This website has no other purpose than to display Chris Barclay's apparent lack of writing talent.

Recent Events of Self-Sabotage and Redemption

Recent Events of Self-Sabotage and Redemption

“In the mechanized world of today, he moves about like the inhabitant of another planet, gazing with a look of bewilderment at a nightmare reality”
— Columbia Daily Spectator, Volume CVII, Number 104, 26 April 1963

Imagine for an instant, a juggler. This juggler juggles balloons filled with just an amount of helium to where the balloon still falls to the earth, but at a very , very slow pace. The juggler finds this balloon incredibly easy to juggle, and finds more balloons to juggle in order to better her juggling ability, and create a more interesting dynamic for her to expend time upon. She keeps on adding balloons, each balloon added more interesting than the last. At last, she finds herself with so many balloons. So, so many balloons. This juggler is trying to keep track of an inordinate amount of balloons, and, although she doesn't necessarily have to sprint to get the balloons, she finds herself sprinting nonetheless, because she has forgotten the feeling of standing still, juggling one balloon at a time. The balloons have ceased their interesting characteristics. She measures balloons the way that a politician balances rhetoric; that is, with a fine, calculated precision which embodies the appearance of composition, having it "together." And then, she prepares for the big act. This is the act that will get her into, idk, the most incredible circus imaginable. And she loves this act, she really does, because it's a wholesome act and it demonstrates her individual dedication and fascination with each balloon. The act provides a space for the exploration of physics and material aberration, the beautiful mystery of the balloon in itself. And 3/4ths through rehearsing her act, the balloons all pop at the same time, and she sits there for a minute, dumfounded as fuck, and then rolls around on the floor for a while looking up at the ceiling, and then she calls a friend and plays some video games and watches some videos of cats, and watches interviews with her favorite jugglers and musicians. And then the balloons reappear all at once after Thanksgiving break, and this time they weigh more, they have less helium, and the juggler still doesn't have to sprint, and she doesn't, and none of the balloons have hit the floor but she knows they will if she doesn't get her head out of the clouds. She finds it hard to muster up the willpower to chase after a balloon, because if she performs the act perfectly, then maybe the circus will take her in, and she'll have much harder balloons to juggle, and they're on fire now, and she doesn't want to fail out of the circus.

My theatre company is taking on a collaborative artistic endeavor: all of the arts are coming together for one performance. That means Dance Ensemble, Acting, Tech, Band/Strings/Chorus, Visual Arts, etc. We are all working on the same stage. This, of course, has prompted much anxiety from the individual arts. As for me, I remain positively optimistic about the production. So optimistic so that I feel awkward describing to my friends how optimistic I am. The production is about the concept of Home. The Home production falls on exam week, and the week after that is another exam week, but done differently, and we (seniors) have to have all our college essays in by that time (December 15th.)

"And but anyways," Thanksgiving break was not a break. It was an extended vacation, and I let all of my balloons deflate. When I started this article, I felt the balloons deflate, and I worked through the anxiety to allow them not to fall. The balloons are still up in the air.

Over Thanksgiving break, I self-sabotaged myself. I played World of Warcraft with a group of friends, and completely forgot about school, Home, college-work, and—interestingly—everything meaningful. This came as a surprise to me. I remember discussing Home at Thanksgiving, and embodying an odd cynicism about it. Perhaps I just don't know how to act in front of my family. On the last day of break, I watched the movie An Oversimplification of Her Beauty. I was reminded of my life outside of vacation. In a moment of clairvoyance I understood that I hate vacations. 

An Oversimplification of Her Beauty reminds me of myself in 10th grade, and 11th grade, and now. In (almost) every review I could find, the main character is described as the word "quixotic." This is the premise:

AN OVERSIMPLIFICATION OF HER BEAUTY utilizes a mix of live action and animation to tell the story of a relationship between Terence and a lovely young woman as it teeters between the platonic and romantic.

After viewing this movie, I came to the following realizations:

  1. I have not seen many films described as "art cinema"
  2. Art cinema is really cool

 The opening to the movie is unlike any I've ever seen. It is artistic and compelling.

It has been a week and a half since I was supposed to publish this article. The following things have happened:

  1. I have completed my Precalculus Exam, my APES Exam, my Psychology Exam, and my Latin 5 Exam; managing to study 4 hours for each whilst....
  2. I have worked all week rehearsing the Home production (~3-4 hours afterschool)
  3. I have revised and spent all night after the Home production revising my Paradise Lost essay
  4. I have met with college advisors, etc., and turned in all of my college work
  5. Many smaller homework assignments

I have not kept up with publishing these articles, although I have been working on articles this entire time. I recently watched an analysis of "Fight Club" that talked about how the entire thing was symbolic of how materialism dehumanizes people, and makes people feel weak, identity-less. I stayed up 4 hours yesterday finishing revisions for a class to an article I wrote 5 months ago for a class. I'm in the midst of a project with so many graded guidelines that I'm struggling to take away any meaning or passion from it—I'm guessing that that result was unintended by the teacher, and there's no blame involved anywhere. I've been struggling to take away any meaning or passion from anything with too many guidelines: school, writing, the drama of the written assignment and the math retest.

If I were feeling better I would describe my new theory on space-time and how it relates to the subject of narrative structure.

Since I need to publish this article, it being over-overdue, I'll add the "Snow Picture 2017," which I alone prompted after running around school asking people if they heard about the mysterious photo shoot allegedly happening at the beginning of lunch in front of my high school's columns.

In the next article I might ellaborate on the narrative structure thing, how it fits in with the Kendrick Lamar album DAMN., my analysis of my 10th grade playlist, and the psychomechanics of my character in my highschool's collaborative winter performance Home.


Use of the word "Wholesome"

Use of the word "Wholesome"

Ozymandias vs. God vs. the Author

Ozymandias vs. God vs. the Author