Memory Slave

I have been working on my fourth book, Alive: Part II, on and off the for the past six months. The past few months have seen more progress and I am not about 40,000 words in. However, I have now reached a part in the story where I am trying to decide where I will take the story next. More brainstorming and a clearer idea of my goal for my characters will give me a better sense of the path I want them to take. With that in mind, I took a break from writing that book but I didn’t want to avoid writing altogether. Along with the grandma piece I posted last, I wanted to delve deeper into a concept that has been on my mind for the past few weeks.

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Memory Slave

She couldn’t remember how she got here, but she wasn’t supposed to. Her name, her place of birth, her family, was all lost to her. Sometimes she came close to remembering, seeing slivers of her past life cut through the memories forced on her. Those slivers, whether good or bad, were hers and she cherished them for seconds at a time. There were other memories drowning her real ones, parasites controlling their host.

The parasites were injected by people whose faces remained hidden: Doctors experimenting on a lab rat. There were no windows, no night and day. The lights in her room always shut off at some point during the day, announcing her bedtime. Yet days still lost their meaning without dates or the seasons. She measured time with her memories, counting the moments between a new one being added.

She knew the memories weren’t really hers, but they were the only complete ones she had. She was still attached to hundreds, feeling all of the pain that was forced on her. Her mind was a bounty of misery and insecurities. Some people wanted to be rid of the memories that crippled their lives in some way: the unrequited love, the betrayal by a friend. Others were hiding from something truly traumatic, trying to erase violence they did to others or violence inflicted on them.

These memories were a gateway to pain, but they were also a gateway into the mind of the hosts. She knew their friends, their neighbourhoods and sometimes she even saw their faces. She knew their class, their race, their sexual orientation. These central parts of their identity were an anchor for most of the memories in her mind. Most of the memories were tied to something private that became public.

There was another class of memories, usually reserved for the wealthier hosts. They had the luxury of purging the most trivial things from their mind. One rude encounter was reason enough to remove a memory. Funny enough, they were usually the bully in these encounters.

She couldn’t remember truly meeting anyone. The masked doctors were her only gateway to the outside world. She tried to speak to them, but they never responded. She started with threats, hundreds of memories ago. Her will became weaker with each memory and soon enough she longed to simply hear one of them greet her, or answer if she asked them how they were doing.
She now had to accept that she was only a tool. No different than a hammer that a worker used and unceremoniously disregarded. There was a time when she thought she must have done something to deserve such a fate. Perhaps this was some sort of prison sentence? Time erased that thought from her mind. What was the point of punishment if you didn’t know what it was for? Was there some sort of lottery to pick the lucky winners? Was she just one of many selected from a certain area?

The white walls seemed to mock her. Promising answers beyond, but unwilling to yield. Some unseen force pinned her to the floor before the doctors came in. A distinctive hum always accompanied the increased gravity, as if some giant machine came to life beneath her. The doctors arrived, ignored her words and injected the latest memory. When they left they made sure to open the door just wide enough to squeeze through, preventing her from seeing anything beyond. When the door opened, no other sounds crept through. Even with the door closed, she always saw the doctors before she saw them. Wherever she was, it was soundproof and isolated.

There was another world out there, where she could find friends, family and happiness. She wanted to see that world again, to see herself. Her room had a small shower and sink, but no mirror and no reflective surfaces of any kind. She knew her skin was dark brown and that her hair was black, a contrast to everything around her. Her nose was broad, her lips full, and her knowledge of herself died there.

The remnants of her past life didn’t reveal anything more. She saw an older woman’s face, with dark skin like her own, perhaps her mother. She saw a small red bricked house, surrounded by cracked sidewalk and weeds. Perhaps her home. There was no way to truly tell that these memories were hers, she only assumed they were because they weren’t tied to something negative.

She heard the humming this time before she was pinned. Her pacing came to a halt as her feet stayed rooted to the ground. The pressure on her knees forced her to kneel, planting her hands on the ground as well. Her cot was to her right, looking like it was on the verge of imploding. The springs were squealing in protest, almost constricting one another by the time the doctors entered.

The gravity didn’t affect them, allowing them to move swiftly to either side of her. White pants, white shirts, white surgical masks. Their clothes almost seemed to glow under the light. She had to keep her head facing the floor, trying to turn it was too painful. The syringe came from the doctor to her left, piercing a spot just above her right ear. The memory wouldn’t come to her immediately, it would take some time. She guessed it usually took a few hours, but there was no way for her to be sure.

The doctor’s footsteps were almost drowned out by the hum as they left the room. Her face was nearly pinned to the floor by the time the gravity subsided, causing her to nearly jump off the ground with the force of her exertion. There were usually at least three light outs before another memory was injected, and she knew that she guessed that she carried hundreds now, some fresh and others lurking beneath the surface. It seemed like almost a year may have passed, but she never got used to the enhanced gravity. It was as if they increased its strength a little more with each visit.

Stuck

Below is a little cathartic piece I needed to get off my chest.

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It hit me today that I am not as young as I think I am,

That I don’t have as much time to figure out life as I think,

I am closer to 30 than I am to 26,

I am stuck in a role I can’t escape,

I’m isolated from my friends,

I don’t have my own place or car,

Women are enigmas I have yet to figure out,

And I wouldn’t be surprised if I hit 30 before I have a girlfriend,

This isn’t where I thought I would be at this stage in my life,

I always mocked the deadbeats,

The people who didn’t have their lives figured out,

Maybe it’s poetic justice that I’m now one of them,

I’m 26,

25 was the worst year of my life,

So hopefully things can only go up from there.

 

Darkness

These next few months are going to be busy as I take on more part-time work but I’m still committed to posting three times a day. If you haven’t already, check out my film and tv comics channel @moviegrapevine, or my writing channel @wmoviegrapevine.

This piece follows from my continued resolution to write more poetry pieces. It is my attempted distillation of all the negativity and worries that I’m trying to cut out of my life. This piece is also takes lines from my most recent post to @wmoviegrapevine.

The Darkness

I can sense happiness now,

Ebbing and flowing with the words and actions of those around you,

Being pulled along like a dog on a leash,

When your walkers vanish,

Or show their true colours,

I’ll be back to lead you down a different path,

I know you’ll let me in,

You always do when the outside world lets you down,

Let me whisper to you again,

Tell you how your hard work will never pay off,

How you’ll decay in a cubicle,

Never living your dreams,

Let me tell you how you’ll always be lonely,

Your friends are all leaving you,

Other cities call to them,

Or maybe you have more competition,

Girlfriends, wives, children,

The things you know you won’t have anytime soon,

Don’t you wonder why?

Can you really blame it all on them?

Their poor taste?

Or is it just that you lack something that appeals to them?

What is it exactly?

Don’t you want me to tell you?

Decay

Update: I was planning on seeing Wonder Woman on Tuesday, but something came up for the friend I was supposed to see it with. I was hoping to see it today instead, but it’s looking like my friend is busy again tonight. Therein lies the disadvantage of wishing to see a movie with someone, your schedule is at the mercy of theirs. When I do see Wonder Woman I will upload a review either the same night or the next day. Also fighting off a cold and not sure whether I still want to get out of the house. In the meantime, here’s a poetry piece inspired by one of the shorter pieces I posted to @wmoviegrapevine earlier today.

I used to say that I’m only 22,

Now I try to convince myself I’m only 25,

The years have crept up on me,

Time is a persistent stalker that doesn’t always give announce its presence,

He may be invisible when we look upon the face or the body,

But his decay is ever present,

The body that looks vibrant and youthful is cursed with pains that only diminish, but don’t dissipate,

Time carries its own passengers,

Responsibility being the chief among them,

What are you doing with your life?

I know what I want to do,

Share my words with others,

I already am,

Yet my words can’t feed me,

At least not yet,

Do I spend my free time working towards this goal?

I do,

Do I spend my free time working to escape the cubicle prison,

I used to,

One resume after another sent into the black void of the Internet,

One more friend who promises to pass it around,

All equalling to nothing,

Maybe laziness makes me grow weary of the hunt?

Or maybe it has simply burned me out?

Hopelessness accompanies each attempt,

There is hope that I will find my way someday,

Yet the question of my future hassles me everyday,

I am not worried about things sorting themselves out someday,

I wanted them sorted yesterday,

Last year,

I can look back on those moments,

Staring ahead with hope,

Only to have the hope harpooned by reality,

I give into vices,

My most valuable resource goes wasted,

A victim to desires that hold me back,

I am only human,

Yet I seem to be a weak one at times,

Seeking escapism or validation from people and things that do not value me,

My someday is coming,

But maybe I don’t want to wait for it anymore.

Chains

The alarm goes off,

I silence it,

Then I retreat back under the sheets,

I know I should leave,

But the chains springing from my mind hold me down,

The lack of motivation to wake up early to go to prison,

Shackled to a phone in my cell,

My escape routes,

My tunnels,

Chiseled by mouse clicks and word of mouth,

Have yet to yield fruit,

And I sometimes feel like they never will,

One year has passed,

And I worry it will soon be two.

 

The Honey Before The Sting

This poem was originally inspired by a line from the second part of my werewolf story, AliveI then expanded on the line for a poem I posted to my poetry instagram account @wmoviegrapevine.  Since I wanted to expand the poem further I figured I would post the result here. Enjoy and as always, thanks for reading.

The Honey Before The Sting

The hope that comes with a new beginning,

The introduction,

The smile,

The kind words,

A new job,

A new relationship,

The negativity seeps out,

Optimism rushes in to fill the void,

It will be different this time,

It is different,

Until people change,

But do they really change?

Or do they just show their true colours?

Shedding the mask they show to the rest of the world,

What vice is on display this time?

Greed,

Insecurity,

Anger,

Cowardice,

Maybe they coalesce to create something new,

A deformed creature,

Standing on two legs trying to convince itself it’s human,

The creature sees all,

It pounces on uncertainty, kindness and weakness in others,

But has a blind spot for what lies in itself,

Misfortune and tragedy are always blamed on its prey,

While power and fortune remain in the predator’s territory,

 

 

The Gap

I used to post more poetry pieces on this site, before my focus turned to longer blog posts on my novels, film, tv and /or race. I figured that I would try to get back to posting poetry since the book I’m currently working on, Alive, was spawned from a series of poems I posted here.

The Gap

Potential can hold more power than reality,
There is always the question of what you could become,
Unfettered by the restraints the world will later try to force on you,
Limiting you to something “realistic”,
Something safe,

Maybe parents want to make sure they get their return on investment,

Maybe you have to care for someone else,

Maybe you are carrying the anchors known as children,

Taking risks no longer becomes admirable or brave,

It is foolish, selfish,

We trade in happiness for stability,

Rotting away day by day,

Resenting the world for where we are now,

Maybe we brought the trap on ourselves,

Maybe life just didn’t turn out the way you wanted and you’re trying to make the best of it,

Either way,

Your kids will become the object of your own resentment,

You will see the freedom they have,

You will resent it,

Then the cycle will begin anew.

 

Logan Review

Entertainment Value: 10.10

Critical Value: 7.5/10

It is the end of an era. After 17 years, Hugh Jackman presents us with his last outing as Wolverine. After the first two Wolverine films many fans, myself included, initially approached another one with a healthy dose of skepticism. Then the first trailer dropped and skepticism gave way to hype for many people.

Then the second trailer dropped, confirming that Dafne Keen would be playing X-23. The film was flooded with good reviews from Rotten Tomatoes and one of my favourite YouTube reviewers also gave the film his highest rating. Needless to say, I expected a lot from this film, and for the most part, it delivered. I won’t say that the film is on the same level as The Dark Knight (it got a lot of comparisons to it) but it is undoubtedly the best Wolverine film and one of the best films in the X-Men Universe.

Logan introduces us to a bleak(er) future where most mutants are now dead. Twenty five years have passed without a mutant birth, most of the X-Men are dead, and Logan is slowly dying as his healing factor burns out. He is aging more noticeably, healing slower and the adamantium in his body is now poisoning him. Meanwhile, Charles Xavier is suffering from a mental disorder. Early plot summaries said the disease was Alzheimer’s but it is never actually confirmed in the film. Either way, he is prone to fits of dementia and seizures, which have devastating effects on the people around him.

Logan now works as a chauffeur and is content to save money so that he and Charles can buy a boat and live on the sea. Logan is tracked by a Mexican nurse who eventually convinces him to escort Laura Kinney (X23) to a mutant safe haven and evade The Reavers, cycber-netically enhanced soldiers tasked with bringing X23 back.  Firstly, I have to say that X23 was insanely badass in this film, showcasing an agile fighting style that is in contrast to the brute force on display from Wolverine. Although Wolverine is feral in his own way, Laura shows us what could have become of him if he was raised as a weapon. Dafne Keen doesn’t have many lines for most of the film, relying on facial expressions and body language to create the character.

The makeup department did a great job in creating a weathered Logan, whose body tells it own story. Jackman is able to exude anger, coldness,sensitivity, love and caring seamlessly. Although his character seems to shy from caring or helping others, it is easy to see that he is only putting up a wall to protect himself from the pain of losing more people he cares about.

Charles Stewart brings us a different version of Charles Xavier. Although Charles still houses some of the wisdom we associate with the character, his disease has resulted in forced isolation. We see a Charles who knows his time is coming and is eager to enjoy the rest of his time, coming across as more carefree than any other version of Xavier we’ve seen on screen. The closest comparison is to his younger, broken self in Days of Future Past. 

Jackman, Stewart and Keene are the film’s center and their scenes stand out as my favourite emotional moments. At its core, the film is about family and it great to see the family grow stronger as the film progresses. Although he is not necessarily a part of the family, Caliban (Stephen Merchant) assists Wolverine in taking care of Xavier and his performance is another stand out in the film. He has a relatively small role but succeeds in picking away at Logan to reveal his mindset as they try to navigate the dangerous world they live in.

Needless to say, the action is amazing, giving us the R-Rated glory we’ve been waiting to see for a while. People don’t just fall down when Wolverine swings his arms, they die in spectacular, gory fashion. There were many scenes that genuinely gave me chills. The film does feature some spotty CGI in parts. Fortunately, most of the effects are practical.

One of the weakest parts of the films, in my opinion, are the villains. Don’t get me wrong, Boyd Holbrook was enthralling as Donald Pierce. The issue is that it felt like he had little screen time. He and the man he answers to, were not developed very well in contrast to the other characters. There is one interesting goon that adds a new level of threat to the film, and the goon’s introduction is one of the most memorable in the film. However, I feel as if this mute goon could have been substituted for a stronger Donald Pierce.

While the film was not perfect, or as even as I would have liked, it was a solid end to Wolverine’s story. The ending, for lack of a better world, is poetic. Jackman has implied that he would be open to playing the role again if it existed in a different universe e.g. the MCU. However, he has also said that “This is it. This is the last one.

It is sad to see Hugh Jackman end the role, but I am happy that this is the film he did it with.

Edit: After more thought, had to bump up my ranking of Logan.

X Men Universe Film Rankings

Days of Future Past

X2

Logan

Deadpool

First Class

X-Men 1

Apocalypse

X3

The Wolverine

Origins

The Circle

I wake up,

Vowing that I will soon be free of the cubicle that defines my existence,

The cubicle that bestows me with a title,

I exercise,

Trying to prolong my miserable life,

I go to work,

Surrounded by strangers,

Loud,

Sick,

Only to leave them and then be surrounded by co-workers,

Loud,

Sick,

Annoying,

Rude,

I don’t work,

I endure,

For hours at a time,

Relieved to have a few minutes to unhook my leash and roam free,

I endure,

Until I can finally be free,

I go home,

Surrounded by strangers again,

Maybe I exercise now instead,

Surrounded by more strangers,

Loud,

Narcissistic,

All deserving of death’s embrace,

I arrive home,

With only a few more hours to spare before I must awake and return to my leash,

 

 

 

 

Resolution

New Year, New Me,

Or so I always say,

I have numerous resolutions for the year,

But New Year’s Eve reminded me of one of them,

Surrounded by friends,

Forgetting all of my troubles until I came across a single woman,

Then my mind shifted to other thoughts,

Thoughts shared by other friends,

Who held the woman’s interest better,

Happiness slowly evaporated,

Bitterness and self-doubt came in to take its place,

While everyone else kept enjoying themselves,

I spent too much time reflecting on my friend’s good fortune,

And reflecting on all my past failures,

I came across as miserable,

Pathetic even,

Which only hindered my appeal even further,

I find myself caught in this cycle too often,

Letting any perceived rejection drown out all the things I have to celebrate,

With a new year,

I want to work on being the master of my own happiness.