http://www.overclock.net/blogs/pow3rtr1p/ An overclocking forum devoted to maximizing the performance of graphics cards, CPUs, motherboards, RAM and everything else found inside your computer case. en Tue, 24 Nov 2009 19:54:10 GMT vBulletin 1 http://static.overclock.net/images/oc/misc/rss.jpg http://www.overclock.net/blogs/pow3rtr1p/ http://www.overclock.net/blogs/pow3rtr1p/1131-expulsion-reformation-all-stuff.html Fri, 15 May 2009 16:34:15 GMT So, I used to smoke pot. I don't know if I can talk about that here, but I did. I smoked a lot at school, pretty much every day, and I eventually got caught.

I go to a Christian school. Please don't make this a religion thing, but just know that I do. A few guys in an apartment farther down the street got busted with some crap, so they instituted random room searches. So, I started keeping my stuff in my car. It was safer there. Then, the brakes went out in my car, so I had to take it into the shop. Obviously, I couldn't leave it in my car. Well, during the 3 days it was in the shop, my room got searched, and I got busted. I got kicked out for the semester.

That's a large part of the reason I haven't been frequenting this site for the last few months. I moved home for a while until I could find a job and get back into school. I haven't played a game since then, really, aside from a little Street Fighter 4. It's also the reason I haven't had the money to upgrade more, so I haven't been keeping up on the latest stuff.

Now, I've been clean nearly 3 months. I got accepted back to school, and got my job back. Life is looking up. So, I'm back. Not that anyone particularly missed me, but now I am here yet again. Hopefully I can avoid doing more unnecessary upgrade until I really get back into gaming, but who knows. You guys always manage to suck me back in.

So, to summarize, don't do drugs. It's illegal, and the consequences suck. Even if you don't consider it morally wrong, that doesn't mean the rest of the world won't take a dump on you if you get caught. So, just to be safe, it's best to at the very least avoid making a habit of drug use. Being completely clean is obviously the best course of action, but if nothing else, recreational use is far less likely to have life-altering consequences, like my use did.

End of morality speech.

I look forward to contributing to the community again, and look forward to learning more and more all the time.

Patrick ]]> pow3rtr1p http://www.overclock.net/blogs/pow3rtr1p/1131-expulsion-reformation-all-stuff.html http://www.overclock.net/blogs/pow3rtr1p/534-ruiner-lit-riffs-part-2-killing.html Thu, 22 May 2008 05:25:12 GMT OK, even though there are currently no comments on part 1, I find it necessary to post part 2... So, here it is.

Video (Best I could Find): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RSAi5nhWfMw
Lyrics:
To lose my words in this smoke filled room,
If there's a way out, I'm gonna find out.
As it burns my black eyes red.

Repress this.
My only regret: this memory.
So we can convince them that this is all we are.
Watch the martyrs when they face the ghosts.
Shake hands as the waste surrounds you.

Killing it will only make it stronger.
Killing it will only help it box you in.
Killing it will only make you lose your way.

Shot down the last witness.
Committed to finish, this is the beginning I can't miss.
The ****ing looks those people gave us.
No ****ing bullets can erase this.

Repress this.
My only regret: this memory.
So we can convince them that this is all we are.
Watch the martyrs when they face the ghosts.
Shake hands as the waste surrounds you.

Killing it will only make it stronger.
Killing it will only help it box you in.
Killing it will only make you lose your way.



And now, the Lit Riff:

As Ryan walked into his apartment, smoke poured out of the doorway. He saw his possessions, everything he considered to be truly his, in flames. He had no idea what to do, or to say, so he said the only thing that came immediately to mind.

“****.”

How had this happened? He took a couple steps inside the door, grabbed his old notebook, his guitar (which had already been charred) and then pulled the fire alarm and just stood there. How had everything gone so wrong so fast? One minute, he contemplates suicide. The next minute, he changes his mind, and finds all of his possessions gone. Sometimes, life handed you ****, and there was no lemonade to be had in that sort of situation. His eyes burned from the smoke, and they started to water. Then, next thing he knew, he was crying. He hadn’t cried in years.

And like an idiot, he began to read through his old notebook, right there in the doorway of his burning apartment. All of the good songs, he had ignored, because it wasn’t what Jessica liked to listen to. All of the songs he had written for her, they brought back the memories he had tried so hard to forget. He found that while she had liked some of the songs, those were the songs he wished he could take back. I was pissed off at himself for ever even writing them.

Sarah was running down the hallway, yelling about something. He turned around, and saw those green eyes he knew so well. The fire in his apartment just kind of went away.

Why couldn’t people believe him? He tried so hard to convince everyone that they were just friends for now, but apparently others could see in his eyes how he really felt. They always tried to tell him what to do with his life, how to deal with Jessica, how to get Sarah to admit she liked him. They always had such wonderful hindsight on his past, like he didn’t. He could see just as well as they could how bad he had ****ed up, and how he could avoid doing it again. He didn’t need their help.

“What the hell are you doing, Ryan? The building is on fire!” Sarah screamed, as she grabbed his hand and pulled him away. As she did so, the door frame collapsed around him, and the notebook was knocked from his hand, going up in flames instantly. He looked back for one more fleeting glance at his home, and saw the box. That box full of everything that reminded him of Jessica, blazing like a campfire in the middle of his living room.

He ran with he, but found his thoughts were still with the box. Sure, now all of the memories of her were gone, but he just kept thinking about her. Perhaps even more, now that he had nothing to remember her by. Well, nothing physical, anyway. Now, the memories were flooding his mind even stronger than they had before. He felt like, now that he had lost everything about her, that he almost owed something to Jessica. He almost felt obligated to go back to her, to explain everything, but the thought of crawling back sickened him. He felt lost. Not only did he not have Jessica, but he had nothing to remember her by, and felt like he had nowhere to turn.

But as he thought about it, it was a bit like it had never happened, now. He had lost that last reminder, and with it, he had a new opportunity to start over. Maybe he could just act like Jessica was just a dream. A ****ed up, 3 year long nightmare that he finally woke up from. He was ready for that to be over, and was even more ready to start all over again. Maybe it would be with Sarah, maybe not. But he had finally gone and killed that last reminder. He realized that he didn’t even have to be the one to do the deed, and it was finally dead.

As they walked out into the alley behind his building, with her still clutching his hand, he looked around and saw that they were getting some fairly odd looks from the people who had congregated to watch the display. He didn’t care, though. As they looked up at his window, he found that she still hadn’t let go, and he didn’t want her to, either. ]]> pow3rtr1p http://www.overclock.net/blogs/pow3rtr1p/534-ruiner-lit-riffs-part-2-killing.html http://www.overclock.net/blogs/pow3rtr1p/528-ruiner-lit-riffs-part-1-king.html Tue, 20 May 2008 17:05:52 GMT OK, not sure if anyone has ever heard of a Lit Riff. Pretty much, you take the lyrics and meaning of a song you like, and you make it into a short story. Well, I am attempting to make an entire series of Lit Riffs on one of my favorite albums of all time, A Wilhelm Scream's "Ruiner" album. To give you an idea of what I'm working with, in each installment, I will post a link to the song (either a Youtube video or an audio clip somewhere), a link to the lyrics, and then post my Lit Riff on that song. So, here is the first song off of the album, entitled "The King is Dead":

The Song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HSoWS...eature=related
The Lyrics:
The knife or the rope or the lemon, this brain and I.
The sight of the drop got me off the roof.
Hey, the garage looks cleaner when you look at it sideways, from high.

To finally admit we are born alone
And that your only one's got an only one of their own.
We'll get the right sun block for the nice explosions.
Oh, the king is dead.

To absolve the joy from me is to erase what made me a slave.
I'm a king to be.
I traded my life for art and the guilt is weighing down my arms.

Tell me again what a monster is, give me the words to describe.
Can you tell me what the use of endorphins is when my city dies at night?
Take away the sentence of house arrest and watch me ruin it right.
Put me in the back of an ambulance cause my city dies tonight.

I see the levity of every meeting of the minds.
I lie to myself.
It's my right to do.
I'm separated like an elevator door for privacy from my eyes.

To finally admit we are born alone
And that your only one's got another robot to take the throne.
Heartless of the world deny the king is dead.
****, the king is dead.
Heartless with your burning eyes.
The king is dead.
****, the king is dead.

To wade through the virus of your lies is to cheat it through.
Death is only in my eyes.
And the sinking feeling came over me and it said, "never again, never again".
The king is dead.
Tell me again what a monster is cause my city dies tonight.



And here is my Lit Riff on that song:

Ryan stood on the roof of his apartment building. He couldn’t find it within himself to tie that noose around his neck, and slitting his wrists just seemed so contrived. The bottle of alcohol fell from his hand, and he slumped over against the low wall surrounding the roof. He glanced over the edge, and nearly threw up. It wasn’t from the alcohol in his system, he was just deathly afraid of heights. He leaned his head sideways and looked across the alley into the parking garage, to see that his car looked nicer. Perhaps it was the angle, or the lighting fell on it differently, but it just didn’t seem like that bad of a car anymore.

As he turned around to go back downstairs, he finally realized why he felt like this. It was one of those moments where everyone kind of wants to die. He realized he was born alone, and he would more than likely die that way, too. It didn’t help that Jessica had been cheating on him all this time, but he decided he’d rather be alone than lied to.

The only reason he stayed with her is that veiled attempt at happiness the world threw at him when he was with her. He wasn’t actually happy, but something about her, something about every time they had sex, made him feel like he was supposed to be happy, and so he was. Or, at least he acted like it. She was the reason he had given up his entire life to music, and now, he realized he had done it for all the wrong reasons. He didn’t love the music he played; he just wrote what he thought she had wanted to hear. Now, he felt like it was almost a disgrace to the art.

Every time they had spoken, it had meant very little. No deep conversation, all they ever did was shoot the ****. He always told himself that was because they didn’t need to talk about deep philosophical issues, but he knew in his heart that was horse ****. As he got in the elevator to go down to his floor, he realized that he separated himself from the world, much like these elevator doors separated him from the rest of the building. He had shut himself in this little box for a long time, and as the doors opened on his floor, he came to the decision that he needed to open himself up, too.

That little piece of him that had felt so important, felt like he was the center of not only his universe, but everyone else’s, that part of him was gone. Maybe he was the only one that saw that he had killed that part of himself, but it was better than trying to decipher all the lies. All the lies she told him, and all the lies he told the world. It just wasn’t worth the effort any more.

And as he opened the door to his apartment he said, “Never again… never again.”







Please let me know what you think of it. All constructive criticism is welcome. Thanks for reading :thumb: ]]> pow3rtr1p http://www.overclock.net/blogs/pow3rtr1p/528-ruiner-lit-riffs-part-1-king.html http://www.overclock.net/blogs/pow3rtr1p/513-my-first-blog-post-my-life.html Sat, 17 May 2008 02:27:28 GMT So, who knows how many people will actually read this, but oh well. I just kind of want to vent about life in general right now, and this is a better place than any. Myspace and Facebook are a bit too public, and most of those people know me personally. I have, for one reason or another, been an... So, who knows how many people will actually read this, but oh well. I just kind of want to vent about life in general right now, and this is a better place than any. Myspace and Facebook are a bit too public, and most of those people know me personally.

I have, for one reason or another, been an underachiever ever since high school started. Up until high school, I got straight A's in every class with little to no effort. In high school, even though my grades dropped, I continued with the little to no effort model of learning. Thus, I went through high school with a GPA in the high 2s. I also ended up with a 30 on my ACTs. Now, I am in college, and still maintaining the no effort model. The thing is, a lot of things come very naturally easy for me, yet for one reason or another, I refuse to put that tiny bit of effort forward to go from a B-C student to an A-B student.

So, one has to wonder, am I underachieving on purpose? Perhaps. Maybe I'm afraid of success, thinking that if I do well, people will expect me to do well all of the time, and if I never do well, people don't expect much of me, and then I pleasently surprise them when I put real effort forward.

I find that music comes very easily to me. Almost all instruments come fairly naturally to me, and I am able to pass my music classes with minimal practice, usually a few minutes right before a test. So, why do I settle for mediocrity and minimal effort, instead of marginal effort, and perhap excellence?

I have no damn clue... ]]> pow3rtr1p http://www.overclock.net/blogs/pow3rtr1p/513-my-first-blog-post-my-life.html