Victor J Perez III
Thoughts, opinions, and stories
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For as long as I can remember, I’ve found the smell of cigarettes comforting. In the far reaches of my memory are scenes of my grandfather’s kitchen, where I sat waiting for him while he was out on the porch. The door opens as someone enters the house, and I catch the ethereal scent of cigarette smoke as the door quickly closes behind them. I don’t have a particularly close connection to my grandfather, or even his house for that matter. Nonetheless, any time I notice the smell, it brings a wave of comfort and pleasant feelings.
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There isn’t enough room in this fucking town. Too many cars on the road, too many people in the streets. Too many bad landlords and musty clubs. Too many deadbeat townies and entitled students. Everyone has an opinion of Morgantown: it’s rusty, it’s dusty. It’s too boring, it’s too wild. It’s hard to pin down what exactly Morgantown is to the diverse set of people that inhabit it. That being said, this town is an intersection, a rest stop, for so many people. Morgantown is never really an intentional destination. You always just “end up” there for one reason or another. How did I end up here, in this small town packed to the brim?
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The better the medicine, the more frequent the usage. As usage increases, the urge to increase dosage arises, and addiction settles. This is how addiction works in my mind, though I’m sure the reality doesn’t match up to my own perception. When I think of apathy, I consider it in the same way that I consider my bullshit theory for addiction. Apathy is needed in small doses; you can’t care about everything, to try is a fruitless and maddening task. In the same vein, caring about nothing is as equally as terrible. Apathy breeds sloth and sloth breeds the other ‘a’: atrophy. I of course, say these things with the same ignorant confidence that I present my “addiction theory,” however in my own experiences this is what I’ve found to be true.
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There is a place, hidden in plain sight. Chances are, if you attend or have attended West Virginia University, you have walked by it. Nestled deep inside the student union, there lies a wall of glass, and on the glass the U92 logo proudly rests. This is the college radio station; the source of Morgantown’s only alternative programming, and more importantly: one of my many homes.
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As I’ve become more and more experienced as a programmer, one thing has abundantly clear: the less time you spend writing code, the better. Much like writing a book, if you just hop on your computer and start typing, you’ll eventually find yourself tangled in your own work, making something that is more or less impossible to work with. If you chose to continue working on the same poor foundation, more and more time will be spent dedicated to solving problems that you caused, that could have easily been prevent. It is because of this that the majority of my time is spent carefully deciphering what the problem is and planning out how I will solve it.
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It was another classic day in Morgantown. Cold enough to require a jacket, and hot enough to sweat in one. As I awoke from my light nap, I felt the thick humidity of the air as my shirt stuck to parts of my chest. Groggily, I went over to the kitchen and started the tea kettle for my evening coffee. It was around six in the evening, and I was following the usual thursday routine: go to class, take a nap, and head over to my college’s radio station to prepare for the five hours of music. This time however, I was adding a step. Nick Flynn was doing a reading in the downtown library, and it just so happened that it fit perfectly into my schedule. The little exposure I had of Flynn’s work impressed me, and there was no real reason not to go.
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It was early October in the very recent year 2017, and I was standing at the PRT station thinking. The thoughts consumed me, sharply dulling all of my senses. Though the thoughts were focusing on a very bad thing, I strangely felt a neutral feeling while I unpacked each and every one of them.
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