what’s losing when choosing what’s who’s fault leaves a bruising impression all on our egos? Well let’s call my feelings a window; it was steamy with self-esteem. Yours matched mine when we met. We were more than a perfect team, till the day that the blames started. Blaming became a game, then a game that we restarted and restarted and restarted. Now look at where we aren’t, floating oceans apart.

I write about us in class as I try to dry out my heart. But its cold, so damp and my fingers are falling apart. Holding this pen is hard, can you blame me? 


Life or Lack Thereof
List Poem Draft 2 (Final)
Written by: Dean Estes

  1. Open your mind.
  2. Open your ears.
  3. Open your eyes.
  4. Open your throat.
  5. Open your lips.
  6. Take a dandy yawn, you deserve it for all that hard-working sleep.
  7. Open your door.
  8. Open another maybe.
  9. Go into the room that’s too cold for your feet.
  10. Close the door cause hot air is precious and its escaping.
  11. Open the toothpaste.
  12. Do (5) again and add in the teeth.
  13. Open your eyes wide cause I swear it’ll clean them better.
  14. Open the cold water faucet.
  15. Open your throat again.
  16. Smile for your twin, no parsley? Groovy.
  17. Open your urethra and colon if necessary.
  18. Open the drain that flushes the leftover-you away.
  19. Open the shower curtain.
  20. Open the hot water faucet.
  21. Open the bottles of chemicals.
  22. Cover yourself in chemicals.
  23. Open your mind some more. The hot water will do you justice.
  24. Open the shower curtain again.
  25. Open the door you closed after opening it to begin.
  26. Open the dresser drawer or closet door.
  27. Open yourself to options and possibilities.
  28. Open the cold door.
  29. Open a jug and chug.
  30. Open the front door.
  31. Open your mind some more.
  32. Now there’s nothing left to open that you haven’t opened before.
  33. Open up to Life without hiding behind closed doors.

Personal Poem
Imitation Poem Draft 2 (Final)
Written by: Dean Estes

Well I’m gonna vent and get bent on my thoughts

Like Frank O’hara can do. Thought my natural

Cause is to rhyme and take time with my clause.

Can’t you see what I do?

I write and I write and erase till its 10:45. I’m racing

The clock and the tick and the tock are banging

Against my brain. Only an hour is left till I’m due for the

Kids in the class to go judging my ass. Only an hour is right

To take flight in my plight so fuck it: I’m burning this grass.

Now where do I go from here? Do I steer towards

A pretty little plot of my room? Or give you some in-

Sight of what’s going on in my life like you don’t

Already have enough bullshit going on in yours?

I’ll take Choice C and for me that’s a day out of

School with my friends at the thrift store. I see no

Point in the purchase of clothing that costs more than

A meal or two. Think of the ways you could spend all that cash

That you waste on threads of cloth woven and sewn

To your liking. I don’t know what else to build upon here.

But hey, the rhyming had stopped for a minute or two,

That’s a plus in my mind to say the least. For sheer

Spontaneity, I’m proud of myself.

I guess this is how things are done.

Breaking the Ice with Grand-pere

An online profile, blog, journal, portfolio. I feel like such a fucking tool. Sidenote: What kind of mood do I want this journal to express? Where do I take my readers with the words written? I’ve dropped one word of choice language and I’m already asking 101 questions. I just don’t want to come off as the potty-mouthed pissant that most writers come off as while toting their two cents through a computer screen. That’s my biggest concern with myself though isn’t it? Self-appreciation.

I can’t do one thing out in public or for the public’s benefit without second-guessing everything. It really puts a halt on production in the bigger picture of things. Even now, here I am going on in my first post ever about how I don’t even know if this is appropriate for a first post. The entire inflection began with my saying “fucking” some two lines into the entire entry. With all this being said, I feel like I’ve began expressing to you all how I go about expressing myself. Have we talked ourselves in circles yet? OK! Then lettuce begin, shall we?


 

Timestamp: 0348 hours, Friday 24 June, 2016

“I’m just so relieved that its over. We were hanging out going nowhere, diggin’ how the guitar goes inna song that no one knows.”

Although I can’t find significance and/or any remote justification bearing weight for why I finally began writing today, I’m proud to say that today is the day. It’s been a long time coming too, as some of you whom I know personally will understand. The journey began some 18 months ago, sometime after the Christmas holiday of that year. It was holiday, so naturally one sees more of their loved ones than usual; the friends and family we only take the time to care about because we’re sharing a table of chronic food together. You know, those loved ones.

Well, following the joyous celebrations of Jesus’ birth and so on, I had a lifelong friend over to chat shit over a bowl or two; you know, catch up and compare the lives of one another since our divergence

Looking back, its breathtaking to see the flower of my mind now, blossom from the seed it was on that day. So much growth in the last 16 months. So much change – Not my entire mind, mind you. – Just the part that wakes up somewhere in adulthood saying, “Hey dude, its coming reeeeally close to closing time”, but instead of following with lyrics to that awfully catching one-hit wonder by Semi-Sonic, you go, “Damn, you’re right Mind. I suppose I should start deciding my personal legend and figuring out where I’m gonna fit in the world for the next 30-40 years before I’m either ignored, forgotten, or both.” Or something along those lines…Now, I’m not saying that I feel the need to be famous or remembered on a grand scale by any means. I just want to leave my footprint, if you will. A legacy. But all in all, as long as I can make my mark somewhere in the world on either physical, emotional, or even metaphysical level, I’ll be a crispy biscuit. I can say I’m not afraid of much in life outside of the general terrors and phobias like snakes and other commonly creepy shit. But regarding real Fear, with the capital F, with the heart-beating-out-of-your-chest fear that makes you anxious and stressed and pukey all at once Fear, mine sits happily in the shallow pit of Failure.

Back to the point, during this reunion with the lifelong friend from above,  I had an epiphany. We were going on an on measuring dicks of whats going on in life and he was, and is, doing extraordinary things with his youth: Travel, exotica, money, happy, Success. Meanwhile, I’m sitting upon the fouton in my parents’ basement that I’ll be folding down into a bed when I lay my head to sleep that night. Do you get where I’m coming from? I sat there and saw myself looking up to my lifelong equal and bestmate as a role model. I was so proud of him. He was fulfilling his own personal legend! And after that, I hated that I felt so proud of him. Above all, I hated most that I couldn’t be so proud of myself even.

In 3 days, Lifelong would be leaving the States via his upper 5-figure salary from interning at a Forbes 500 company to visit his long-distance fiancée in (undisclosed exotic country).

Also in 3 days, I would be digging the earwax from my ear as I played Yu-Gi-Oh on a Ps2 in 2016. CATCH MY DRIFT?

This singular thought sent me into another plane of existence, I tell you. My mind was racing through thoughts and memories in time, trying to decipher where I’d gone wrong. What made Lifelong succeed where I failed? I had questions galore and answers no more. For the next few months, though I made certain not to share it with Sara, I went through a sort of regression mentally; scrubbing the blocks clean and rearranging them as I saw fit. Looking back, involving her would have been beneficial for the both of us in the long run. But that’s another story fit for another time.

Anyways, after some inflection, and looking into the Lid, I came up with this grand scheme of writing. It’s always been what I do best. Talking, writing, expressing thoughts both true and false alike. Anyone and everyone has always enjoyed what I’ve had to say, even if it was to their own amusement besought by my own stupidity and ignorance. All the same, all is true. I have a way with words. So began the incredible journey of a writer. Fast forward a year and some changing of the seasons, and here we are. Summer of twenty-sixteen. I’m 24 years old. My friends call me Grandpa. My Sara calls us we. I’m ready to start writing so fuck it, C’est la Vie.

 

~ Wolfgang Matthews

Post-scripture: Dig the tunes below as they played throughout the duration of this post’s contruction – both IRL and in my head. Also, the lyric at the beginning of this post comes from So Long, Jimmy.

So Long, Jimmy Bleezy
This is How We Walk On The Moon – Geographer