Friday, June 9, 2017
I've been listening to a lot of Sinatra lately.
It's odd how distant one feels from their last life; looking in through the shattered, smokey windowpanes, a ghost hovering beyond anyone's reach. Odd how easy it is to look in, yet how repelling the sights become. A draw to... nothing.
It's almost jarring. I wasn't a fool; or was I? I never thought I were cheating myself; although, thought may not have been my main priority. There is no connection to what I see through the windowpanes any longer; the man's path is no longer one I can relate to, in that I had done so myself. It is no longer a sense of failure - now, perhaps, a sense of pity, in that the reflection captured in this time capsule was so eagerly fragile and whimsically frail. A colorful, lightly painted eggshell, glimmering in the soft sunlight; knowing full well it's ability to be destroyed with the smallest of winds.
And, yes, this remembrance is nothing more than a spirit in and of itself.
Laying alone in these wee, small hours of the morning... It makes one pine for anything. Something. God only knows what - but Holy, is that unknown reward.
The shaking, harmless armature of a human has - as expected - crumpled, and died. From his carcass emerged a decidedly more upbeat, proud, and even imposing figure. As I lay in the moonlit drink, I know this is a certainty... and, a warm one, at that. But now, where will he go? How will he get there? And above all - how blessed is he to, at last, fulfill the dream of self-awareness of which he never knew he harbored?
And - how blessed, perhaps, shall this new expanse of a world become?
Saturday, May 13, 2017
Things feel like a ticking timer. A slope on down to the end of the slide; the drop-off.
It's a little sad, honestly. These lessons, which I slowly cope with. As much as I hold them firmly to my heart, I also see their hurt. I see how they can corrode me. And have. Not necessarily for the worse, but certainly in an ... unfamiliar way. It's a cold new galaxy of self discovery.
Letting go of a sickly happiness sitting dead in your face - loyally, comfortably - is a decision I ponder. How common is it, truthfully? Am I an outlier in my disregard for the attainable joys in life? With all good reason to argue otherwise - reason that truthfully outweighs any other emotion - I still feel an ethereal regret. Missing not the growing pains nor the mindless electricity; missing the lights in life.
Maybe they are due to return upon the change of my life just as dead ahead. Maybe it's all waiting on my own evolution, shedding the now in the face of opportunity. Maybe getting away from the rut of life will provide a new cement of uniquely self fulfilling happiness.
Thursday, May 11, 2017
I wonder if growing, as a person, is really the same across all boards. There are obviously lessons to be learned which we all must face; most, for our own sake. As well as certain trials and tribulations; emotional control, image comprehension, such forth.
But, there comes a corner at which I no longer feel as if I am "growing" along the same path as others. To speak bluntly - and perhaps, a touch immaturely - Many are carrying their lessons in a flighty, light fashion. Going down the road with nary a second of introversion; a standstill which I reach constantly.
I wonder what it's like to be at such ironic peace with the world. To think the precise way you were told to, to play an actor in the drama that some define as reality.
As I become less human - less accustomed to the glossy, scripted, unabashedly false beaming lights and observing cameras of the daytime Television world - I feel as if I turn another route and grow in my own right. The more I shed these unrealistic, often moreso limiting than inspiring tendencies; of loneliness, of external contemplation; the more I find peace.
Perhaps there is a religious draw to distancing one's self from man. Maybe it's the inescapable desire for some undefinable uniqueness. Maybe it'd be best to be the star of the program, rather than the leery shadow phasing into the wall.
But maybe it's thoughts like that which are keeping me back.
Monday, May 8, 2017
After 2014's Godzilla revitalization, the massive monster has been back at the forefront of big-name creature features, just like the good ole' days. NECA, known for their work with countless pop culture licenses (including Friday the Thirteenth, Gremlins, Aliens and more), have become a major name in the modern Godzilla merchandise scene; producing eight unique incarnations of the beast in their 'Classics' line alone, along with various knick knacks and one-off items.
Following the American theatrical release of 2016's Shin Godzilla, NECA took the logical step of unveiling their own model of the film's brand new design; a twisted, strikingly dark take on Godzilla unlike any interpretation previously seen. Currently hitting retailers, he'll cost you around $20.
Sculpt - 4/5
ShinGoji is a design almost explicitly crafted to be difficult to simplify; jagged, deformed, even unabashedly ugly in some considerations. NECA's sculpt has managed to capture this offbeat look very well; no doubt thanks to previous experience with similarly mutilated characters, such as Freddy Kruger. Covered from scraggly head to protruding toe in folds, tears, cuts, lumps, and an encyclopedia of scar-like afflictions, Shin looks immediately stunning for the sheer variety of textures and details (yes, such as growing spines, extra toes and jutting teeth) adorning the figure. Easily NECA's most impressive work, intricacy wise, since their coveted Godzilla 2014 figure.
However, that is not to say the sculpt is entirely accurate. There are some missteps; with varying degrees of importance, when it comes to the overall inflection of the sculpt itself. The dorsal spines grow far too large, the tail seems a tad short, and there's something going on with the length of the face; all arguably minor issues, but ones that can change how the design leaves an impact.
Articulation - 5/5
Considering NECA's usual pattern of Godzilla articulation, Shin not only meets the standard, but manages to step above expectations. With 20 points, you can really pose him however you'd like, while keeping a 'natural' flow to the sculpt. This can be extremely hard to achieve, particularly with a design as reality-based as this. Each joint has a great range of motion, none feeling at all restricted. I particularly adore the extremely tiny points within the scrawny arms, as well as the interestingly engineered jaw; a strive for accuracy that could have easily been ignored, but makes the figure all the more quality.
My only qualm is with the tail. Made entirely of a light rubber, it doesn't seem to fit into the joint at the base of the tail; falling out very, very easily. This can be solved by, of course, standing it correctly on any surface, but it's flimsy.
Paint - 5/5
SHMA... and have received terrible results. Others have decided instead to mold the entire toy in black, with minimal red applications, such as Bandai... acceptable, but cheap. NECA is luckily among the few who have recreated the tough look to a tee. Covered in red highlights, never missing or overflowing any particular spots, as well as accentuating aspects such as the tail's tip or the spine's surfaces. Again, similar detail work with past figures surely played into perfecting this.
The dirty colors of tooth and nail, the grimy inner mouth, the minuscule - yet centered! - pupils - all look excellent. There's hardly any way to ask for more.
Fun Factor - 4.5/5
Overall - 4.5/5
Sunday, May 7, 2017
It's been a busy time; but, then again, I'm not sure most blogs are quite as active as mine has been thus far. Last month in particular has now become the lowpoint of activity on Wastelnd - shifting focuses, experiments, and so on are to blame.
It's 7:13 as I write this, early in the PM's AM. I'm very groggy from a quasi-nap I was previously lost in; zoned out to a coma like state to a drearily Lo Fi instrumental playlist.
I think if I had to rewrite A Warm Welcome, my description of myself would be wildly different. That anecdote in and of itself fits who I feel I now am; An existential cloud floating above, distant and impossible to grasp. For better or for worse.
But, as it stands, I've never been more happy to have a warmth in my throat, a tinge to my sight, and a gust in my mind. I've regained myself. This beautiful feeling; last accompanied by splitting headaches and a horribly expansive aching; has regained it's staticy, golden glow. Like the national anthem stuttering through a bog of distortion, echoing into the black of night.
I don't try to find a solution. If there is one, I'd rather not have it. This lonely prison of my all-too aware self has some riches in the dust. And, frankly put - I have yet to find an endearment able to challenge the gifts which I already have. Lonely, undeniably - or perhaps, focused. Longing, although considerably prideful. A ghost on the ethereal fence at all times.
I remember once more my tired state. A passing beauty, not unlike the sins of life. I sit alone; free of mind. Free of any metallic eyeballs devouring my every slight; Free to the eyes of comradery watching closely, as always. The only life which I derive from. I don't feel much anymore besides the slogging muck of melancholy; but it's as warm a coat as I need.
Time has been flying lately, though I'm not sure why.
Friday, April 14, 2017
April's been one hell of a month - to go to show it, this post's about fourteen, fifteen days late. Good thing this entire blog exists only on my schedules (and comfortably so).
March proved a bit less hectic than I had assumed in my last Monthly post; The month was oddly self contained - despite all the various things that did happen, there was a black cloud overarching it all. Hell, really, it's been depressingly fogging the air for far too long around here. But, in retrospect, I suppose that was a natural disaster I really ought to have avoided - the key beam of clean sunlight which has broken the smog was hardly one I couldn't have enacted sooner, with some determination.
That insignificant flip of a switch has managed to make April somehow new. Realizing the broad reaches of the world - all literally at my fingertips - has helped redefine myself, yet again. My very first post continues to show it's age, almost to the point of embarrassment. Finding happiness in self-pride, in the things I am capable of and should be doing, is so much more fulfilling than drifting on a moodless river of emptiness. Learning to be an individual, one fully in control of my own life, what is in it, and how it effects me, is the most I've gained on a mental level in a long while.
I'm feeling genuinely upbeat for the first time in too long. It's elevating feeling that classic mix of responsibility, push and lighthearted fun after what felt like a deathly hangover. It's hard to express this feeling without the tinge of unprofessional escapism, but to put it bluntly, I can't wait to keep along this newly discovered path. I might be a heartbreaker. But I'm more happy to stay sea sick.
Monday, March 27, 2017
Writing for Wastelnd is the most cathartic feeling I've had in years. I think a listening ear is something I've overemphasized - simply melding my moods with vocabulary, rather than any summation of colors, words, lines, songs, or so many examples of what else, feels incredibly natural.
The blog was intended more as an outlet to spurt out less personal ideas, such as rebuttals to arguments I've deconstructed, or my own mini-essays on entertainment topics. A blog that'd mainly serve as a host, which I'd link to necessary audiences.
The artistic journal it has become is really something of a dream come true; I've always wanted a long running history of my thoughts, and, almost to a tee, here it is. It's quiet, it's individual, and it's not something I feel a huge pressure to do. As previously stated, pattering away at the keyboard while I simply pour thoughts along the screen is as soothing as a hot bath. It's rather sobering, as well; I don't think I've left, nor entered the site with a strong emotional fire. Any sparks are doused rather quickly by the foamy bubbles of meandering freedom which such an aimless medium provides.
No real purpose to this ditty of gratitude, but here's to a new favorite hobby keeping me up all through the night. It's the best time of the day.