Discussion

The Age of Innocence

/ Damean Mathews, Author / 2 Comments

As another school year is slowly winding to a close, life moves back into the familiar mode of Summer (and yes, that’s Summer the holiday, not just summer the season). One of the good things about being a teacher, of course, is that we also get to enjoy some of the freedoms we can all remember from our youths – and it is a highly coveted thing. Even now I can remember the way things altered as the school year wound to a close. After all, as a kid, that’s the way life is split for you, typically. School and not school. Summer and not Summer. Play and not play. It’s just a fact of life.

The thing many of us never wanted to think about, though, is what happens when that separation is over. What life is going to look like when Summer just becomes summer, when time changes from being a split between school and not school. Apart from the days when we rested in the satisfaction of having that dichotomy we have only the nostalgia of looking back at “the good old days.” That’s where I find myself today, lunch block slowly slipping away minute by sleepy minute. I’m not alone in today’s reminiscence, though.

Outside my classroom windows there is a small lawn where the younger children in another section of our school have recently been going out to play on warmer days. Today they are out en masse, and my classroom and I have found ourselves immersed in watching their antics. From my students, between the ages of 14 and 17, myself in my mid-30s, and my school’s SSC who is older than me, we have all been drawn into their games.

Sun shining on the bright green lawn, clouds passing over just enough to provide a break for the eyes, if not the skin, the children who have been granted their momentary pre-noon freedom engaged in activities ranging from dodgeball, one-armed baseball, tag, sidewalk drawing, and their own games that seemed to combine some combination of all the above. It was just as amusing, for me, to observe the way we all reacted to their spectacle. We laughed when one of them got a win, or took a rolling tumble to avoid getting hit with the ball. Arms shot up in victory, while none of them showed the standard and dreaded playground separation tactics that plague older students. It was, in the words of our SSC, innocence.

It’s no secret that I do teach at-risk kids, that I myself could have been considered an at-risk kid based on my mother’s income and my status as a child of a single parent household. So when these students, whom many stereotypically assume are troubled and trouble-making, are taking the time to bond and enjoy life while living simultaneously through the playground games of others, it says a lot. Students, who sometimes have to live their lives on guard for themselves and their loved ones for fear of injury or worse, sitting in a classroom and talking amongst themselves while reflecting on the times they had in those playground settings truly puts things in perspective.

I see it as a highly important and therapeutic activity, in all honesty. The fact this allowed students who have to build walls in order to keep themselves safe to drop those barriers and look back on times of innocence means a lot to me as a teacher and a nostalgic person. Most, if not all, of my students know my room is a safe space anyway, and this secured that even more. I take pride in my efforts to meet my students where they are coming from in an intellectual, educational, and social-emotional standpoint. I ask them how they are doing, and they know that is not just a nicety. Seeing the way the games of others put a smile on all of our faces today, it really made me think that humanity as a whole is truly striving for the freedom of a child. The unspent innocence so many take for granted without even realizing they are doing so.

When we were children we couldn’t have imagined the way our lives would alter by the time we left school. That long-distant future was as unreal to us as waking up one day with no sun in the sky. Teaching high school seniors for four years has allowed me to see that change first-hand with others, and it’s impressive how well some handle it. Some students rise to the occasion with plans and schemes galore and provide themselves with failsafes to protect them in the event life gives them a turn for the worse. Others… Others slip on the cap and gown and venture out into the final great Summer with little more than hopes and dreams in their reserves to get them through.

Regardless of the way we approached the end of those playground days, the truth of life comes into play in just how much we allow ourselves the freedom to observe and enjoy the innocence of youth. Wherever life has taken us, it is important to remember those days of fun. The bonds of youth, of innocent life, of going outside and truly just enjoying being alive, are something none of should ever forget. The blessed simplicity of just living for the moment, not having to concern ourselves with what bills need to be paid, what stresses await us when we look through the checkbook or get back home, the idea that we are all just able to enjoy spending time with our friends or even alone is truly something to savor.

I know it isn’t always easy, but I recommend taking a moment to do just observe the life of youth. Enjoy a moment of watching children play without judgement, look at animals lounging in the sun, watch a river flow, anything that pulls you out of the stresses of life. We all deserve a moment to remember how good life should be. That’s the truth of our situations in the world. We have, most of us, forgotten that life is supposed to be enjoyable. It shouldn’t be competition and anger, stress and work, bills and class status. It should just… be. But until that’s something we can make happen, the next best thing might be to just relax. And, hey, while we’re at it, why not find a playground that’s empty and have some fun of our own?

Coming to Terms

/ Damean Mathews, Author / Leave a comment

I went to the visitation service for my biological father last night. I’m not at all sure what I expected to happen there, but it was certainly not the way things went. Or maybe it was.

For those of you who don’t know, I was raised in a single parent household because my father made his own choices. Those choices did not involve me. Through the years I have made an abundance of attempts to reach out to him and create some sort of relationship, against the advice and better judgement of pretty much everyone around me. For a little while at one point it worked. When I was 12 I convinced my mother to take me to his adoptive parents house and ask about him. This resulted in his nephew taking us directly to his house and we began forming what I hoped would be a real friendship, if nothing else.

It may have lasted a year. During that time we went to a few movies, ate a couple of meals. he bought me an action figure or two and I paid for at least one of those movies with saved allowance. Of course, toward the end of this period of time as we were driving him back to his home he asked to stop at a convenience store and borrowed money from me for a beer. I probably should have known.

Not long after that the contact stopped. Again, his choice, not mine. He stopped answering calls and letters. Faded into the distance again with no explanation or excuses.

For five years I didn’t know if he was alive or dead until we received a letter from the state that he had been summoned to court for back child support. The state’s choice. Not ours. So, at the age of 17, I convinced my mother to go with me to the courthouse and see if he showed. Surprisingly he did. He was told to pay, said he would, walked out the door with barely a glance in my direction, but I followed. I shouted for him and watched as he thought about walking on and getting in the car as if he hadn’t heard me.

But he stopped. He turned around and came back with his shark-toothed grin and made me feel like he was happy to see me. More empty promises of future contact, blank apologies for a lack of communication, and we went our separate ways.

I never heard from him again.

For nearly 18 years I went without a single word from him. Nearly as long without any word about him, save the mention of him given by his brother after the man found me online. I could have had a child of my own in that time, and watched them grow to be the age I had been the last time I laid eyes on the man who contributed to my DNA. I know damn well I would have treated that child a lot better than I had ever been treated.

Several times during those 18 years I attempted contact again, including one shameful time when I went to his house and knocked on his door. As I looked at the window I saw him looking back out at me before the woman he lived with opened the door and told me he wasn’t there.

I told myself that was it. I had done more than enough. But, it didn’t stop me from sending some last ditch letters. Or from making a phone call after my grandmother passed. A phone call that asked me to leave a message on a voicemail that had his name on it. I told him I wanted nothing from him, no money, no goods, I just wanted to speak to him. Even once.

I won’t even pretend I was surprised when the call wasn’t returned. Or that the next time I tried the number it had been disconnected/my number was blocked.

That time it really was over. I stopped trying. I won’t pretend I hadn’t thought about trying again, but I hadn’t. I had no clue if the man was alive or dead, if he had other children, if he thought about me. I knew nothing. Until I got the message last week that he was actually dead.

If you haven’t lost a parent, I’m glad. It has been something of a whirlwind for me, and nothing like the standard I’m sure. In talking to friends who have reached out, I do realize how many of us have a non-standard (read non-glamorous, non-Hollywood, non-cookie-cutter) relationship with our parents, so I definitely know many of you will know what I mean. A parent who has been nothing but a repeated disappointment, who you truly had no relationship with despite your best efforts, suddenly passing, is still quite a shock.

As I said, I went to the service last night. A more than two hour drive from where I work and nearly the same back to my house. To say I was nervous is an understatement. I have always hated funeral homes and hospitals, and this made that even worse. But I went. I’ve asked myself why it was important that I do so, and others have wondered the same, and I think the full truth is exactly what I said from the start. This is the only time I have had full control over the way this relationship ended. I never got to say my goodbyes. I never got to be the one to really choose how things would progress, or whether they would progress.

Sure, I had decided to stop trying to reach out, but that was really tantamount to deciding to stop pounding a closed door and let my bloodied knuckles heal. It was already sealed. I merely gave in to the choice of others. No, this time I was the one who had the final say. So I went to the service. It took a while to work up the gumption to walk in, but I did it. Amanda and I were 2 of the 7 people there for the man who had isolated himself from his flesh and blood. I will never be able to thank her enough for putting herself through that for me, for supporting me in what she knew was a lost cause. Having her by my side was the only thing that kept me from losing my grip, as it so often is.

When I went to the casket he looked so different from the man I remember, the man who I have maybe three pictures of, that I was worried we were in the wrong chapel. But it was him. His mother was there. My grandmother. Whom I hadn’t seen in probably 25 or more years. She had to subtly walk to the sign-in book to see if I was who she thought I was, but she came up to me and spoke. Told me she knew the effort I had put in, but chalked it up with the true Appalachian “you know how he was.”

No, ma’am. I do not know how he was. He made sure of that. You all made sure of that. I know next to nothing about the man. Even the things my own mother can tell me about the father of her child is little more than three decade old facts. How much of that changed? How much different was the stranger in that box who made sure I never had a chance to know any version of him from the 22 year old she had once cared for? I have no idea. And, given the likelihood those who have chosen not to reach out in the past will continue on that trend, I may never know.

Not once did my grandmother ask about me, my life, my wellbeing. Would it matter to her? No. Just shrugging off the way her son had behaved the same way he shrugged off his own child. I can’t pretend I’m not upset by it all, but I finally am at a point where I can truly say I did everything I possibly could. I will be able to go to sleep tonight and every night knowing I never closed the door on my father, though I likely should have. At the end of the day I was able to say goodbye on my own terms, something that feels as close to satisfaction regarding the matter that I may ever get.

Confusion and Grief

/ Damean Mathews, Author / 3 Comments

Last night, I found out my biological father died this week. No way to sugarcoat that information, really. I hadn’t spoken to the man in nearly 18 years, not for lack of trying. I sought him out time and time again, wanting to have a relationship with him, no matter how small it was. I put myself out there and gave it my all to try and be a son to a man who didn’t want to be my father. I’ve never gotten to share my accomplishments, my sadnesses, my truths, and myself with the man whose DNA I share. I might never have even known he was gone because of these decisions on his part.

I am forever grateful to the cousin who made sure I knew, also. A lifetime of potential memories gone. A lifetime spent wondering why I wasn’t good enough, if there was something wrong with me, if I would ever even know why he wanted nothing to do with me. Now I guess I will never know the answers.

I think that is the strangest part of the whole thing for me. I have thought about going to the last place I knew he lived and seeking him out, or pushing harder to find the relatives on that side of the family that are still alive (which, according to his obituary – in which my name is not even correct, I might add – is nearly everyone except his father), but ultimately have chosen against it. For the last few years, I honestly didn’t even know if he was still alive, with Covid running rampant as it did. Until his brother found me on Facebook last year and at least confirmed that much for me, that is.

Even until I got the obituary and saw the face of the man I barely remember looking back at me, some part of me said my cousin must be mistaken. But there it was. The first line in the obituary read that he died with his daughter by his side. A daughter I’ve never met. Not a biological sibling, I know now, but nonetheless, someone who mattered enough to him for him to raise. To stick by. To live for. Someone I never even knew existed. Did she know about me?

Did he ever mention me? Could she hold the answers to why she got a father figure out of him and I never did? Do I even want to ask?

Those questions and more have been flooding my mind for the last 16 or so hours, and I am no closer to deciding if they are even worth asking. I have a whole side of my family whom I know nothing about. My father’s obituary said he loved God, loved to cook, was a great dad. Two out three ain’t bad… we have those in common at least. Is there anything else we share?

There is a service for Scotty Wayne Osbourne on Monday. A time for those who knew him to grieve him, to say goodbye to him, to pay their respects for a man they now have to build a life without. Do I fit that mold? I know next to nothing about him. I only know life without him in it. But I’ve never gotten to say goodbye. I never knew I would have to. Until it was too late. Just like this time.

Childhood Love

/ Damean Mathews, Author / Leave a comment

Describe an item you were incredibly attached to as a youth. What became of it?

The biggest thing that comes to mind here is the stuffed Bugs Bunny I had as a kid. I’m not sure when I got it, but it was legitimately my favorite thing in the world. I always have and always will love Bugs Bunny, and this little guy went everywhere with me. The store, vacations,  libraries. Everywhere. I recall the various stages of “well-loved” he went through. From hearty and whole, to slowly becoming more threadbare, holes in his body, the wire that held his ears up starting to poke through the fabric. Unfortunately, I do not know what became of him, but I do know I would do a lot of sketchy stuff to have another one. I’ve seen some that are on eBay and online elsewhere, but they don’t look like mine. He would have been released probably between 1990 and 1995 if anyone has any clues on where to find one… what about you guys? What was your favorite childhood thing?

Stephen King’s Rage

/ Damean Mathews, Author / Leave a comment

As a lifelong fan of Stephen King, it is my mission to read everything the man has published, naturally. I’ve been on that track for quite a while, but the main book that has eluded me for much of that time is the one book King himself doesn’t want the world to experience. Given today’s climate and the subject of the book itself I had been understanding of that idea, since he is (some would say ironically) a huge supporter of human rights and simply being a good person. I still have not been able to purchase a copy of this book for myself, but I did get my hands on a copy so I could finally read the forbidden tale, and I have to say…. I think the world deserves to read it.

Woah, a teacher not wanting to see a book that, at it’s base description, is about a school shooting taken off the shelf? Polarizing, right? Keep in mind, also, that I am an author and a literature lover who has an extreme hatred of censorship as a whole, but kind of. Like I said, at its base description, Rage is about a school shooting. More specifically, about the shooter himself. But there is so much more to it than that.

Charlie Decker reacts to life the way he has, in part, because he has been consistently let down and crapped on by everyone he is supposed to be able to rely on. Being a teacher at two different alternative education centers I have seen this phenomenon more than I ever thought possible in such a small community. More often than not kids are being let down by everyone they know. They are being abused, disrespected, and not being given the love and guidance that is a parent’s obligation. Which is exactly what Charlie Decker dealt with.

While Decker did have his moments of abuse and neglect, he was also very obviously suffering from not only the social pressures of being a teenager, but I heartily believe he was suffering from mental illness as well. Charlie kills two teachers in the school a couple of weeks after striking another with a wrench, causing him considerable damage. There is no doubt he was a school shooter, and before the term was used in conventional conversation. His crimes, however, were small in comparison to even some of the smallest of real world attacks in this country. So how does that influence, or even potentially motivate others to take up the gun? During the late 80’s and 90’s there were multiple students who acted on feelings of anger and hatred and performed atrocious acts of school violence that were either openly attributed to the reading of King’s book or associated with it through mere familiarity.

I can completely understand being an author who has to deal with that and having to make the difficult decision to pull your work because of it. I fully support King’s decision to remove his book based on the idea that it was harmful to others, if only because it was associated with those who made poor decisions based on their own hurt. One of the bigger things in the book that I noticed, however, was the deeper meaning I associated with it. That, of course, is one of my favorite things about literature. We can all read the same words, but they speak to us all differently. The individual interpretation of works of art can not only be different from person to person, but one person going back to a familiar work might resonate with it differently based on maturity and changes of life and attitude. I can’t honestly say what I would have thought of Rage if I had read it ten or even 20 years years ago, but I do know that now it speaks to me in a very specific way.

The book itself, to me, is not just about the fact that Charlie comes into the school with a gun and uses it. It is about the fact that he poses no real threat to his classmates. He sits down and speaks to them. What’s more – they listen. Each and every student in that room understands Charlie – save one, of course. Decker is a boy who has been dealt a crappy hand, and he doesn’t make great choices. But he is real. He is relatable. Once he sits down and really levels with his classmates many of them open back up in the same way. We learn that all of their lives are not only connected, but that many of them have judged or been judged by their peers based on public or personal opinion. Several of them discuss their own hardships and come to understand Charlie’s point of view and why he has done what he has done. If they can’t agree with his decision to shoot their teachers they can at least see that he has enough hardship in life that it has taken him through avenues that are not totally unfamiliar to them.

I think that is the most important thing to look at for this book. These students bonded with the shooter in their midst because each and every one of them have been through some of the same horrible situations. It goes to show that everyone in the book itself is an example of how we can all react differently to any stimulus. That, in my opinion, is the real genius of the book. King presented us with a story that, yes, can be taken as offensive due to Charlie’s actions. But what book can’t? King has been through an extensive list of people, creatures, dimensions, and aliens intelligences that have massacred people in enough ways to supply the writers of even Game of Thrones with some new ideas, and we still return to his work. Because he gets it. He’s real. he gives us the honest truth about the world and the crappy humans that inhabit it.

Like I said, I respect his decision to want Rage off the shelves. No creator wants to think of their work contributing in any way to something and horrendous as an act of domestic terrorism and violence. But the strength and openness in the book are among the best pieces of helpful literature I’ve seen in a long time. As a review, I have to say that I highly recommend the book. Charlie Decker is to the world of the misunderstood and abused what Holden Caulfield is to the disenfranchised youth of the world. Any student familiar with the feelings of anger and neglect associated with an abusive, addicted, or absent parental figure can gain some real insight on how not to act based on Charlie’s tale. Until the world, this country in particular, comes to the realization that violence is not the solution to their problems, I think books like Rage both do and do not have a place in popular culture. Think of it like Schrodinger’s cat. A kid who never opens that book might still walk into the school with a gun and do horrible things. But the student who reads the book and truly makes an effort to understand it may have a chance to think about his or her actions a little longer. They could see the results of Charlie’s ordeal and understand they just have to hold on a little longer, just power through for a little more time. It could be the difference in another act of violence, or a true act of peace and restraint based on knowledge.

“Peace sells, but who’s buyin’?” -Megadeth

A Nefarious Encounter

/ Damean Mathews, Author / Leave a comment

I recently got to sit down and watch the movie “Nefarious” for the first time. I’ve had it on my radar for a while and, as a fan of Sean Patrick Flanery, I knew I had to watch it. Now, like I’ve said approximately 8.2 million times before, I am traditionally not a fan of possession films, so I was a little wary of that going in. I knew, of course, the basic premise – that one of the main characters of the film claims to be a demon possessing a host body – but I risked it. And, boy am I glad I did. Talk about a thinker. In order for me to really discuss this movie the way I want to, I’m going to have to go ahead and say there may well be spoilers here, so if you haven’t watched the movie, go ahead and consider giving it a watch before reading on!

From the start, I was invested in the film and the subtle psychological tweaks the demon Nefariamus is able to make to the everyday life of those he uses. Just seeing that soft opening of the doctor adjusting his license before leaving his office and then seeing him go past the window… It honestly took me a second to make sure I saw what I thought I did. That really kind of set me up for the rest of the film. I had to know what was going on from there.

The basic premise of the movie, before I go on, is that a psychiatrist is called in to assess the mental status of a man awaiting the death penalty. The doctor has a handful of hours to talk with accused serial killer Edward Brady and determine if he is sane enough to be executed by the state. Simple enough, right? Well sure, until the inmate in question begins the conversation by saying he is actually a demon possessing Brady’s body (and the kicker from there is that he WANTS to be executed). From there the film takes several twists and turns and pushes the audience through countless instances of turmoil while we see Brady being mentally and emotionally put through the ringer – but is it really because of a demon, or is it a severe case of Dissociative Identity Disorder? That’s the thing to figure out.

Flanery’s acting skills are among the top in my opinion, and this role was one of the best of his I’ve seen. The facial tics and the manner of speaking he gives to both Nefarious and to Brady are awesome. I’m sure it’s not exactly easy to play multiple characters in the same frame, to literally code switch to a completely different personality and mannerism within the span of a few seconds, but he did it flawlessly.

The very nature of the movie was so back and forth and uncertain at times I felt like I was not only watching an amazing performance on film, but that Brady himself may well have been casting that charm over the good doctor as well. To say Brady/Nefarious was the best case of an unreliable narrator I’ve seen in a long time is an understatement. Returning to Flanery’s acting for a moment, though, I have rarely felt legitimately bad for a character like this before. The sometimes subtle, sometimes egregious things Brady goes through lend a lot of credibility to the idea that he is actually possessed – but also that the alternate identity within him could just show such an extreme hatred for the original identity that it would torture itself just to make him feel that same pain. Flanery’s portrayal of a man on the literal verge of mental and emotional break is something everyone needs to see, though. I would honestly put this movie on a list of films aspiring actors should watch in order to learn the craft and hone their emotions on camera/stage.

While a bit spoiler heavy, I won’t completely divulge the ending here. You’ll have to tune in for that (the movie is currently on Tubi and Peacock) and make your own conclusions. I do have to say, though, I came through the movie viewing from the perspective of a believer and a religious mindset and came to one conclusion. After speaking with a friend of mine who is of a different mindset I realized the multitude of interpretations one can come to here. Like I have said before, I am not one for possession films, but part of the genius of this movie is that you really have to pay attention and decide for yourself if that is even what’s happening here.

Because I am a completist at heart, once I realized the book that is mentioned in the movie is actually where the idea came from, I had to read it. The book, A Nefarious Plot, is a fairly fast read, and it can be fairly eye opening. The point of the book is to expose the horrible things humans, particularly Americans, do to one another and to humanity in general, especially from a religious point of view. It is written as though being a manuscript from the demon Nefarious and portends to explain basically how screwed up humans are and how far from God America has fallen. It is, for lack of a better term, religious propaganda, but I can also see the benefit of someone with a non-religious or alternately religious mindset reading it as well. It really does make you think about how crappy people can be to one another, regardless of politics or religion as a whole.

Anyway, if you can’t tell, I highly recommend at least watching the movie Nefarious. It will seriously put you through a mental ringer. Sean Patrick Flanery – you are amazing. No other way to put it. If you have watched the movie or if you decide to watch it based on my recommendation I would LOVE to know what you think. Be sure to comment and let me know!

A Legend Passes

/ Damean Mathews, Author / Leave a comment

*This image is not my property or my design. All credit goes to the originator.*

Today is a hard day for nerds the world over, to be certain. Last night we got the news that the one and only James Earl Jones passed into the great beyond. It took me a bit to really process that information. This man has made impressions on so many humans across the span of the last 9 decades it’s not even possible to fathom. Looking back over my own life, there are fingerprints of his influence in every single stage of my development as a human, a nerd, an educator, and more. Jones has done so many phenomenal things, and lent his voice to two of the greatest characters in cinematic history. In this instance I’m talking not only about Darth Vader, but also the mighty king Mufasa.

I can remember from the earliest days of my childhood being wildly obsessed with the Lion King. I had posters, books, toys, a birthday cake, an entire dish set (out of which I still have the bowl) and even cassette tapes of the soundtrack – complete with James Earl Jones voice tracks. To this day I am still wildly in love with the story and message behind this film, not in small part because of the power James Earl Jones instilled through his performance.

To mention the Lion King, I also have to mention The Sandlot. Although his part was small it was still huge. Portraying a figure of startling demeanor but admirable kindness, James Earl Jones yet again was a huge part of my life in this film. Being one of my comfort films growing up, I couldn’t count the times I watched this movie alongside my mother and even my grandmother.

There is no way to ever quantify, in all of the ways I can possibly discuss it, just how much Star Wars means to me, though. I knew of the films and of Jones’s voice in the part of Lord Vader long before I watched the movies, but my first encounter with the films was in 7th grade. I had an art teacher who let me borrow her anniversary edition VHS tapes and I huddled up in my room that weekend and devoured them. Never had I seen anything so visually and mentally stunning. References that I had heard (some of which I knew already) made sense. The culture, the worlds, the LIFE inside of this universe awakened me to even bigger fandoms and more nerdy tendencies than I had ever envisioned. Keep in mind, by this time I was already obsessed with both Wolverine and Spiderman as well as The Lord of the Rings, but this was a presence like nothing I could remember.

Hearing James Earl Jones as Darth Vader, striking down the rebel forces and throwing his weight around with the force was nothing short of astounding. Granted, I know the figure inside that cloak was David Prowse, and I wouldn’t dream of taking the magnitude of that away from him, but the voice of Vader is the thing that has always made me mesmerized by the character. As someone who loves music and sounds, the baritone rumble of that powerful Sith remains to this day one of the most thrilling things to hear throughout these films for me.

I know, of course, that Jones has an abundance of other works, including one amazing film where he and Robert Duvall are half-brothers trying to make peace after a sudden death, the three I’ve mentioned are the ones where he will always live for me. I have Darth Vader figures, games, shirts, memorabilia and more, and there is nothing that will ever scream Star Wars to me as much as Darth Vader (coming out just a hair ahead of Chewy and Yoda, naturally). The world took a huge hit when we lost our Princess in 2016, but now we have also lost our deviant father. Even the Jedi mourned the loss of Vader, and I have no qualms about admitting how much it hurts to know that voice will never speak fresh words on this earth again.

To nerds everywhere, I encourage you to be openly obsessive about the things that bring you joy. Embrace the characters that make you happy. Don’t ever be ashamed of that. I’ve always loved being a nerd, and now I am more proud of that than ever. Today is a day of mourning for us all, so I say to remember the words of Mufasa and always “remember who you are.” Let us raise our lightsabers today in honor of one who paved the way for so many of us and who will NEVER be forgotten. Rest in Peace, James Earl Jones.

MAY THE FORCE BE WITH YOU. ALWAYS.

Thursday Morning Thoughts

/ Damean Mathews, Author / Leave a comment

You know, this is a good question, and not one we usually answer with the full extent of honesty. As a form of greeting, it’s so easy to ask or be asked “how are you?” and get or give the standard “good, and you?” in today’s world. But how often are our feelings so simple? We are humans with complex thoughts, complex emotions, complex lives. Can that really be summed up with a simple “good?” Not at all. To be brutally honest, that’s one of the reasons students in school right now often face such a struggle with their own emotions. They have been trained, if not forthright, then at least through observation, that emotions and thoughts should be simple to categorize and explain away. So, when they start feeling actual emotions and realize how BIG they are, it freaks them out. They have no clue how to accept the fact that everyone else can simply be “good” all the time, while they feel like entire universes worth of emotion are swirling through their every waking thought.

At some point we have to ask ourselves as both a society and a species if this “how are you” routine is more helpful or harmful. Do any of us ever actually look at someone who asks that question and say “you know, I’m having a really bad day. I’m feeling a lot of things right now and I could stand to talk it out?” Almost never. The question really has become more rhetorical and continues to move in that direction the longer we ask it with such simplicity. More often than not people ask this as a simple greeting, not expecting anything other than that standard “good,” or better yet, the sarcastic “living the dream.” It has become a social call and response that merely acts to show us that we have noticed and acknowledged one another, so now let us go on about our day without any further or deeper interaction thanks. Altering society’s problems with accepting and teaching emotions and social emotional positivity is not something that can be fixed overnight, of course, but I think we could go a long way toward repairing those broken bridges if we take the time to actually ask each other how we are – and both expect and give real, honest answers. We can’t always just be “good.” Some days we might be sleepy, maybe we’re hungry, maybe we got behind a slow driver and we’re late for work and we need a minute to vent and complain. Maybe we got some really good news on the way to work and we want to take a minute to rejoice in it. Who knows. The point is, this is a very pregnant question. If any of us care to ask and answer it honestly, that is.

But anyway, I’m good today. How are you?

Daily writing prompt
How are you feeling right now?
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Who Do You Need?

/ Damean Mathews, Author / Leave a comment

Greetings and happy 2024, everyone! It has been a bit since I’ve been able to buckle myself to the keyboard and hash out a nice post to greet you all with. Partly, of course, that is due to my grad school work, and a lot of it is to do with my own mental health and just general level of business. This year, however, has started strong, and great things are coming. I declare it.

The important message on my mind today, which has been there for several days, comes from the mind of Wil Wheaton. While I was working on my thesis prep last week, I decided to tune into an episode of The Friendship Onion rather than music, and happened upon the episode with Wil as a guest. Of course, the whole episode was a lovely nerd fest that made my nerdy heart happy, but toward the end Wil said something that honestly floored me. He talked on and off about the trauma in his life and what it led him to, and Dominic Monaghan eventually thanked him for being such a passionate and enthusiastic human. Wil’s response:

“I work, on purpose, to be the person I need most in the world.”

That quote blew me away. I try to live my life with an understanding that there are billions of people on this ball of rock, and everyone’s life is different. I’m generally a good, happy guy, and I live by rule number one, which is essentially; Don’t be a Dick. Simple, understandable, easy to do. There is absolutely no reason to walk into the world and treat anyone negatively. I get that we all have bad days, but frankly, that’s no excuse to be a jerk. Everyone you encounter is living a life that is so similar, yet so uniquely different from your own, that there is no reason to bring them down.

Wil’s assertion that he makes a conscious decision to be a good, enthusiastic, big person brings me so much joy and so much thought, because it opened an entirely new world of possibilities to me. Life is literally a series of choices, decisions, and actions all based on the things going on in your own head. From the moment you wake up in the morning you have the ultimate power to be the human who can make all the positive difference in someone else’s life. That is the message that holds the most power to me. From the second your eyes open in the morning, the power of choice is with you, and your presence in the world is so heavily influenced by your internal understanding of that. You can choose to walk out into the world and be a positive and uplifting person, or you can bring negativity and anger into the world.

Frankly, the fact that there are people in the world who make the choice to bring others down with their negative garbage is one of the worst things I have ever had to understand. Granted, I have been in a negative mindset before, and I’m sure there have been days where I have not been a positive force for someone out there. For that, I am endlessly apologetic. Looking into my life from a new perspective with the real reminder that we all have the power to make the world a better place makes a big difference to me. Like Wheaton said, we each should work on purpose to be the type of person we need in the world.

Coming from a background that does contain trauma, with a life that has been touched and affected by depression and anxiety, I can tell you first hand that the way people around you act and behave toward you does have a very heavy effect on your mindset. Think about that, guys. Approaching someone, especially a stranger, knowing little to nothing about what they are already going through, but hitting them with anger and negativity is a harsh and irresponsible action like no other. Why should anyone feel like they have to right to bring someone else down? Should we, as a species, not feel like we have a responsibility to make the world a better place? Should we not make an active effort to help and bring our fellow man up, not tear them down?

That is the challenge I want to issue to everyone today. From the moment you wake up in the morning, think about the way you are going to approach the world. Think very presently and thoroughly about the type of person you want to be in the world. Do you really want to be responsible for making someone else’s life worse? If you do, then allow me to be the first to publicly tell you that you suck. Truly. You deserve to stub your pinky toe every single time you walk for the rest of your life. Just endless pinky toe pain. I lay that curse on you now.

But really, everyone, think about it. It’s a true and honest life-changer. Just be intentional. We all know there are bad days, and there are good days, but the thing that really needs to be considered is just how much good you can spread in spite of that. I’m not saying be fake. Don’t get me wrong. All I am saying is that we have the chance to make sure our own bad days do not make anyone else’s worse. If we can make the real decision to help make sure someone else does not have a bad day just because we are having one, just think about the difference that can make. For that matter, think about the kind of power we have to influence positivity on a good day!

In essence, friends, just be a good human. It is all about making conscious decisions to not harm others, whether that be physical or mental, and bringing more happiness into the world than we take away from it. What are your thoughts on that? Can you think of a time when you made a conscious decision to bring positivity into the world, despite having a bad day? Or maybe a time when you did the opposite? Feel free to share those thoughts and experiences. In the meantime, keep up with your creative endeavors and follow me on social media to stay up to date on mine. I am working to build my events list for the year, and I have a few lined up already, so head over to my event page to check them out. I look forward to interacting with everyone!

The art of Art the Clown

/ Damean Mathews, Author / Leave a comment

Greetings, everyone! Hopefully November and the holiday season are treating everyone well. I have been immersing myself in some awesome nerdy celebrations, and horror films and the like. It has been quite a time. Most recently I have delved into the bloody tales of Art the Clown and his murderous antics, i.e. the Terrifier franchise.

I watched the first (technically second/third) Art film, Terrifier, a few years ago and enjoyed the character and his story. The silent antics of the killer clown, a horror trope that may honestly be slightly overdone, have been riding in the annals of my mind. Of course, Art’s complete silence, even in the face of pain and violence, set him apart from the other clowns in popular cinema. Art, to me, is more a mime turned rogue than a joke-loving clown, but either way his violent streak makes for quite an on screen tale. Once the sequel was announced, Art began to circulate more in the realms of nerddome that I frequent, so I knew I had to see it. I fulfilled that goal a few nights ago and have spent the days since ruminating on Art and the incredible, if lacking, story that he weaves.

We know nothing about Art’s history, his motives, his mindset, or his goals. In a similar motivation to the shark in Jaws, Art simply sees and kills. Throughout the two movies dedicated solely to Art and his mysterious journey through the night of All Hallows Eve we see him lock onto a female who is surrounded by friends and family, then he proceeds to destroy the entire group in increasingly creative, brutal and (let’s face it) moderately hilarious ways.

With Terrifier 2 the supernatural element comes into play in awesome ways, with an added dichotomy of good vs. evil, Heaven vs. Hell – if you’ve watched the movie you know what scenes I’m talking about. They were some of my favorites, honestly. I feel like this film truly captured the essence of deliciously evil and demented heartsick that is Art himself.

Needless to say, with my near obsession with Stephen King, my natural love of IT, and my own terrifying experience with a porcelain clown (check out this episode of my podcast to learn about that: https://anchor.fm/damean-mathews/episodes/Paranormal-Experiences-Part-2-e1pbdbp ) I am very drawn to the character of Art as a crazed horror output. Acting as a sort of anti-Pennywise, the mostly colorless and completely silent Art the clown paints a bland face on the idea of murder, but his creativity in acts of torture and slaughter bring about an interesting new spin on the clown story.

Art’s added Freddy Krueger-esque concept in this film brings about some new dimensions to his depravity, as do his new friend. Frankly, this film is an around B-movie delight, with an added element of modern gore. Personally, I don’t find the gore to be much higher the 80’s slashers like Hellraiser, but some people have apparently found it brutally harmful to their own wellbeing. Reports of people fainting and vomiting during screenings have circulated widely since the cinematic release. Granted, the same reports are released about most new horror films studios are trying to put good traction on, not to mention films like The Exorcist, which have been implanted in our minds as being truly horrifying since their release.

All that being said, I can definitely say if you are a fan of modern horror with something of an 80’s slasher twist, this movie may well be right up your alley. Art the clown is a villain that I truly enjoy and look forward to seeing more from. With the recent success of the film, Art will almost certainly be returning for another horrifying Halloween night. Writer/director Damien Leone has said he is interested in creating a trilogy, or even four solid movies filled with Art’s deliciously sadistic antics, so I’ll be keeping my eyes open for plenty more from the silent killer. Before I forget to mention it, I also want to make sure everyone watches through the credits. There is a long, intense, star-studded mid-credits scene that I absolutely loved.

Regardless of your preference on clowns, body horror, grossout cinema, or slashers in general, I say you might as well give Art a shot. Check out the films in the Terrifier franchise and see what this weird, deformed, angry villain is all about. After all, what’s life without a little fear? Let me know what you think about the films and the character, and keep your eyes open for more reviews!!

Photo credit obviously goes to the creators of the film. Art the Clown and the Terrifier franchise are in no way my own, and I hold no rights to the image used for the over photo.