Reporting to Houston: Communication Systems are a Down.

A savvy lady once told me that writing is therapeutic... I suppose none of us are short on that.

....................................................................................When does solitude become treasonous? 

If my solitude were to solidify any further, I would find myself petrified.
       To be alone..
It is instinctive for me to rationalize that, if 'it' is true for me, then it must be so for any other, if not, all others. Is it possible for a species to feel alone?

There's been so many times I've heard, "The World is more connected now than ever!" that, it sounds mundane; as if it's something I have been hearing my whole life.

"...Oh, are we now?"

But what is it we connect ourselves to? Is there a face behind that monitor? Or have we become voiceless lyricists typing our minds away within this cyber-saturated epoch? Does the facebook "like", or the response post which took 10 seconds to conceive and deliver hold any significance? From my experience with online media I would say it does. Yet, if anything, that is a most honest testament for what it means to be alone--when even the most superficial forms of contact can hold value. 

So then, is this it? The Great Independence my country has promised me? What does such a freedom afford us? And what happens if that independence were to be found unsatisfactory? Does it mean that I--the beholder to the sentiment--am a brat, or, am simply under-utilized? For, if there truly exists a line to separate independence from isolation, I have yet to encounter it. What is it about individuality that we should find so worth cherishing? Is there something about us as individuals that makes us more than just that? Granted, I am unique, though, then again.. we are all unique. But un-unique to all of us is mortality. So however fascinating our lives may be, life itself is exclusive to the immediate impacts we impose. And, hardly difficult to believe, there are cases when the impacts pertaining to living individuals are of greater benefit when they go un-enacted. And whether better off or not without those individuals, the world will go on anyways. 

Perhaps the question is not so much 'why we are different?' than it is, 'how can we be different?' It seems, that, in the most fundamental aspects we truly cannot be. Because, beyond the column of cash they may find themselves perched; beneath the crown of corruption they have been adorned, resides a fool whose flesh  will   rot    just    like      mine.

According to Christopher Nolan, victories, when long endured, may conceal the state of defeat near fruition. Why then, should the victorious sensation not discover me during my day of defeat?

final history paper

Havel, the Hammer. Admittedly, all things un-English, un-American, have the tendency to evaporate from my memory upon their touch to my ear—names, terms, you name it. But the words, Vaclav Havel, prove the exception. That alphabetic arrangement is ingrained with permanency; as if chiseled unto my cranium by the work of a mallet. Although a championing cry against the “auto-totalitarian” contraption, his poetry on the dysfunctional order of ideology is in itself, a concept of totality. It is all encompassing. It is omnipotent. The truth within “The Power of the Powerless” however, is deliverable with only so heavy a hand to be, not that of the dictator, but of God. The extent to this is such, that to believe in Havel’s professing is to be bludgeoned by its proof.  

            There are two ways I could answer the question provided. The first would be, to actually answer it—that is, to give a research based response which fits the expected requirements. In this approach I would refer to cases of “kitsch” which convey the seize of popular cultural art, notably western music styles, that Soviet Union officials then propagated through feigned mediums such as the state sponsored jazz/rock bands—which nobody, not even the officials themselves, really liked. I could also reveal how the “second society” forged itself by its relation to the so called official society. To achieve this, defectors of the communist doctrine became enveloped in underground cultures, where the outlawed distribution of Beatles records, guitar instruments, trending articles of garment, and other related contraband could be discovered and appreciated via black market networks. But, if everybody always wrote four pages of what was to be expected, life would admittedly, be boring.

            What I would prefer to do is just speak my mind…which, is always an entertaining enterprise. For three years now, Havel’s essay has been the itinerary for my life. My first perusing of his piece led to unprecedented consequences. I recall it as something of an awakening of delirium; the fruition in recognition to the walls around me which once appeared so durable, condense and concrete, were really nothing but paper mache provisions—so deceptive in their demeanor. The world now became fragile; and with it, so did I. I took the next three semesters off. I used my quarantine to bleach away my dispositions. The system Havel describes took on the image of a colossal arachnid reigning from above, and so the natural resolution was to bury myself underground. Where Havel witnessed that creature create a shadow-society, I was conscripted to a shadow-self. It took three semesters to finally crawl from my tomb. My resurrection was impelled by vengeance. Indeed, the skeleton makes for a great soldier, for they have nothing neither to fear nor lose.  

Challenge Check in 3

After my sophomore year, I took three semesters off from school. I stayed with my parents in Tampa during that. Having duly accrued amateur recording/production equipment, and with unabated support from my Father, we set out to create a demo(ish) disc of original tunes. 

It took a year and a half to finalize the project. It was our first time ever trying to produce something at that level--hence, a good amount of trial and error was involved. But the delay also owed to my lack of ability; and performing most of the melodic instruments, I had immense difficulty, and setback in executing adequate takes. Additionally, all of the songs were written when I was 16-17 years of age; and so, readdressing them at 19-20, it seemed necessary to revise the lyrics for a more refined audience (though, there are still hints of juvenile nuance). Yet, aside the lyrics, the other alterations made for the accompaniment resulted in something more of a transformation to the overall song set. (One day, when a more official webpage is set up, I'd like to display the prior versions from my high school years--which are near awful--with those made during recent times, to show their progression.) 

That task though, was in all ways an invaluable experience. I learned the degree of talent required to perform not only at a professional level, but at a satisfactory one as well. Listening to yourself is like constantly looking in the mirror; a mirror that hides no defects, and remorphs your very image at every temperament. I learned that self-criticism can escalate beyond self-infliction, and mount to a chronic self-defeat. It can always be better. I learned that, despite that being true, it is more dire to simply move on. I learned that the studio is not a stage (i.e. a point) the musician must proceed through. It is an end in itself. The studio is the songwriter's instrument--absolutely. I learned that the recording is the piece, the song, and that the performance is just the interpretation. 

During this point in my past, I recognized my future. I received the reigns to direct its precipitation. Since then, the ambitions of my Father and I, and the capabilities of our gear alike have progressed. Where I go from here is the underground. The studio we have forged since then is our Batcave, as much as it is our headquarters, from where our worldly vengeance will commence. Look for our signal. You'll know it when you see it. 

Extra Credit Blog: Emblem

Here, I present to you the emblem of my representation: The Void

At first glance, it may appear to be an empty blank, but in reality, it is just a lightest of shade emitted from the darkest of substance. Something of a facade, misguiding its observer. It is bare, as it is nothing.

A nobody.

Devoid of any identifiable properties. It is a canvas which waits to be marked upon. And because the white hew conceals its nature, it is alone, forever to remain unrealized.

You see, the light-particles (photons), upon coming into contact with the item, immediately bounce right off. None stick; as if believing they are better off on their own trajectory. The Void however, does not believe itself to be better off without the photonic accompaniment. This is inferrable by the ironic outcome of its color, which incidentally, is conducive for inviting other colors. Yet, all that awaits it, all the reply to its proposal, is deception. It remains empty. An empty blank to which imagination can endeavor unabated and infinitely.


Harry Houdini died on the same day of the year that I was born. If there's anything his spirit transferred over to mine, it is knowing how to disappear.

Community Legislation (Blog 4)

Alright folks. Let me tell you about a form of local legislation that recently, has not only constrained my behavior, but my literal lifestyle. For those of you still living in dorms, take especial heed to what I'm about to say. View at your own discretion.

Okay, so the place I lived at for the majority of my college career--whose name I won't mention (though I don't know why... I really should... But I guess I'm just nice like that)--is run by an administration of fucking Nazis. For the sake of convenience, I'll just refer to these folks as, "the Regime". So, reason 1) why they are Nazis: the population hosted by the Regime is, as I've witnessed it, largely regulated to maintain a certain "quota" of "client-types". By this I mean, a good 80% of the residents are student females, and about 80% of that group is either blonde/fair haired, or simply, slender. Now, at first I perceived this to be a good thing; it certainly couldn't hurt my chances, right? But after a while, I noticed the kind of effects that this 'demographically exclusive' culture had on its community.

Let me go ahead and give you an example. So there I was, about to fall asleep like a typical diurnal creature, when all of a sudden, I get a midnight call. The caller was someone I had met through a sublease--they were a small, non-white female. She had called me on the basis that, as she was getting ready to leave the office study, she noticed a handful of 'fellas' suspiciously "chillin'" outside the office in their vehicle. I did not need to ask to already know what about them she thought was so suspicious. Yet, she told me anyways... in her own way: "that they did not look like the 'type' that lived in this neighborhood." On one hand, I could have acted gentlemanly, escorted her through the dubious loiterers to her place, and surely, proven myself a hero of the night! Instead, I told her she would be fine and returned to my slumber. (Oh, she still owes me $200 btw. Forgetful bigot.)

Reason 2) The Regime implements a yearly purge to meet their quotas. It's called: Not renewing your lease--an annual event where they get to treat you like assholes. On these occasions, the administrators unmercifully oust everyone they deem unfit to go live out on the streets. This year it happened to be me. I assume that as a dark-haired-not-woman man, I simply didn't meet the standards of their quota. I don't know what I will do without a bed, or a room, toilet or kitchen. Indeed, there are enough squirrels on campus to provide adequate sustenance... but it is the nightly mosquito raids that really worry me.

And speaking of raids, reason 3) is that the Regime conduct their operations like the damn Gestapo. I have seen them in action. Persecuting my upstairs roommate who--was an asshole! and thought that for some reason, it would be ok to start cleaning up for the move out at 1 am last night; costing me over an hour of sleep and a serious seretonin depletion by vacuuming the entire upstairs (and stairs) like a vampire crak-head; and who--had done a shitty job of paying his bills on time as well as returning his calls from the Regime about the matter. Consequently, I heard a pounding on the door; I opened it to find a couple of petite punishers charge in to stamp a letter of condemnation against his door. They moved like shadows in the night. So swift, so stealth. Truly a scary experience.

The point is, that I have been made the victim of an unjust purge simply because I was not born a dumb blonde. Fucking fascists.

Proposal Essay Possibilities

Problem: Modern day economic growth, dependent on mass-production and consumer culture, is enslaving societies to consumerist ideology; perpetuating hierarchies of wealth (i.e. material and social inequality); depleting the world of its natural (and often irreplacable) resources; and creating irreversible damage to global ecosystems and wildlife.

(A) Practical/Policy Solution: This form of resolution would require one of two things:
        1) The advance of federal authorities in confiscating key industries from corporate ownership--reappropriating the distribution of fundamental goods/services to assure the coverage of destitute communities (medicines, communication media, food, shelter)--while also reconfiguring the methods of manufacturing (aka away from designed obsolescence) to reduce waste and energy consumption.

or     2) To establish a popular activist front demanding a higher level of philanthropic qualification from elite proprietors, in the face of populous preparation for the dejection of consumerist obligations, which would radically endanger corporate operations.


(B) Research Solution: Research for this measure would revolve around alternative forms of economic exchange. Works from theoreticians may be compiled, trial-studies put in place in small communities, and analyses performed which seek the efficacy of neo-economies. Such models might include the speculation of a pluralist society, in where a socialist apparatus is implemented to address confines of poverty while a 'free market' derivative resides above to regulate and sustain a more liberal output and range of products.


(C) Media Solution: This, I would like to have more fun with... I would like to make a film, a blockbuster, centered on a tight coalition of filmmakers whose residence in Los Angeles has guided them to disillusionment with consumer culture and against political hierarchy--both of which they consider expressions of corruption. Determined to antagonize the existing regime and its capitalist pillars, they devise to kidnap and execute a string of wanton big-business elites and their political affiliates. They decide however, to film the vigilante enterprise. They intentionally tip off local investigators, initiating a suspense-filled manhunt; all the while, using their studio as headquarters, production equiptment for communication, costumes for disguise, cameras to capture candid footage of their own as well as their victims' crimes, and their sharp wits to eliminate any remnants of evidence from their activities. Still proving elusive to law enforcement, despite the investigators' suspicions, they market their upcoming film as the summer's next hottest crime thriller. Making sure to cover up their tracks, the film crew edits out the identities of their victims and pulls through in producing a kick-ass flick whose plot is exactly what I've just described. The movie's theatre release is attended by the detectives. They realize the contents of the film, but are left reveling in their rage knowing their prosecution had failed to avail.

Yup... Warm up the popcorn and get ready to give this motherfucker a two thumbs up!

challenge check in 2

To: Whom it may concern, notably Professor Beaudrie

From: Hector Fontanet

Date: July 27, 2014

Subject: Challenge Update



I am pleased to report that the completion of my Challenge is complete. I have uploaded links to the original music productions below. Enjoy! (or don't...)



https://soundcloud.com/hector-alexander/broken-1


https://soundcloud.com/hector-alexander/04-ghosts