Wednesday, June 16, 2010

Dream, Part 3

Fox has a show called Lie to Me. It's an awesome show, about a man who, based on microexpressions that last for a fraction of a second, and other psychological techniques, can tell if someone is lying or not, or in general their emotions. It doesn't look like it has a lot of viewers, but I have high hopes for its survival. I really like the opening theme song, a modified version of "Brand New Day" by Ryan Star. It starts with the word "dream".

Lie to Me opening theme:

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Chorus from "Brand New Day" by Ryan Star

Send me a sign
Turn back the clock
Give me some time
I need to break out
And make a new name
Let's open our eyes
To the brand new day
It's a brand new day

Dream, Part 2

In junior year of high school, I took a class called 3D Modeling and Animation. One of the programs we learned to use was free, called Blender 3D. I still use it because it's very useful. We also learned to use iClone, another modeling software, and CrazyTalk, a program that animates pictures to talk.
Someone named Tom Jantol made a well-known CrazyTalk montage using the following poem ("I Am"). We were supposed to create something similar. I made a video using Wesnoth pictures and John Keats's sonnet, "The Human Seasons". My teacher, Mizzy, sent it to Tom, and Mizzy passed along his response to me. I've grown very attached to both poems.

Blender 3D:
Battle for Wesnoth:
"I Am":
Tom's video using "I Am":
"The Human Seasons":
My video using "The Human Seasons":

I included the poems and Tom's response.

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"Written in Northampton County Asylum", by John Clare

I am! yet what I am who cares, or knows?
My friends forsake me like a memory lost.
I am the self-consumer of my woes;
They rise and vanish, an oblivious host,
Shadows of life, whose very soul is lost.
And yet I am—I live—though I am toss'd

Into the nothingness of scorn and noise,
Into the living sea of waking dream,
Where there is neither sense of life, nor joys,
But the huge shipwreck of my own esteem
And all that 's dear. Even those I loved the best
Are strange—nay, they are stranger than the rest.

I long for scenes where man has never trod—
For scenes where woman never smiled or wept—
There to abide with my Creator, God,
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept,
Full of high thoughts, unborn. So let me lie,—
The grass below; above, the vaulted sky.

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"The Human Seasons", by John Keats

Four Seasons fill the measure of the year;
There are four seasons in the mind of man:
He has his lusty Spring, when fancy clear
Takes in all beauty with an easy span:
He has his Summer, when luxuriously
Spring's honey'd cud of youthful thought he loves
To ruminate, and by such dreaming high
Is nearest unto heaven: quiet coves
His soul has in its Autumn, when his wings
He furleth close; contented so to look
On mists in idleness—to let fair things
Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook.
He has his Winter too of pale misfeature,
Or else he would forego his mortal nature.

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Tom's response:

Dream, Part 1

I wrote this on my dorm's lounge's chalkboard one day as I stared out the window, in early May, before dead week. The next day our health worker, who lived on our floor, came looking for the person who wrote it because she thought the author sounded lonely. I took a picture of it. Later, a friend from Dil Se asked me for it, since I had written "apparently I write emo poetry" as my status.

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I dream...
eyes wide open
thinking, feeling,
where all the other eyes are

I am alone
wind whips around me
people wander around me
neither touch me
everlasting, observing

lightning flashes
buildings topple
birds scream
I wait, watching

sitting in the shade
a leaf floats gently down
touches water
ripples travel, then still