Blue words on dark walls.  Mongrel Studios presents stories, columns and other assorted uses for words.
Mongrel Studios presents Notes Off Key, a blog by Quinn Allan.

Monday, August 24, 2009

Rebel, Rebel

Always rebel. The further you get from something, the wider the perspective. That way you can come back to it at your own pace. Be as familiar with it as you want to be. Choose how it will influence you, and if you don't like it, you already know how to get away. Those who don't rebel are consumed by everything. They live in the shadow of fear and are afraid of the things that aren't really there. I rebelled in my youth not as an act of defiance, but to gain a wider perspective. Then I came back to those who would oppose me, to a place where I was comfortable. If I hadn't, I would have traded one influence for another, and replaced my supposed superiors for others. Always rebel.

fist in the air fighting for freedom

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Friday, May 29, 2009

where is my mind?

The mind as a puzzle The subject of this article hinges upon the separation of the terms "brain" and "mind". The brain, while quite complex, is not the focus of this adventurous excursion, for even though it houses most of our perception it cannot be said that the "self" rests wholly in the brain. Thus, we are comparing the idea of a "self" to the term "mind". The "mind" is the part of you that makes you who you are; the inexplicable sense of "me" versus "everything else" that cannot be located by pointing to a diagram of a brain. This is the area in which your true self resides. Which brings us promptly to the point: where is the "you" in you?

Endowed with five senses, and the five ways we receive these senses, the typical being will define the limits of themselves as compared to his or her surroundings based on what we can see, smell, taste, touch, and hear. Using these senses, and what information the brain receives from these senses, helps us better understand our position in the universe. Thus, typically, a general statement can be made that because of our senses, we define who we are. But where in our senses is the "self"? The ancient Egyptians believed that the ears served the functions we now know the brain to serve. But we know that just because we hear, doesn't mean the "self" is in our ears. Nor because we see is our "self" in the eyes, nor mouth, and so on. So what does this say of our sensory organs and the brain, or "hub", which merely receives, perceives, and conceives the data fed to it by the senses? It is believed, by many, that all of these are completely void of a "self".

One accepted theory is that the data we receive from our senses and categorize with our brain isn't actually helping to define who we are, instead it actually works against us, creating a false illusion of a self amidst the torrent of things that are in the universe. It makes perfect sense, day in and day out we perform countless tasks that could be viewed as desperate attempts to confirm our "individual identity" to ourselves and to others. We talk endlessly wanting our "voice" to be heard. We crave the attention and company of others so we may feel safe in a system of "like" and "unalike", the categorizing of others as compared to you seems a vague attempt to confirm that we are unique to a certain point, but not unique enough to be the only one. Take the very act of "blogging" and such social networks as Myspace, Twitter, and Facebook. Here is the electronic means in which we can constantly remind others that we exist and we are important. (The conundrum of this very blog itself acting as one such confirmation can prove to be a real headache)

So if our "mind" or "self" is not in our brain and not in our senses, then where is it? A strange and elusive truth might be that because our body, with it's "ideas", "senses" and "feelings" is altogether void of a locatable "self" (just as the objects, people, spaces, and places around us do not house a "self"), then perhaps our self is something greater, or smaller, than our bodies and the world they inhabit. Perhaps the self that I call "me" is the same as the self you call "you" sense we, like our surroundings, are all made up of this same emptiness, or lack of self.

Calling it a mind, a self, a soul, or God, is concurrent with every civilization in history. It seems a universally accepted idea that there is something inside us that makes us different and that science cannot account for. The beautiful thing is that the universal emptiness of which I previously spoke is what makes us all different. For we only know who or what we are in relation to someone, or something else. So we name it, we believe it, we live it, and try really hard to forget that we are all the same, that we, like everything in creation, are all one.

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Wednesday, February 4, 2009

The Factory

Here's what I'm currently working on:

*Recording various pieces to be used in projects for Mongrel Studios (including our new web series which will be debuting soon)

*Still in early stages on putting together a "cover" album to be recorded under the Mongrel Studios name and released for free. (Covers that I'm thinking about recording include tracks from The Zombies, The Postal Service, and Regina Spektor)

*Searching for a topic for my next "Mongrel Digs" entry. (Any suggestions?)

*Rehearsing and arranging additional musicians to join me for live shows. (We've practiced!)

*Acting in another Mongrel short. (The details of which are so mysterious even I don't know all of them!)

*Getting back into the swing of booking shows. (I took some time off and now I have to whore myself again.)

*Struggling to keep my immortal soul from falling into the hands of evil. (It's a living.)

So don't come at me with this "You never do anything with your life" bullshit, I do plenty and it takes a constant stream of weird craziness to not lose my sense of self in this onslaught of "Things-to-be" madness.

OK,
QA

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Monday, February 2, 2009

A drop of water drips from the back of my faucet; a clear insect darting on the surface of everything. My nose drips. The world commands and my body responds. I envy those who are sane enough to not call themselves artists. Creating is the worst thing you can do with your life. To create is to assume that what you've given life to will learn to stand on it's own in the eyes of others. But nothing I create will ever mean as much as what I put into it.

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Thursday, January 29, 2009

Inertia

Here are some scratches on a piece of paper I found that I wrote in the dark days:

"Sleepless nights and unaccomplished days. Is inertia enough? How long can we keep this up? Something slumbers in the desert, it shifts dunes of sand in it's sleep. I dream and I create but the lives I weave are transparent, they've yet to flesh themselves into existence. Each place I call home is more taxed then the last. At this rate I'll be paying for every breath in a matter of months. It's dark in my corner. Too dark to remember what I've learned. I unlearn each day. Empty then fill. There's a cloud over this place, invisible to the naked eye. The cloud houses something awful, something with long tentacle-like arms with oppressive strength. The tentacles shoot out from the sky and press on your chest, just atop the sternum. The pressing hold that pins you in your place. And keeps you there. Don't struggle, accept mediocrity and the inevitable routine of a short, droll existence. What a strange time to be a part of. No one seems to care enough to better the times, the lives, the world."

I don't remember what was going on when I wrote this but I can still feel the remnants of that force. It is very clear here that I am talking about the world of my immediate surroundings. These feelings are what spurred my decision to leave California and I know now that I made the right choice. "I once was lost but now I'm found."

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Sunday, January 25, 2009

...makes the heart go wander

Such vicious little beasts we are. What a vile breed mankind truly is. What other way could it possibly be though? We are pocked with ugliness to give us that special flavor. Take substance for example. Not the material concept of substance, like something of weight, but rather the intoxicating mix of chemicals and compounds that fuel our wildest dreams and haunt our gloomiest nights. I try to resist the primal urges to dowse myself in any and all mind
altering/inhibiting/expanding/connecting/blowing substances but I find the alternative so boring. Why is life so typically droll? Whose idea was it to make all the harmful elements the most fun to enjoy?

Alcohol is the devil with the nicest labels and advertising you've ever seen. How many times have we told ourselves that we're done, we've had enough, time to put the cork on it for good? But it's never for good is it. It never is for me. I believe that we've spent so much of our early life trying to fit in to this little mold thats been cut out for us. The mold is a tight fit and we have to stuff all our being into it to make the people who monitor us happy. After twenty-odd years of that we will find any excuse to force an uncontrollable craziness upon ourselves. That's the beauty of substance. We get to experience insanity and guess what? It only lasts 1-17 hours depending on what you take. What a beautiful thing. Some of the most colorful moments of my life have been fueled by an absolute disregard for sanity. Usually backed up by a strong soaking of liquor or a pleasant sampling of drugs. That's the beauty and the horror of it. It sure is a fun ride...but it's one of the hardest rides to get off. To stay away from. No matter how bad it gets, how scary, it never outweighs the good times, the crazy trips, the hysterical laughter. Am I right?

Such vicious little beasts we are. What a vile breed mankind truly is.

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Saturday, January 24, 2009

It's in the title

It's about time I set a few things straight, really get down and dirty and told you what this blog is all about. I have no interest in what celebrities are doing. This is not a blog about my private life. This is a blog commentating on the sick and wondrous possibilities and lives of the people around me both directly and indirectly. This is pure Horatio Alger. Gonzo-blogging, if you will. This is where the freaks will come to see where they fall in line. This is a blog about the edge. It will be sick, twisted, off-put, awkward, and amazing. All at once. This is the beginning of the end. The ugly little page where I pour out the inky smut that spews out of the nether-most regions of my brain. Enjoy.

-Q

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