Sunday, December 27, 2009
It's a friday night, so turn down the lights
In the Crimson Underground
Blood-stained London, brutal claws flashing bright
In the Crimson Underground
Little old boxer got mutilated late last night
In the Crimson Underground
Blood-money, money's funny
In the Crimson Underground
Heh, draw some blood, yeah draw blood
In the Crimson Underground
Contender dreams with matted fur
In the, in the,
In the Crimson Underground
In the Crimson Underground
This is the kind of supermarket that ghosts live in.
This is the kind of supermarket
Ghosts live in, bathed in early morning gospel-light
Or born in Monday-morning rush-hour fights
For supremacy on the highway
First to the job
Or the scene of the crime
The plaza's empty as blue and white
Alike rush to their meaniality
As the age-old masses watch
Mindless unmindful descendents
From the kind of supermarket
Ghosts live in
In other news, I think I've met a girl I really like and I hope things work out well with her. I'm very much anxious and excited to meet her sometime soon!
(I'm sure something terrible will happen and she'll hate me, though.).
"They say love is a risk / that you might always get hit out of nowhere / by some wave and end / up on your own."...
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
I feel like one tiny snowflake out in July, somehow. I'm tired of watching all the guys I know meet girls, be happy, and just... be liked. Or loved. Or not alone.
I'm tired of being too weird or too ugly or too fat. I'm tired of the screaming and the names every other night. I'm tired of working far too much and still being treated like a good-for-nothing-slacker. I'm tired of not being wanted or appreciated.
Another year's gone by and not much is better.
Still, pretty good year.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Character after character punctuated by punctuation or white-space
Poems and stories and games and thoughts all wrapped up in tiny black pixels
Or speaking some obscure language like: if open paren string first dot trim open-close paren dot length greater than 0... oh. Yeah.
Hobbyjoblife wrapped up in electronic one-oh-one-oh-one-one-one-oh words is my life.
I'm tired of drawn out, worn out, half-cocked alarms
I'm burning like a roman candle, bright and blue in the eastern sky
I'm tired of walking this weary road - I'd much rather fly
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
I need to stop falling like leaves
I need to stop falling in autumn
I need to stop falling in love
I need to stop writing poems that don't rhyme
I need to stop thinking these dreams
I need to stop dancing alone
I need to stop dreaming these thoughts
I need to stop feeling this burning
I need to stop falling for hope
I need to stop I need to stop
Monday, October 26, 2009
And when I say I'm Luke-warm, I mean I'm a little dark side, a little light side
I'm a little on the fried side, not too much on the bright side
A little on the little teapot side, yeah, here is my handle
And you can find my spout - spout off some nonsense
Make no sense, bad sense of time, bad timing
Dead living and bad rhyming
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
One-hundred fucking fears
One-hundred pointless posts
One-hundred terrible tears
One-hundred quivering quartets
One-hundred blameless blasts
One-hundred silly songs
One-hundred painful pasts
One-hundred darkened days
One-hundred little lights
One-hundred pitiful poems
One-hundred forgotten fights
One-hundred daring dreams
One-hundred misty mates
One-hundred waking wonders
One-hundred brilliant baits
One-hundred little loves
One-hundred angry acts
One-hundred cunning crows
One-hundred fiotional facts
One-hundred killing kooks
One-hundred grand girls
One-hundred funny friends
One-hundred prose pearls
Here's to another hundred!
And God made Heaven, which was the Shining City, which was the place where the angels were. And the angels were the Sons of God and the Songs of God.
And God made the Chaos, which is the Wyld, which is the Darkness, which is all that that tempts and lurks at the edge of Creation.
And in the City which was Heaven, the angels danced with one another and within one another for they were all the Songs and the Song of God. And their dance became work and their work became play and work once more.
And their work made the Foundation, which was the place where all things were perfect in themselves and mighty and pure, and their work made the House, which was the World of men.
And in time was the Mystery and Justice and the Angels' Fall, which was Murder. And some Angels fell out, into the Chaos, and became the Demons, and the Demons created the Shadow of the Foundation, which was Hell.
And some Angels fell in, into the Foundation and the House, and they were the Grigori. And they were the Watchers of men, who were not of Heaven nor of Hell, and each watched over some thing. And they danced and moved the Spheres, which are the domains of all things, and thus they moved the House.
And the Grigori danced and watched the world of men, and it was good in the eyes of God. And they were the Guardians of the boundaries between the House and the Foundation, and they had the stars for their fires, and they were many.
And, in time, the Grigori who were the Sons (and also Daughters, for they were neither and both Man and Woman) saw the daughters and sons of Man, whom were mortals, and saw that they were beautiful. And the Grigori went among the mortals and made them their wives and husbands.
And the children of the Watchers and the mortals were the Grigori, and they were men but more then men, and they were gifted with the dance of the Spheres and the birthright to walk the Foundation.
And that was many ages ago, and that was how it started.
Friday, July 17, 2009
Ain't supposed to die on a friday morn
Aren't supposed to live and love
They really shouldn't even be born
Accidentally through society's shocks
They bring out nails and teeth or flee
And bring red blood upon me and you and me
I chase, I dream
I dream, I chase
But no one chases me
Or speaks to me with fire or force
Or passion or looks at me with might
If I make chase, I am the foe
And it is only wise to flee me
But hold back and they drift away
Leaving scars and wounds and pain all the same
And the music
The music keeps me alive
While it reminds me of pain
And cuts me fresh
And wakes me up
I've got 59 reasons to
Fly away to another world
A brilliant alien realm in verdant
Greens and reds
Or a pale grey moon
Or a darkside
Of a moon
And I've got
To go to hell
For all the devils
Are here on earth
Sunday, June 28, 2009
And when I awoke I could not remember it
Except to say it had
Carl Solomon and Jacob Oliviera and Nelson Algrien
And was about
Painful screaming poets burning up with life
Lions in a cage of passion
And lovelorn love
And now I'm writing it's shadow
Three cheers for a morose ghost
Of a Poem
I'm writing it here
Without benefit of format or
Formal formations of
Reformat my mind so I can start anew
Brand New mind
Brand Nubians and Public Enemies
And yes I remember the music of the city
The crowded bustling urbanities
Just as I remember the soul of the mountains
Folk music, flutes, guitars, warmth of life
I remember loud rebellious screaming fire punks
And soft autumn warmths of singer-songwriters
And I remember that music is a kind of poetry, too
So I guess even if I don't remember
Of passion and fire burning us up
Thrice learned is that
Music is a kind of poetry, too
Monday, June 15, 2009
Saturday, June 13, 2009
is to be
To wonder if gnarled, twisted
trees far below are as well
Or Byzantian things, men acting
as gods and falsifying green
while gods walk as men
Sunlight, all above
Is this what it is
What are you, or who,
or once 'gain what
That dances, ephemeral,
Just out of my sight?
Who are you, so haunting
to dance in my dreams, and dare
me to speak
of ineffable things?
As I called you to answer
unformable things, unspeakable things, unkowable
Your feelings now flying
Like birds without
Old Water Tower
Or something like it
Rusted Monolith, surely
out of use and
patio chairs on
a first story
and glass and brick
and plant and life
walk and talk
hustle and bustle
Signs of new life
haunting the slumbering bones
of a dying age.
When Wind, as Wind is wont to do,
Picks up his icy and knife and cuts you through,
Stand fast, my friend, stand fast and true.
Blood cries to blood and wine tastes of wine;
Dance into the garden and drink of the vine;
And in the summer heat would you ever be mine?
I feel in words most honest longing,
Happiness, content, forgiveness of wronging,
As you walk in the glow of mockingbird's songing.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Ours is the exile.
Ours is passion, madness, beauty, sorrow.
Ours is to be unusual, outside, strange, different.
Ours is to be so uniquely amazing and terribly alive that the world shies away from us - we, in turn, feel the world's pain.
We are actors, artists, lovers, writers, poets.
We are, almost entirely, alone.
I hope we can be unalone, together.
They've taken love from me. They've taken happiness and safety and peace, too.
They took it all so I might suffer as they did, as they do.
Now, they've taken even sorrow, and that pain.
When I think of you, wonderful and beautiful and potentialful and lifeful, I think I can find that again.
Will you remind me what it is to dream?
Dedicated to EEM. Quack.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Never less have I wanted to go.
Nevertheless, I went.
As I walked out the door, it began to drip-drop upon my skin sharp and cool.
"Rain! Damnable rain! The damnable rain in all of Spain! Damn it down the drain! Not for all the tea in Spain would I walk in this rain!".
I think those were my exact words - I don't know why I bothered to rhyme in such a mundane time.
Look, there's another hiding.
But then, I recalled how you said you liked the rain. And I realized it wasn't so bad.
The rain wasn't just getting me wet, you see...
It was cooling my anger, washing clean my consciousness, waking me from the sleep of drudgery, and... the pin-prick cuts of cool-hot water pierced me like tiny needles sowing together my fragile heart.
I thought of you and hoped for the best.
Monday, May 18, 2009
I guess we met a couple bona fide angels,
But they all seemed kinda fat and fatigued.
Now we're trying to match the mouth to the screams,
To match the heads with their dreams.
I'm not trying to call anyone fat... it's just the lyrics.
But I keep doing this. I meet someone I think is perfect. I know is perfect. Beautiful, funny, smart.
Generally amazing. And things seem to be going well. I actually start to believe that maybe they're interested in me. Maybe they like me.
Then... bam. They put up a wall, withdraw, disappear, or decide they hate my guts. For no apparent reason. And it scares me. It scares me because they're so wonderful and fragile and they deserve to be loved. And they shouldn't be hurt anymore - and they are.
And so am I; I wonder what it feels like to be wanted. Desired. Cared for.
I wander and I wonder what it's like to not be alone.
Excuses and half-truths and fortified wine,
Excuses and half-truths and fortified wine.
I know it's unlikely she'll ever be mine,
So I mostly just pray she don't die.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
The rude youth, a stereotypical "ghetto" man with a sense of style, calls to a friend on the sidewalk - loud, obnoxious.
Then, later... a woman gets on. No seats, the youth stands without hesitation.
Sometimes people are dirty. Sometimes they're clean. Sometimes they're rude, and sometimes kind.
But mostly? People are just people.
The heat and smell and dirt created a strange contrast with the beautiful, serene blossom shreds falling to the ground.
I was reminded of the dichotomy of blood dripping off an ancestral blade on a background of sakura blooms - in the eastern style.
I contemplated the ways of the samurai - the words of Hagakure - "A samurai should make all his decisions in the space of seven breaths.".
When I got home, bolstered by my new resolve, I got only to six breaths... then I called her.
Monday, April 20, 2009
It's cute and endearing and scary and frustrating all at once.
I love the way your hair frames your face.
I love the way we used to talk - and I hate that it seems like we don't really talk anymore, not like we used to.
I hate the walls I feel between us - some natural, some man-made, and some (I'm sure) imagined only in my head.
I hate that I can't get you out of my heart or head, that no one I meet or talk to or just see walking around... none of them get stuck with me the way you have.
I love that I've met you, and I cherish every moment you're around...
Sometimes, though, you just feel like punching someone and other times you wanna hug them, ya know?
Friday, April 10, 2009
The vast array of sexual behavior amazes me. The way it interacts with history, the way people have and still do marginalize it and try to hide it. The way that people can be so easily defined by what they do, by even a small thing.
The different things people will try, some of them quite stupid. All catch my attention.
I spent a half hour last night reading a blog. About condoms.
I think amatuer porn is wonderful. Erotica is better, even if it is crappily written.
I spent 25 minutes tonight reading about sexual slang. Words can be so interesting.
I don't think I'm a pervert, but I'm... something. Now I just need to find a way to match my level of theory with my level of practice and I'll be golden!
I went walking by the river and I called to some friends...
And as I walked through the city they met up with me one by one.
First Johnny M came to see me, and he told me not to fall in love. He told me about the orange leaves hitting the ground and where to watch for snakes and worms. He told me about the evils of censorship, but the five-o put out an APB on him and he went and hid 'round the corner and I never saw him again - I heard his kidneys crapped him when he drank too much wine.
So then I called up Nicky - his name was Leo but we called him Nicky - and he came and met me and told me 'bout the kingdom and rebellion and follies of the heart. He told me about his home, and he told me about war and he told me about peace... Martin and some Indian walked with us and heard Nicky's words... He told me about leaving his family, his money, his home - it hurt him, but he knew he had to. But he slipped on the ice by the river and fell in and by the time we fished him out his lungs were gone.
(Marty and the Indian (I think his name was Moe) went off back home and left me all alone, but I heard they woulda made old Nicky proud.)
Then my buddy Phil from years ago, I saw him on a corner. He told me there was no kingdom, told me 'bout the republic and how we need to work here and now. He told me not to be afraid of love, he told me 'bout marzipan. He said Johnny was wrong, and maybe Nicky too, but I don't think he hated 'em... Just didn't agree. He spoke to the kids and he spoke to the old folks, and he told us to make stories of our lives. 'course, he was a busy man, and he had to go home to finish his book.
Towards the end of the night and the end of the river, as I came upon the Narragansett bay (where I heard there'd be some folks skinny-dipping, strange as it sounds), I realized I wasn't alone. Someone was followin' me, singin' all rough and handsome. I couldn't recognize the voice, but the stories told me it was Finn... He told me what to celebrate, 'bout redemption and resurrection and staying positive.
I walked home past the townies and the hood rats and I knew that I couldn't be afraid of love, but I couldn't let it hurt me either. I'll never stop loving, but I can stop wanting.
Johnny and Nicky told me not to love, and that clever kid - I think he said to love too much. But Phil, I think Phil had it right when he told me about two different parks and the rise of man. He reminded me of the flight of a woodpigeon and talking two walks in two different cities.
He reminded me that love is stronger than want.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
I tell him about how I couldn't live without her.
How she fills me up, lifts me out of the waters that drown me.
I tell him about how good it is to pull her to me after too long apart.
I tell him about how I burn when she's away.
How I hurt when she's away.
I tell him about how she gives me energy.
Gives me hope.
Helps me go on in life.
I tell him how some people appreciate her, and some take her for granted...
And I tell him that everyone who knows her needs her.
He asks me who's so special to me. Why do I feel this way?
What is her name?
I tell him: "She is Breath"
I'm sure we've all been in similiar situations, but I just want to say to everyone two things...
1) Think twice before you say anything horrible to someone you care about.
2) If someone you care about says something mean to you, look at it from their point of view - they probably aren't trying to be a dick.
I'm trying to figure out all this "life" and "growing up" and "romance" and "freindships" things with all the people in my life. I ain't perfect folks... if I'm being dumb, people, tell me.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
I make a plan to see my best friend. He tries to kill himself.
I make a plan to see my favorite girl ever. She gets sick.
I make a plan to see my grandmother. She has a stroke.
I make people unwell. Great.
Well, I guess it's a good thing no one really wants to be around me. The people around me suffer.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Another night of screaming. Another argument. More painful words that no one means.
I don't want to be here. I want to be anywhere else tonight.
No. I know where I want to be.
I want to be with her. I want to hold her close and feel her heartbeat and hear her amazing, intoxicating voice whisper "goodnight"... I want to fall asleep in her arms and wake up, far earlier than we should, to sit at her window and watch the sun rise together.
More than anywhere else, that is where I want to be.
Friday, April 3, 2009
In ten years we spent more money than the entire economic output of the 19th century and managed to create the fission bombs. Weapons we won't use. Can't use.
We spent a massive amount of money for a threat. A threat that "Don't do that, or you'll get the same.".
Yet 70 years later we still haven't come up with a better way of curing cancer. We also use uranium for cancer cures, yet we've spent far less money. Which means it's taken far more time.
We live in a world - a country - where our efforts and resources are put towards unusable threats rather than saving lives.
What is wrong with us - and how do we fix it?
(Mad Props to The Daily Show for making me aware of this disparity. They're funny, but they do manage to make things clear sometimes.)
Now think about it.
I need to live my life with no regrets. I'm trying. You should too.
Look at the following questions:
(1) Will I regret it if I date this person?
(2) Will I regret not dating this person?
(1) Will I regret it if I'm friends with this person?
(2) Will I regret it if I'm not friends with this person?
(1) Will I regret talking to this person?
(2) Will I regret not talking to this person?
(1) Will I regret eating this?
(2) Will I regret not eating this?
(1) Will I regret going to this place?
(2) Will I regret not going to this place?
If you answered YES to any of the (1) questions, DON'T DO IT.
If you answered YES to any of the (2) questions, DO IT.
There are exceptions, of course, but... live your life with no regrets.
Think about these things. Both of you - and any other readers. Please do.
More specifically, answer the question posed in that post:
Are there things you wish you'd do a better job of saying yes to, despite whatever perfectly sound reasons you have for saying no?
Ask yourself that question. Feel free to put the answer here. Please do, in fact.
(I'm sorry, miss. I'm sorry I keep talking about this and bringing it up. But it's bad tonight. I need to let this out, and this is the place I use to let shit out about my life. If this being here bothers you, let me know. I'll take it down.)
For the crown of our life as it closes
is darkness, the fruit thereof dust;
No thorns go as deep as a rose's,
and love is more cruel than lust.
I have a serious problem. You see, there's this girl. And I'm absolutely crazy about her. But on the other hand she makes me crazy. It's funny how one word can mean two different things.
Since I've met her, I can't imagine being in a relationship with anyone else. I knew that before I even knew what she looked like. It's not even about a physical attraction, even though she is the most beautiful woman I've ever met.
But she confuses me...
She loves me, but she doesn't feel... "something" for me. "Something" required for a relationship.
She says she doesn't deserve me, that she's not good enough. But I know she wouldn't settle for anything less than me. So if she's good enough for someone better than me, how is she not good enough for me?
She says she's afraid she'll sleep with someone else. But that wouldn't be a problem with someone else?
And she says she's afraid she'll hurt me. The cruel irony is that being without her hurts more than anything she could do.
And I'm not mad at her. I'm really, genuinely happy when she meets a nice guy...
But there's a part of me that can't envision dating anyone else.
I mean, I could meet other girls. I have met other girls... and... They just don't feel the same to me. None of them affect me nearly as much as she does.
And it's not even about sleeping with her. It's a non-issue. Because I don't dream about having sex with her.
I dream about giving her flowers, about cuddling with her and dancing with her, about exploring the world with her, about having a family with her, about writing poetry for her, about... so much. So, so much.
My religious side tells me that it's wrong to be greedy, wrong to want what I can't have. That it's sinful to desire someone, anyone over everything else.
In Milton's "Paradise Lost", Adam isn't tempted by Eve to sin. He chooses her. He choose sin and death and suffering for her. He disobeys his Father and is forced out of paradise and into a painful, working existence...
All for her. And I knew that I'd do the same thing for this girl.
I wish I just understood her. If the reason she didn't want me were because I were ugly, or dumb, or boring. I'd understand it. But there's no good reason.
She's so perfect and she doesn't know it, or doesn't accept it.
I guess in the end I have to put her happiness ahead of mine, so I guess I hope she meets a really great guy. Someone who loves her just as much as I do, or more... and someone far better than me.
If any of you folks who happen to read this (2 regular readers, plus however many more ANON-folks) have any ideas or advice, please leave them here or send them to me or something. I could really use some help.
Thank you all for reading this. It does mean a lot that people out there are concerned about what I have to say.
(P.S.: The name refers to the Neil Young song "My Heart" and the Algernon Charles Swinburne's poem "Dolores (Notre-Dame des Sept Douleurs)", both of which are pretty appropriate to my mental state.)
Thursday, April 2, 2009
(And I know, technically, I posted this on Thursday. All the pictures were taken on Wednesday, though. So there!)
Tracking Viruses in Animals and Developing Countries (Food for thought)
Some Really Cool Poetry (Ash, I think you'll particularly like this!)
And for the geeks out there: Wii Remote Hacks (This stuff is cool for everyone, though!)
Just wanted to share something cool with my thousands of (two) adoring fans.
Edit: Helps if I post the LINK!
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
An urban wasteland, the bus awaits
Let me see something beautiful, hopeful
Kiss my eyes and ears, world, with your majesty
I glance about seeing if anyone else
Notices the wonderful details hiding everywhere
"Go!" I want to tell them... Go and live and see life and love everywhere.
The above is a "love point", a bit of punctuation proposed by some french guy in the 1960's but never really used anywhere.
I absolutely love it, though. I mean, it's perfect. Two people's confusion meeting on a single point to create something beautiful.
Weary worrisome wandering... curious, concerened, confused... I walk through this minoan madman's masterpeice fearing frightening ferocious battering bulls. Lost, lonely, laughless I seek something special, for at the center of the maddening motherfucking maze... You await.
I'd face bulls and kings and impossible mazes for you. I can't always help, but I always want to.
We're both messes. Both all questions and few answers. We both get confused.
Reminds me of the love point.
Friday, March 27, 2009
She's no model; short and a bit plump, with blemished skin - her shoulders, she says, are horrible.
I don't even know her well; we aren't friends, we just work together.
Her razor wit cuts me, but I feel no pain; I return the favor and she laughs.
She reads while she works; silly stories about people who become animals, and books on clean living.
She's proud of her choice, almost defiant; loyal and strong.
She's my favorite co-worker, and I love her in a way I feel about few others.
The boy with the red ribbons wrapped 'round arms. He inspires me, and I him. He was the first, truly, and I hope he'll be the last.
The girl, so beautiful; there's a part of her that wants me, I think, but she doesn't need me. Sometimes I wish she did.
These are the people that inspire me and give me the hope to carry on. This, I suppose, is why I love them; higher than any other reason, it is the simple joy of knowing them.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
9 - Most people are DJs.
8 - SPlng + gramma issssssss owlways ahp2ional.
7 - If you're critical of the information received, the internet can actually be useful for gathering information.
6 - Everybody (including groups, organizations, and fictional people) has a website, or something close to it (blogs, myspace, etc... count here).
5 - Anything can be downloaded for free. Even a t-shirt.
4 - Email is one of the least-reliable communication methods ever.
3 - Someone, somewhere wants to see pictures of you naked. Even if you're fat and ugly like me.
2 - There are some pretty cool folks on the internet.
1 - Cats (sometimes dogs) in cute poses (with or without text) will always have a favorable result.
10 - Most people expect more than they should. Nobody's perfect, gals... look for something good and don't let go when you find it.
9 - If you put up a personal ad, some people won't bother actually reading it. They'll then get upset with you when something comes up that you mentioned in the ad.
8 - Some of the folks you meet, while appearing to be perfectly normal, will turn out to be bat-shit insane.
7 - Some ladies are really 80 year old indian scammers.
6 - Most of the people you talk to, you won't hear from again. Unless you make an effort to stay in touch, which may lead to coming off as a creep.
5 - Again, nobody's perfect. If something seems too good to be true, it might just be.
4 - Spam. You will get spam.
3 - Sometimes you actually meet decent people.
2 - Everyone has secrets.
1 - Don't fall in love. Once you do it's nearly impossible to break out of it.
Anyone have their own to add?
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
No priest today and only a single man makes up the congregation.
He sings modern hymns and keeps a sermon on life in his head as the holy water washes over him, cleansing him of his sins.
Then he takes the sacrement into his hands, and places it upon his head, and rinses it out in holy water... washing away the sins and wrongs and dirtiness of yesterday.
Then he steps out, born again or close enough, and wraps himself in linens like a newborn infant.
God is everywhere.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Went to doctors with mom, lunch around east side, school to drop off papers, and back home.
It was a nice adventure. Now I'm hanging around my house before I've got to go to work.
The rest of the week doesn't look so good, but I might hang out with Ms. Adverbs friday and I might hang out with Mr. Wislyn on saturday.
Of course, I might not get to do either of those things, which'd make me a sad puppy.
Last but not least, at my mom's doctors, there was the cutest picture ever. It had a clothesline, and hanging from the clothesline were socks, and in the socks were kittens.
Ash, you should've seen it! You'd've loved the pic.
Monday, March 23, 2009
It's killing me, but I won't die.
Maybe the april showers will cool my burning heart, because this love is too painful.
I keep trying to fight it off, but I still feel it and I still want.
I wish I could stop being in love.
I need to change things. I don't really know how, but realizing that things need to change is an important first step.
There comes a time when the operation of the machine becomes so odious,
makes you so sick at heart, that you can’t take part, you can’t even passively
take part; and you’ve got to put your bodies upon the gears and upon the wheels,
upon all the apparatus, and you’ve got to make it stop, And you’ve got to
indicate to the people who run it, the people who own it, that unless you’re
free the machine will be prevented from working at all.
Back in 1964 when Mario Savio said this powerful words, they meant something quite different then what they're meaning to me now.
But the idea is the same - the machine of my life has become sickening and I must push upon it and stop it. Not even stop it, but reverse it's direction.
To that end I have figured out four main points I need to accomplish.
- 1: Maintain my work and school excellence.
- 2: Do something creative or constructive or both everyday.
- 3: Involve myself in new hobbies/crafts/activities.
- 4:Make more friends.
- 4a: Start a relationship in the sense of girlfriend-boyfriend.
These are ordered in level if diffuculty as I see it. 1 is not a problem at all. 2... I usually do. 3... well, I've been writing more. And I'm thinking about learning to play guitar (Mrs. Sprout-Bean, if you read this, we are starting a band. Even if we suck at it.). 4... I don't even know where to start. I've tried talking to people, especially around my school, but it never seems to go anywhere. I'm trying.
Last but not least, I've taken up a new moniker you may see around... The Anti-Sinecurist. A sinecurist is "A position or office that requires little or no work but provides a salary". In other words a paid position doing nothing. An anti-sinecurist, then, is someone who does something that requires some or a lot of work but is not being paid for it... in my case as a labor of love. It describes why I do pretty much anything outside of my official job, and also my dislike of corperate culture.
I'm mainly using it over at Everything2, where I've begun writing as the fancy strikes me, although I also have an AIM/email account in the name. I may use it in other places, too.
Anyhow, if any of my readers (the two I know of or any lukers there may be) have any advice, please put it here in a comment. No man is an island, and I'll greatly appreciate any help I might recieve.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
By way of explanation, I was feeling very ill - sleep deprived, hungry, dehydrated, and more.
And lonely. I'm tired of being lonely and used by my so-called friends. I'm tired of nobody wanting to know me.
And to my regular readers (As and Al, you know) this is not you. These are other people I'm talking about.
That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt, though. I'm trying. I'm trying to make my life better but I can't do it alone... and I'm not sure anyone wants to be around me.
But I'm going to keep trying. Life and love... they are perseverance and patience.
Goodnight and God bless to any who read this.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
You see, I want what I can't have... and no matter how hard I try, I can't stop. I'm really, really trying not to care, not to want, not to even think of it. But still I do. It's maddening. I feel like an obsessive creep. I am an obsessive creep, and I need to stop.
But I can't, at least not yet. I'm trying not to, though. And I'm really sorry. I should respect people's wishes and not be so selfish.
March, march, march, I march right into my grave.
Ugh... To my readership, I'm quite sorry for wasting your pixels with this nonsense, but I needed to get it out. I hate emotions, I hate caring, I hate love.
I just don't know what to do.
P.S.: Song of the day (lifetime?) is "Not The Sun" by Brand New. For reasons that should be obvious to people who listen to Brand New, which I think is neither of you.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
First she picked up her new glasses. She didn't like them very much.
Then we went to Starbucks and got drinks (she did like those very much, as did I).
Then, and here's the crazy bit, we walked by the T-Mobile kiosk. The guys there have no soul, calling out to us relentlessly every time we pass. But this time they talked us into signing up for a plan.
We also got new phones out of the deal, which is what sparked this post. You see, I now own a camera phone. Which means I've been madly taking pictures since.
After the T-Mobile store we stopped in Sears looking for a car-stereo-harness. We didn't find one, and the guy working there was quite rude.
So we went to Best Buy and got the harness and also a cable to connect the new phones to the computer (to transfer pictures and so on).
Now, you may be wondering where the "Window" part comes in. That's window as in "window into my life", and it's an obvious rip-off of Sprout & Bean's much better Snapshot Sundays.
Sorry for the crappy qualities folks, as I used a phone and not a camera.
After taking pictures of my super-cute dog, I then decided to take a picture of this decidedly less-cute guy.
I've been reading this lately. It's very good, although it seems like a lot of the stories involve water.
Even if I do put cool special effects on it. (Note to self: If you ever make a horror movie, make it look like this.)
I began reading this awesome thread on Story Games. I'd go into detail, but it'd bore a large percentage of the people who might read this. Still, I'd like to give credit to Buzz, who's post here really excited me...
After surfing the net, I opened up Full Light, Full Steam to read. I cannot understate it's awesomeness.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
By three ghosts, not yet dead...
Their words appeared
Upon a pixel wall...
Before I questioned,
Like a constant questing king
And maybe tomorrow I'll question again...
But for today
Like a hardworking man in his sleep
I am content and I rest happy
The strange things they said to me,
Like "Thanks for being a good friend"
And "I wouldn't have survived without you"
And more than that, simpler things
Like "I know man ur a true friend"
These things meant so much
I felt as though I were in a nightmare,
Until the spoke to me and I awakened into a dream
They made me ask... they made me think... they made me happy.
God damn, is this what I am?
It's a pretty damn good thing to be.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Then I had a 5-6 hour online lecture to listen to, but I kept falling asleep during it, so I kept rewinding it to not miss anything.
By the time the class finishes, it'll be time to go to work. On the other hand, the soup I'm eating came out better than I thought it would
Then I have a pretty sucky weekend lined up. Is it too much to ask to enjoy myself once in a while?
I'm working on a big new project. It's hard to explain, really, but it's a story. Or maybe a connected set of stories. But it's also an adventure of discover. I'm not sure what it is.
It's me being insane and writing way to many blogs.
You can find the HQ for this project over at Ver'don, for those of you who might be interested. Feedback is plenty welcome.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Shortcomings, failures, imperfections, mistakes, truths
I count and count and count until I run out of fingers.
I've only sinned five times.
And then I see another hand.
And then, I read a math book.
Numbers do not go that high.
Is darkness the fruit thereof dust
I'll send to you one thousand roses
But for me it is Vegas or bust
Sweet, sorrowful Cupid he dozes
As we love when we can and we must
So we do what we can't for we must
And we hope for a window for each door that closes
And we watch as the guardian of our age, as he dozes
And we watch the world rust into dust
We're hollow and carved like a pitiful bust
A deadman, a gravestone with roses
We walk to the stage with fair roses
As the woman, she does what she must
We say that we're there for the acting; in truth we are there for the bust
And she cries as the curtain, it closes
And she sobs and her mouth feels like dust
For her love slumbers always - in heaven he dozes
We watch as our child dozes
And we fill up her hair with red roses
And we watch as she tumbles in dust
And we cry, but we do what we must
We must get there, for early it closes
In the doctor's, her heart we must bust
Like a damn about to bust
When the fingerboy dozes
They sob as his last eye, it closes
And it floods all the beautiful roses
And they cry, but they do what they must
Where now stand rivers there once was dust
So all things end, in the wind we are dust
And all we build will break and bust
And we know we get our judgment, for God must do as He must
When the good man of the world idly dozes
For the righteous in heaven are roses
And the rock above the villainous, it closes
So this world it closes, as was said "dust to dust"
No more wind, no more rain, no more roses, no more painting, nor bust
For the wicked man everlong dozes, but the good man will do what he must
Like a broken record
It's like a whirlpool or a wave smashing you into the shore so crack the sky
And run as fast and as far as you can and realize you've run around the world to end up where you began
And I would walk five hundred miles and I would walk five hundred more and a thousand miles seems pretty far but I would walk to you if I had no other way and I'd be that man who'd walk a thousand miles to fall down on a far shore where the waves crash against the beach repetitive and dull and repetitive and repetitive and like a, like, like a broken record.
It's like a whirlpool, and it never ends.
It's like a red mouth like a venomous flower.
Love is poison.
This Is Our Nation
Friday, February 13, 2009
'Cause I feel like I'm stuck,
stuckstuckstuck between the stations
it sticks like a broken record
everything sticks like a broken record
The crystal radio shatters and then I'm seeing visions like it's another sort of crystal
(starring at my lcd like it's lsd like this network is some sort of vision quest)
-Yeah, my nights are mostly dark but last night I dreamed in color
Yeah, she's really all that strict of a... and I wonder is she a really cool...?
I don't care if she's a damned good... but would she be that great of a...?
Sometimes I feel like walking with The Devil and John Berryman, walking down to the Blackstone... but I think of all the paintings we would be without if Van Gogh had gone and died face down...
So I walk on, no Devil nor John either, nor anyone else, I walk on because I'm stuck,
stuckstuckstuck between the stations
it sticks like a broken record
everything sticks like a broken record
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Track 1 - mc chris ownz
This opener introduces us to mc's ego (mc chris ownz, I got bling up the ying - a plethora of Porsches, etc...), his sex obsessed side (Latinas on my penis, Japanese on they knees, I love all the ladies, as long as they eighteen), his drug preferences (Humidors filled with stoges filled with dro, I'm lit like a branch davidian), his geekiness (When I roll up in Kashyyyk I roll three Jedi's deep), and his mastery of reference dropping (1337-speak, Mob mythology, Star Wars (twice), 90210, The Waco Siege, Go, Kurt Cobain, The former DNC Chairman, The Matrix, Late '70s TV, and probably a few more).
In short, it's a perfect intro to mc. Musically, it's got a beat that pumps me up and a weird ringing part that sounds oddly familiar.
Track 2 - Badass
This track is blisteringly fast until the end... I love the guitar in this one, but the lyrics don't really grab me. Sometimes I find the extended telling-off at the end humerous; other times it's annoying.
Track 3 - Tractor Beam
Song's pretty simple, being all about sex, but there are a few funny points and the beat makes me want to move. I start to dance listening to this song... at least, as much as any one can dance sitting down.
Track 4 - Robot Dog
I love this song. It's so funny. The narrator, allergic to every breed of dog, orders a robotic one from Japan... He's dissapointed, though, when the dog turns against him. The dog steals all the owner's potential ladies, eats filet mignon while the owner eats alphabits (and only the consonents!), and goes in the club while his owner waits in the car...
Track 5 - Evergreen
This song's about a guy who chops and moves christmas trees, drinking, doing drugs, and chasing chicks all the while. Another catchy beat.
Well, that's under half the tracks but I have work to do and it's running late.
I'll do the rest later, folks.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
I know of only two people who read this, and one of you will probably disagree and the other won't really care, but it's really accurate to my feelings.
Real Live Preacher: The Day The World Changed
There are some good comments, too, but I've included this one by Elmer Ewing because I like it very much:
Thank you, Gordon. You have put it very well. I hear God saying something like this to me: “It’s mostly none of your business, this question of who worships me rightly, and who does not. Your business is to seek me and to find me, for I am seeking you, and I am seeking those you would judge. If I want to listen to their prayers, what concern is that of yours? Are you going to tell me that I cannot? Or if some prayers are an abomination to me, do I need you to tell me I must respond to them? Spend your time and energy instead on answering my call to you, and living accordingly. (There is room for a great deal of improvement in that.) You don’t know much, but you know enough to love other people, and to live lightly on the land, and to spend some time with me so you will do these things better. If you want to share your faith with others, fine; but be sure you are equally interested in opening yourself to their faith, or lack of it. And by the way, if you MUST draw a circle to exclude the ones you think I couldn’t possibly tolerate, make it a big, generous circle. Otherwise you might find yourself on the wrong side of the line.”
Friday, February 6, 2009
So I'm working on some more fractals. It's taking time.
I'm messing around with Ultra Fractal, which I used to be able to do some cool stuff with... I'm having to relearn everything though, so it might take some time.
And both Ultra Fractal and Apophysis (mentioned a while back) eat up CPU while rendering. Just a fair warning to those of you who want to try to make some yourself.
If you do make any fractals, put 'em up on your blog or website and send me a link. Or send the images to me and I'll put them up here and credit you.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
"Sometimes I feel
Like I don't have a partner
Sometimes I feel
Like my only friend
Is the city I live in
The city of angels
Lonely as I am
Together we cry
I drive on her streets
cause she's my companion
I walk through her hills
cause she knows who I am
She sees my good deeds
And she kisses me windy
I never worry
Now that is a lie
I don't ever want to feel
Like I did that day
Take me to the place I love
Take me all the way
Its hard to believe
That there's nobody out there
Its hard to believe
That I'm all alone
At least I have her love
The city she loves me
Lonely as I am
Together we cry
I don't ever want to feel
Like I did that day
Take me to the place I love
Take me all the way
Under the bridge downtown
Is where I drew some blood
Under the bridge downtown
I could not get enough
Under the bridge downtown
Forgot about my love
Under the bridge downtown
I gave my life away"
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
And that treat is listening to me screech horribly into my microphone. Enjoy!
(Please ignore the sick-cat howling at the end of "I'm on Fire".)
Ana Ng (From my camp days)
I'm On Fire
Sequel (A sequel [as one might imagine, given the title] to the song "Taxi" [which can be found below].)
We Are The Boys From Three Point (A staff song from camp.)
I thought this one looked like the ghosts of dead clock faces. In a calculated murder of minutes, I point to the clock, so we smash it.
This one is a star, dying. The center is the explosion; outside is the stardust, pulled by invisible forces.
(Made using Apophysis and messing around a bit. Enjoy!)
Instead you live a life, a lie
Each dishonorable breath
You could have chosen death
Each night (without Bushido) you cry
Into heaven could you fly
If only you were brave enough to die
Instead you chose a drunken lethe
Your sword (once with meaning) now you ply
But your end, your end is nigh
They follow with their every breath
Men of honor, they seek your death
Every man must someday die
Which calls you to follow unto death your Daimyo
Embody that honor in your Wakizashi
And your soul keep in your Katana
Earn well and honest your Koku
And you should never fear need of Seppeku
Too many of your brothers have fallen to Seppeku
But so it is for those who keep Bushido
Would you rather they fall to banditry for their Koku?
They choose honor in death over life without a Daimyo
To their sons go their Katana
And alone they remain with their Wakizashi
Sleep with your Wakizashi
An enemy at the gates; Seppeku
You've not time to draw your Katana
Would you be captured and still call to Bushido?
Your death will glorify your Daimyo
Your legend will be worth a hundred hundred Koku
When you've earned many Koku
Will you keep only your Wakizashi?
Become, yourself, a Daimyo
Old age itself a form of Seppeku?
You cannot retire from Bushido
Even if you give up the Katana
Keep sharp your Katana
A well-kept blade is worth more than all the Koku
It means you keep Bushido
So mind also your Wakizashi
Let it be clean if you need to call on it for Seppeku
A sharp blade well-serves any Daimyo
Would you rather be a farmer or a Daimyo?
Give up the Katana
And have no fear of Seppeku?
Scrape and beg for a single Koku?
Never to die on the edge of a Wakizashi
Oh, to live free of Bushido!
Keep well the tenets of Bushido, and serve well your Daimyo
Honor and cherish your Wakizashi; Polish and sharpen your Katana
You'll find yourself with many Koku, and need never contemplate Seppeku
Monday, February 2, 2009
I want (I'm so greedy)
Want (truly do)
To spend (time)
Relaxed, at home
I want (real)
Ones I can (see,
And I (feel?)
What I dream of?
Another sleepless night - I am alone, underappreciated, trapped. I want to get out. Someone save me please. Take me out of here. I just want to be with other people who want to be with me.
Is that to much to ask? Does it really make me greedy?
I don't know why I have to tell it and don't know what it means,"
The boy looked out over the masses of people - divided, but prisoners all the same. His father's cane lay beside him as he caught his breath. "Is this", he said, "the only way... Unceasing toil and suffering? No... This will change. IT MUST CHANGE!".
(Fifteen Years Pass)
The man looks about him. The workers (prisoners still) in their masks, their beautiful unique faces hidden for the sake of life. He sees their pain and suffering, looks in the sky and sees his handiwork. He hears sirens in the distance and begins to weep quietly to himself, covering his face with his hand. Nobody hears him as he says, "This isn't what I wanted... I just... just wanted to make things better."
(Opening quote edited from Fort Minor's "Kenji". Title refers, of course, to the phrase "The Road to Hell is Paved With Good Intentions". The pictures are from radicalgraphics.org.)
Sunday, February 1, 2009
And to the west
They light their fires
To burn my soul
I come to them
Peace, happiness, joy
They return my embrace
With molten shots, aimed dead-on
Still, I return
With hope sprining eternal
Peace is possible
This is my white flag
I LOVE THEM BOTH, AND ALWAYS WILL
Friday, January 30, 2009
my hand across my lips
Still in disbelief
your perfume (?) and the smell of your car
It lingers now
and cry, and am content
I was horrid
it was all I ever wanted
It to be
who cares about me
Who I care about
this night will last forever
And I sleep happily
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Of Waiting For October (We're in the book - We'll be learning how to fly)
Of October In The Chair, and the story he told (The boy ran away - I understand him)
But mostly I think of your words
How you missed the October tones of his (her?) voice
How you shoved your window open and thrust your arms out to become October
How it smelled like October that day (How lovely it was!)
How you will be October
I think of when I met you
October then too,
I dreamed we'd be together forever
I dreamed we'd be together for a moment,
For that'd be enough
Now it's January,
And I've awoken from my dream (a nightmare?)
To find that it didn't happen -
Would never happen
And I'm ok with that
Or I will be
And look to move on
The associations will linger in my mind,