Welcome.

Good day/night, and thank you for stopping by — even if only by accident and pure dumb luck.

It is my hope to provide you with quality short fiction pieces, as well as the occasional think-piece. While I struggle through the days in an attempt to hone my craft, I want to provide folks with free stories aimed at dulling the pain of having too much spare time. With any luck, I will not leave you feeling as though said time — however yawning or brief — was wasted.

Enjoy!

Changes Are Coming

Good day!

It has been too long since last I updated this site, and for that I am truly sorry. After finding myself gainfully employed once more, and after taking on a few exciting projects, time seemed to have escaped me. Alas, some semblance of calm has re-emerged, and I am excited to announce that I will be updating my blog at a regular basis within the coming months — but not without some changes.

In light of the seeming popularity of my thesis on Charlie Kaufman’s Synecdoche, New York, I have decided to make film analysis a more prominent feature. My aim is to tackle films that I feel speak to me in a significant way, but I may also pepper in reviews/analyses of some current and “more fun” fair as well.

I will still be posting short fiction pieces whenever I finish one I feel is competent enough to share with you all. The last thing I want to do is waste your time.

I will no longer be posting poetry, as I have finally come to terms with the fact that I don’t quite have a gift for it. This could always change, of course, but only if I write a piece that deserves to be read. As of now, however, this will no longer be a regular feature.

Thank you so much for bearing with me, and for allowing me to share my passion with you. I may not be lighting the world ablaze with my creative output as of yet, but what small readership I can manage means the absolute world to me. For contributing to that readership, I impart my most sincere, undying gratitude.

 

All the best,

Jordan Siron

Exploring Charlie Kaufman’s “Synecdoche, New York”: A Philosophical Analysis

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PREFACE

“There are too many ideas and things and people. Too many directions to go. I was starting to believe the reason it matters to care passionately about something, is that it whittles the world down to a more manageable size.”

— Susan Orleans, Adaptation (written by Charlie Kaufman)

I’ve wrestled near-tirelessly with this analysis, as Synecdoche, New York is a unique beast. Standard film analysis won’t do, and far more capable minds have already broken down the film’s narrative, thematic, and technical components. This left me a little lost.

Should I discuss the film’s merits on a technical level? Should I address themes and how they are tackled via visual and narrative motifs? How much backstory should I present, or withhold? Should I focus on the unique structure of the film, which plays with our concept of time and how it is perceived as we age?

At the end of the day, I decided to throw my hands in the air and declare, “Fuck it!” What interests me most about the film — what I feel really makes it one of the most important films of modern cinema — is the philosophy at its core. After all, the conceit behind Synecdoche, New York is what endears the film to me over any other. It is as good a subject for analysis as any of the myriad options at my disposal.

I take for granted that you have seen the film prior to reading this. As such, I will not be providing a synopsis. I will be referring to characters as events as if you are already familiar with them. Should you have stumbled upon this and have yet to see the film, you can buy it via iTunes, Amazon.com, and elsewhere. Hell, you can probably torrent it.

I would also like to take a moment to send a shoutout to Mick over at Being Charlie Kaufman for sharing this piece with his audience. I love the site, and it means a lot to me. I cannot thank you enough! Any one looking for a wealth of information on Charlie Kaufman and his work, BCK is your best bet. It’s a veritable treasure trove.

Continue reading

Walkabout

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It began as a penal colony. No. That is not entirely accurate. As far as the history books were concerned, it began as a penal colony. It was an isolated mass of land where criminals could be put out of sight, and thereby out of the minds of those who had been wronged by their acts. In truth, it had existed long before the pragmatists devised a purpose for it.

Like all continents, it had already served as a home for many. In an effort to bring justice to the land, unjust men laid waste to the native inhabitants. Blood had been spilled onto sandy soil where little of value might grow. These rational minds — progressive thinkers and planners for their time — sought to sow seeds that would bare fruits of ill fortune. Strange, then, that such a blossom of staggering beauty had managed to grow from all of that pain and suffering. Continue reading

Purple Hearts and Pancakes

I can’t take back what I dun. Iffin’ you’d ask me whether I’d do things differently had I to do ’em again, I’d tell you what I told the judge:

“No, sir; don’t reckon I would.”

I stand by that. Take away a man’s money an’ his station, comes down to him only havin’ his word. Some fellers — myself included of course — our word is all we ever had. We hold it tight. Just might save our souls iffin’ it don’t save our reputations. Continue reading

Black as The Hudson

In the dark of night, things take on a different look to ’em. Streets you frequent throughout your day all but upend on ya, and the next thing ya know you’re in a whole other neighborhood. Christ, maybe even a whole other town. Assuming a fella walks that far. I’ve known a few who have, and not a one of ’em has ever come back. Continue reading

Broken Crown

Amandine,

This atmosphere is… it strains me, to put it most mildly. At night they crack the door open and stand guard at all times, and the ceiling lights from the hall breach the tranquil black of my eyelids. They are dim, yes, but just bright enough to be a bother. I’d liken it to trying to sleep while a television plays in the background, and you well know how impossible a task that is for me. Continue reading

And We Will Compose A Symphony

It was a dream, and nothing more. My mind has been running laps while I try to call upon slumber, and by the time I awaken in the morning it is as though I have not slept at all. I’m used to not feeling rested, which does not make peace of my condition. No. In fact it worsens it. But last night…

Sleep found me quite readily, but it had come with such expediency I had no idea the reality through which I stumbled was a dream — a play put on by the troupe of my imagination which has cut its teeth on many pondered thoughts and aching desires over the years. What a performance it was. Continue reading

I Dreamt of Home

I dreamt of blacktop rivers that swept me away to destinations unknown
The currant driven by crowds that welcomed and ignored me all at once
To be a small fish in a sea as vast as the time that escaped me
Trading my sweat and tears for a voucher that bought me one more day
The minutes of which I would spend as I saw fit
— Not searching for a dollar to spend like the rest of them
But a moment of peace with the jutting rocks and sprawling greens
Of Central Park Continue reading