I live in a room where few dare to go
I find myself hidden away
But when they cannot find the way this is where they stow.

Benjamin Cardoza 4-26-06

Prose Poetry (Empty Room Redux)

"Motionless"

The sunshine is gone.
I get back to my room and it is empty.
It is now only a room.
White walls, white ceiling and a wood floor.
The windows have been left open and there are no shades.
I cannot see outside for it is night and there is no moon.
The door behind me is locked, the closet is as well.
The floor is slick to the touch, I try to sit,
but I slip and fall on my back and hit my head on the hardwood surface.
I cry like a child would,
with uncontrollable weeping down red cheeks onto the floor.
Tears bead up on the floor, but cease to seep in.
I close my eyes.

When my eyes open there is no sunlight,
but instead a strange glow from outside.
It fills the room with an icy blue.
It is the day, but only the moon shines here.
Shades have appeared around the window since I have fallen asleep, but nothing more.
They flutter in a constant artic breeze.
The outside glow graces the fabric of the shades and paints the wall opposite of the window with dancing shadows.
The moon is white without a face and the ground outside is covered by snow.
The glow reflects off the surface of the snow giving everything an eerie bluish tint.
The color of cold.
My eyes shut again.

I wake up one last time.
I cannot move and my clothes are gone.
The room is covered in layer of ice.
I am on my side, with my cheek against the floor.
My hand planted flat on the floor in front of me,
with my fingers spread wide.
Out of focus between my hand and my face are the frozen beads of tears.
I want to close my eyes, but they are frozen now.

Living Conditions

My father once told me,
"At one point I could have bought a Porsche or a house, and of course you can't live in a Porsche so I bought the house."

Some people I just can't understand.

Porsche vs. The Box?
I think I know what one I could live in.

"I like you"

Love (Origin: An Indo-Iranian word. According to the Oxford English Dictionary, the English word "love" is derived more immediately from Old English lufu, luvu, or lubu, which derived from luba of Old High German. The luba of Old High German derived from leubh, lubet, and libet of Sanskrit and Old Aryan, meaning “pleasing.”) has several different meanings in the English language, from something that gives a little pleasure ("I loved that meal") to something for which one would die for (patriotism, pair-bonding). It can describe an intense feeling of affection, an emotion or an emotional state. In ordinary use, it usually refers to interpersonal love. As an experience usually felt by a person for another person, it is commonly considered impossible to describe. Dictionaries tend to define love as deep affection or fondness.[1] In colloquial use, according to polled opinion, the most favoured definitions of love include the words.

Recently I got into a conversation about three words: "I love you." In this conversation one of the most important points to come up was the fact that these words have little meaning or depth anymore. They are said all through the day by many people without much thought or meaning. When I said them it meant something, really meant something, now that I am alone, I do not say the words very much... I reserve them for people that truly deserve to hear them. I know people that say it to everyone, but do they really mean it? And if they do, then to what extent to they mean it? I find it hard to respond to people who are friends who say it, I cannot say it back because I do not love them, is that wrong?

For good music and interesting people and myself go here

Sam Waterston

Sam Waterston, does he smell like justice? We think so. Recently at a Visionaries opening at our school, Chester College of New England in New Hampshire Sam Waterston came and visited among many suits. And although they blended with each other, Sam stood out above the rest, it could be because he is tall, or maybe the strange scent that comes from him... the smell of justice.
Quite amazing.

Readings

After an hour and a half, two readers and a bundle of questions we at Chester College found ourselves once again quenched for writing. Randy Thomkins, junior at Chester College read his 13-page short story and visiting writer Margot Farrington read a plethora of her poetry from her newly published book "Flares and Fathoms."
Her emotional reading, and beautiful voice made it a joy to listen to about stories of her time in Wales. Also there were many poems of colors and a sense of surrealism.

New-Age Indian Music (Tabla Beat Science)

Artist: Tabla Beat Science; Album: Tala Matrix began as a collaboration between tabla maestro Zakir Hussain and New York-based musician and producer Bill Laswell in an effort to create new fusions of Indian classical rhythms with modern electronic beats. The project has since expanded to incorporate new work from Talvin Singh - a founding member of London's South Asian DJ underground and recipient of the UK's Mercury Prize in 1999, as well as a tabla virtuoso in his own rite - and Bombay native Trilok Gurtu, whose own signature tabla and percussion style has graced recordings with John McLaughlin, Joe Zawinul, violinist L. Shankar and many more. Also featured are Ustad Sultan Khan, world-renowned as a vocalist and soloist on the multi-stringed sarangi, and tabla/drummer/composer Karsh Kale, who has gained a strong following throughout North America as through his Six Degrees Assian Massive debut "Realize". Tala Matrix was released on Bill Laswell's Axiom label in mid-September 2000 and distributed through Chris Blackwell's Palm Pictures/Ryko distribution network.

Just a trip

Screenshot of Winamp 2.95 visualization

"Empty Room" (A story)

She’s gone, my sunshine is gone. I get back to my room and it is empty, it is only a room: white walls, white ceiling and a wood floor. It is dark and it is cold. The windows are left open and there are no shades. I cannot see outside for it is night and there is no moon. The door behind me is shut and I am locked in. The closet is locked as well. I sit on the ground, which is slick to the touch. I slip and fall on my back and hit my head on the hardwood floor and I am unable to get up. I cry like a child would, uncontrollable weeping that runs down reddened cheeks onto the wood beneath and beside me. It beads up and does not seep in, but rather sits next to me in the dark, each droplet of tears gathers and lies with me as I slowly, slowly fall asleep. My body hardens with my surroundings; I become the room that is so cold and empty. I emulate the indifference and for that I am dead.

When my eyes open there is still no sunlight, but instead a strange glow from the outside. It fills the room with an icy blue. It is day, but only the moon shines here. Shades have appeared since I fell asleep. They are on either side of the window and flutter in the constant arctic breeze. The glow graces the fabric of the shades and paints the wall opposite of the window with dancing shadows. The moon is white without a face and the ground outside is covered by snow. The glow reflects off the surface of the frozen snow giving the world the eerie bluish tint. The color of cold. The room is still bare and soon a thin layer of frost covers the floor and I. My eyes shut slowly as they are nearly frozen.

Today I cannot move. My clothes are gone and the room is completely frozen in a layer of ice. I am on my side and my hand is in front of me attached permanently to the wood, my fingers spread wide.

(photo by Benjamin Cardoza, taken at home - Barrington, Rhode Island, taken 11-23-2005)

An Inspiration (for many reasons)

There are many people and things in my life that I consider very important to me in terms of inspiration. There are directors that I find extremely influencial like François Truffaut, Federico Fellini, Ridley Scott and Francis Ford Coppola. As well as writers like Thor Heyerdahl, Jack Kerouac and William S. Burroughs. And there are people close to me who have influenced and inspired me. Like my ex Polish fiancée Katarzyna who taught me so very much for the two years I had spent with her and was the first and only person to make me feel truly loved and special. There are a handful of friends as well, one of which is a good fellow named Troy. But above all those people is my father. My father has taught me every moral I know, has taught me of the world and culture and a general understanding of everything there is. And for those things I am thankful. He is hard working, but with strong priorities and his daily Mantra reflects it: Wife, Son, Work. His incredible wealth of knowledge of film, literature, culture and history and trivia make him a very well-rounded person that allows him to be a good role model, while being easy to live up to. They all may have added to my life in inspiration, but none as much as my father David, whom my middle name derives.

Having an obsession with racing where it counts Le Mans ('71)

Recently I just say the film Le Mans again starring Steve McQueen. It's a movie I haven't seen for about 6 to 7 years . Critically acclaimed actor McQueen was always known for his love of the speed of cars plainly seen in his role in Bullitt in 1968 not to mention his personal collection of cars including many Porsches dating from mid 60's to early to mid 70's later on. In the film Le Mans Steve McQueen plays American Michael Delaney a famous racer of the ultra popular and heavily culture influences 24 hours of Le Mans. Driving the 1971 Porsche 917 he drove heavily against his German arch rival in racing and still personal friend Erich Stahler played by Siegfried Rauch in the Ferrari 512LM . He looks back on his past knowing that he was in a accident that made a widow out of a woman and now he seeks to mend what has been broken and in the awkwardness of it all is the racing... For this film director Lee H. Katzin went to the Paris 24 Le Mans and actually filmed the 1970 24 hour endurance race. Even when the race was completed he got the cooperation of the teams and drivers to do extra laps for him. In terms of normal racing Lee H. Katzin pioneered the use of cameras on cars which was never done for professional racing for the media until he did it. After the race was completed editing begun to make the story work with the actual results of the 1970 Le Mans race. When it was completed it became the landmark for films on racing and put a new light on this incredible European-based race for people that never knew this monumental event existed or didn't know enough about it. Besides the fact that this film was amazing in terms of cinematography, Steve McQueen actually did most of his own driving in the Porsche 917 in which he actually drove in excess of 200 MPH to the dismay of his personal agents. For hardcore car enthusiasts this is and will always be the end-all be all of all racing films. May one of the the coolest men of all time rest in peace: Steve McQueen.

Photo Gallery for "Le Mans"

Photo Gallery II for "Le Mans"

Photo Gallery for "Bullitt"

Some of the Steve McQueen Cars:

1959 356 "Bathtub" Porsche

1957 XKSS Jaguar

1967 275 GTS Ferrari

1960 Lotus 19

Holy Crap that's a lot! (random viewing of another blog)

Look Here

As said in the great GI Joe Cartoon parody "Eh... What the hell?"

A short review of the blog entitled VSTjm Stjckkpm

In the last post, which is untitled which is actually dated tomorrow at 3:38:54 AM (interestingly enough) it gives a large overview of things with many links such as:

zit bandaids
perfume
terrace gardening
home security checklists
Virus
book collection comic
water features with fire and smoke green bay
mastiff adoption texas.egypt animals. case in point: getting 24% ROI On Email Campaigns

I see... How interesting.
Throughout the entirety of this wacky post it follows the conversation of two people: Karon and Diane who through words of nonsense push links to each other somehow, maybe in the virtual world it works, but in the real world I cannot throw html in your face and tell you to click on it. Strange indeed. The design of the blog in general is nice though, aesthically pleasing and easy to read with soft greens and good contrasts of colors. It may be weird and wacky but i'm sure people are reading it anyways. Go VSTjm Stjckkpm...

Possibly the best anime series of all time...

Cowboy Bebop(カウボーイビバップ, Kaubōi Bibappu?) (1998) is a Japanese anime television series and motion picture that follows a band of American-stylized bounty hunters thrown together by circumstance and necessity, but each with passionately disparate private agendas. Each episode tells the story of how the group tracks down wanted criminals in a futuristic setting while dealing with personal issues that arise by location, people they meet, or misgivings about the morality of the subject of their bounty. While every episode, or the movie, stands on its own, the back-stories of the characters and their growing intimacy together make the whole much greater than the sum of its parts.

Cowboy Bebop was popular in Japan and became one of the biggest adult anime hits ever in the United States, opening the genre to an audience that previously considered anything but live action to be juvenile. The unflinching adult themes of the show, along with the cool jazz tracks and political undertones became a favorite of many Americans tuning into Cartoon Network's new late-night "Adult Swim". Pirated copies of the Japanese Cowboy Bebop movie, Knockin' on Heaven's Door, became available in 2002 dubbed with rough translations. By 2003, Sony Pictures released it to theatres, and eventually DVD, an official version of the movie using the voices of the original English-speaking actors. Two Cowboy Bebop manga comic books were created based on the TV show, and a Playstation 2 video game which as of now is unknown for a future release in the United States.

Cowboy Bebop is widely respected for its multiple layers and deep characters, combined with a very free-flowing feel to the story itself (heavily influenced by American culture, especially the jazz movements of the 1940s, hence "bebop") and a large number of well-choreographed action fighting sequences (from space battles to martial arts hand-to-hand combat).

Examples of Fan Art

Fan Art 1
Fan Art 2
Fan Art 3

d10 [a story] (for 4-7-06)

I lie in my bed looking at the ceiling as morning-light bounced against the walls on my face. Arguing out in the hall kept my eyes open in the early morning (it was probably around 10 am, early enough). My specialized Glock pistol lay under the pillow which rested under my head. I sighed heavily and heard the shower running from across the hall, the door was probably opened and struggling ensued or something of the sort. "Luna and Roland are at it again," I thought to myself. I turned on my side facing the side of the room with the door and I placed my arm under the pillow placing my fingers over the Glock. I delved deep into myself thinking about what I should do with a few unpleasant individuals, one of which has taken a very upsetting interest in me. These mornings alone are never as productive as I imagined they would be originally. We truly aren't professionals, but we aren't amateurs either. Or are we?

Tala Matrix (Make up for lack of a weekend post)

There is something that is so calming in the world that I cannot place. Although there is a hole that has torn my world, out of this rip in the construct I cannot help but see the magnificence of it all. I do admit that these answers will not soon to why it is so, but they will eventually - some day down a very long road. A road which is sun-scorched in the desert star. I sit here listening to Arnold Morrison's live orchestral rendition of Nobuo Uematsu's original music of Final Fantasy VII & VIII and think of a future where I will someday keep a smile throughout a single 12-hour span without stopping.
I will call for summer jobs soon and speak with Mitch Kapner about internship possibilities with my screenplay which is finally nearing completion.

Nobuo Uematsu

Something Else

Going postal is an American English slang term, used as a verb meaning to become extremely angry, possibly to the point of violence. The term derives from a series of incidents from 1986 onwards in which United States Postal Service (USPS) workers shot and killed managers, fellow workers, and members of the police or general public. Between 1986 and 1997, more than 40 people were killed in more than 20 incidents of workplace rage. Following this series of events, the idiom entered common parlance and has been applied to murders committed by employees in acts of workplace rage, irrespective of the employer; and generally to describe fits of rage in or outside the workplace.
Homicide statistics show that Postal Service employees are no more likely to "go postal" than are other American workers. Researchers found that the homicide rates per 100,000 workers at postal facilities were lower than at other workplaces. In major industries, the highest rate of 2.1 homicides per 100,000 workers was in retail. The next highest rate of 1.66 was in public administration, which includes police officers. The homicide rate for postal workers was 0.26 per 100,000. The Most dangerous occupations: taxi drivers, with a homicide rate of 31.54 per 100,000 workers.
That wasn't unusual to bring up was it?

Ahead

Today I look ahead at my options in life, I try so hard to never turn around while at the same time never forgetting where I have orginated from. The rock from which I was born under and the years following are years never to forget, but ones I cannot look back on ever again - a challenging feat to say the least. So now after two years I have exited the tunnel from which I had tried so hard to reach the light at the end and now there is only darkness in this world - as the sun has set for I was too late all along.

A dream

It is unfortunate that my dreams as of recently only pertain to something most painful and hurtful. They are dreams of something I once had and now do not. Sometimes I think I can get that person back, and then there are times when realism sets in and I know that what I dream is only a facade, a very cruel and upsetting figment of my imagination. For two years those dreams were true and amazingly beautiful and now they are nothing. Nothing at all. May the family I once loved so much six time zones away live a life that is happy and long. And may that beautiful person also live a happy and successful life.
Goodbye my Polish Sunshine.