Corey, Author at Corey Pemberton

Choosing Now

September 13, 2017 by Corey 574 Comments

“Where is my mind? Way out in the water, See it swimmin’…”

I don’t have any tattoos. But if I ever got inked, I could do much worse than those lyrics from one of my favorite bands of all time.

I’ve had the privilege to see the Pixies twice, once at ACL and then again at Austin Music Hall. I still get chills thinking about those shows. Something about the confusion and alienation and anger overlaid over those sick bass lines really does it for me.

The purpose of my Pixies tattoo would be twofold. It would remind me of those incredible shows. More importantly, I’d serve as a much-needed slap on the head, a cry to wake up.

I live in my head a lot.

That’s what most writers do.

And this isn’t limited to people whose work demands they type alone in front of a computer screen. Stroll down the street and you’ll see people walking dogs and riding bikes and driving along, most of them staring straight ahead, most of them not even there at all.

Life, Under Construction

September 7, 2017 by Corey 479 Comments

Beep, beep, beep.

Blissful dreams become distant memories. My eyes open to a symphony of earth moving and destruction. I drag myself out of bed, groggy and groaning, because those sounds will continue well into the evening and I’m powerless to stop them.

Don’t even get me started on how Alejandra feels about this!

They’re building a new parking garage catty-corner to our apartment. There’s a beer and pizza joint that’s absolutely bursting at the seams. They can’t accommodate the vortex of hipsters and vehicular traffic. Come visit sometime. When you do, we’ll go to the pizza place and I’ll do my best to convince you to order the Armadillo. Trust me.

This construction has been a constant companion during my workdays. Most of the time I can tune it out. But on the worst days, the devilish beeping has me wound as tight as a spring. Combine that with the nearby daycare, and you have the perfect recipe for one stressed out writer.

Maybe they’ll finish the parking garbage before we move out. Maybe not. Regardless, it won’t be long before we run into the next highway being widened, apartment complex being built, or old Victorian being renovated.

As much as I love complaining about all this, that isn’t the purpose of this post. All the construction happening here in town got me thinking.

Yes, places change and grow. There’s always some type of construction happening.

But what about people?

Eclipse

August 31, 2017 by Corey 596 Comments

The world – at least as I knew it – stopped.

Regular life was cast aside like an outgrown snakeskin. Everyone still wore their work attire and clutched their coffee cups, but for the first time in what felt like forever, all of our eyes settled in the same place.

As the moon prepared to pass between Earth and the Sun, we looked upward with bated breaths. Phones buzzed in pockets ignored. Necks craning, eyes straining, ears echoing with terms like “totality” and “corona” instead of whatever new dude a Kardashian was dating.

I only lasted a few moments, and from my vantage point the eclipse was just partial. But for those moments, everything changed. The world dimmed. Temperatures dropped. Even the birds were calm.

Then it was over.

Everything back to normal again. Everyone went back into apartments and schools and offices, and humanity drifted apart.

The Stranger by Albert Camus: Finding Life After Alienation

May 31, 2017 by Corey 675 Comments

I should be depressed right now.

After all, I just blew through Albert Camus’s The Stranger. Doesn’t that come with long, thin cigarettes and a spiral into existentialist angst?

Not for me it didn’t. I haven’t spent one second staring out the window muttering “nothing matters.” If anything, reading L’Étranger was a liberating experience.

This was actually a reread for me. The first time was all the way back in my sophomore year of high school. Back then I didn’t get it. My mind was occupied on more important things – like goofing off, whom to ask to homecoming, and what my friends were up to.

Basically all I remembered was that the main character was a weirdo, and he died at the end.

And so The Stranger remained on my shelves collecting dust until I finally decided to give it another go 14 years later. It’s a slim volume. Not the least bit intimidating. Which made it the perfect palate cleanser between the door stops fantasy novels I’ve been reading.

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