snowflakes

snowflakes often fall purely
as those haply fallen
into perfect flurries
of unpacked snow

the flakes they scurry
as the wind lures them surely
always gone or going
to where ever the wind blows

I don’t get the hurry
of the snowflake flurries
forever rushing
with nowhere to go

but I forgive their worries
as their flaky forms fall demurely
while comfortably watching
from my fireside window

last look at november

november was nuts. started with a new company, moved and dealt with a few personal issues, while participation in a poem a day challenge and nanowrimo. the thirtieth was the deadline for the move and the two writing assignments, which was the sunday after thanksgiving. going into the holiday weekend i knew what i had to do to accomplish all my goals--type 50,000 words, half a months worth of poems and move all my stuff out and clean my soon-to-be-at-the-time-but-now-ex apartment.

sunday night came around, moved out, but still nothing typed. and i wasn't scrambling to do so, i didn't even try the entire weekend. i didn't have the internet for the last half of the month, so i couldn't submit my poems, and i got too far behind to begin typing. but i completed both tasks. thirty poems, one each day, and over 50,000 words, hand-written. and i never doubted my choices. the challenges were personal, not for show, and i succeeded for me; i couldn't be happier.

and thank you to all who supported me throughout the month of writing and writing and whatever else and writing. who knows what comes in the months ahead for my writing, or life, but right now i'm hungry. dinner on PWR (that's my new company, professional wireline rentals).

never get married

it's a piece of advice i have heard many many times since about driving age. there are the failed marriages of family, the random laments of customers in the restaurant and grocery store patrons, friends who found out the hard way getting married young is a ton of work, and most recently, every person i work with, shop and in the field.

i know some people have this dreamy idea of marriage, but the only people talking positive about marriage are the unmarried, the only ones talking negative are the married and unhappy, and the married and content (as far as they show) don't say anything at all, except the occassional complaint.

i see marriage rip people's souls in half, but only most of the time. there are some happy marriages, but even then the compromises and forfeiture of their freedoms is far from encouraging. i don't like what happens to the people i know once they get married, and i don't like the institution of marriage that we know today.

commitment does not bother me. obligation i could do without.

I hear the system

I hear the system.
It doesn’t speak
to me,
or to anyone,
but the voice is clear,
just behind the wall
separating us from the truth.
Someone calls out,
and then is gone.
Not the system—
the system is always there—
but the someone,
trying to break free,
powerless, alone;
a captive of our society.
And I don’t have the decency
to stop.
We never have the decency
to stop.

sometimes i try too hard

I see through every shade of hate,
to your very core,
and hoping to see something more,
disappointment reigns—
you are inside
as you are
on the face;
the hate replaces
empty space,
without, nothing remains
unless you call
deceit, pride and disdain
substance.

walking on rose petals

9.november

the warm folds of my bed
high overhead disappear into the sky
as I land safely on the ground

the earth is lush beneath my feet
I cannot see, but the soft moss
invites me further on

the darkness is calming
following the scent of roses
through this wondrous oblivion

butterflies flutter by
caressing my face with their wings
tickling the lashes of my eyes

the secret unravels as
I walk onto the petals of roses
and drink from their soul

but terror blows its icy breath
on the back of my neck, my feet frozen
wondering where the thorns are

thoughts after 100 pages of nanowrimo

1. 100 pages is a lot to write
2. the callous on my middle finger and the muscles in my hand were not ready for this challenge, getting better though.
3. my PAD project is a nice break from nano
4. my choice of bic pen (the standard, crystal cased (don't let the name fool you, its really plastic) black pen) only lasts about sixty pages with minimal editing and a few poems
5. my nano region (dfw) voted on a mascot and i missed it, but that's ok because they chose the rhinoceros, which i like, and is crazyfun to say altogether...nanowrimo rhino
6. i bought a small rhino for inspiration
7. i wrote a rhinoceros herd into my story about a prisoner in southeast asia (as a metaphor)
8. i want a nanowrimo rhino t-shirt
9. nano makes me drink a lot of tea

(untitled fear myth poem)

this is today's poem for my PAD group. my theme is fear, today's prompt was to create or use an existing myth.

usually wouldn't double post, but someone (robbie) might want to check it out...

(untitled so far)

Every ten-year-old is afraid
of ghosts and monsters,
because they don’t know any better.
And teens shudder at urban legends,
even when they know they never happened.
But eventually, people see how silly
all these crazy stories are,
and outgrow the effects of folklore.

Now that I have grown up,
its time to dispel the myths;
demons do exist, but not like the
campfire tales we hid from as kids,
and no amount of covers can save us
from them—
Spooks in sheets are scary things,
but spooks in black suits who snoop
and defy our liberties are what really
frighten me.

Frankenstein’s beast, with pieces
of every poor soul beneath a headstone
had no chance at being loved.
But at least he didn’t try to hide
from the citizen’s cries,
like the lies and shady deals
intertwined in every collaborative
Congressional bill.

Dracula, with no soul,
survives on the lifeblood
of others, while dining in his
castle all alone.
With resigned honor he reigned,
unlike the vampIRS of
today, who choose to live
on what runs through our veins.

You’ll run out of breath,
trying to summon Bloody Mary
from the mirror; nothing appears
when you call there, no matter
how many times you stand
in the dark and whisper,
“Medicare, Medicare, Medicare….”

Haunted houses have hundreds of years
of terror in their walls.
But the Houses today boast only
Fifty-five and Sixty—average age;
those numbers make my skin crawl.

Some myths, even still, are
supported by the powers on the Hill.
They even commissioned the
Department of Ignorance,
to keep us off their trail.
And to feed Cerberus,
the Three-Headed mutt,
entrusted to guard the River Potomac,
so no one can crack the mask
that hides truth, and lies,
all at the same time.
You’d think their resources could
afford a more convincing disguise.

I was that kid, afraid of many things
that go ‘bump’ in the night.
And still am, sometimes,
lying alone in bed without a light.
But if someone asks,
“Are You Afraid of the Dark?”
I’ll say, “I am, but only
when I’m watching C-SPAN.

new poem and nanowrimo update

taking a break from my novel. i'm about 53 written pages in (who knows what that translates to in type world (hard to be rhetorical in print)) and using the afternoon to relax and work on some other stuff. thanks for the encouragement i've received from everyone so far, it helps more than you know. oh, and PAD is going well. i still have no idea what i'm doing beyond writing poems, but i'm ok with that.

something i wrote thinking about home

Evergreens

The autumn rains
provide flowers
a last chance to bloom,
before the gloom of winter
consumes the land.

In the fields,
stocks and vines
are ripe with wondrous hues,
while dappled treasures emerge
from the somber ground.

And floors of warm houses
are alive with holiday jubilee;
the rainbow represented
on their tables
of fun and fancy free.

But fall is not all
brightly colored things,
and deep shades
of celebration,
surrounded by falling leaves.

Some things endure,
no matter how the wind blows—
forests of never-fading
browns and greens
backdrop every festive tone.

These stoic trees
stand steadfast, just the same
through each bustling season,
embracing the commotion,
with ageless patience and grace.

NaNoWriMo and PAD

i had no idea what those two acronym[ish] things meant until late last night. i was poking around online, considering taking the plunge and making some of my work available to people i don't know, and i came across a blog for poets. http://poetswhoblog.blogspot.com%20...i/i'm thinking about it.

reading into some of the poems, i stumbled upon PAD...Poem A Day. http://blog.writersdigest.com/poeticasides/default,month,2008-11.aspx. i thought...why not. a poem was already written for the first...why not write one for the second. and then the third. awesome.

looking at some of those poems, someone mentioned NaNoWriMo. it's just fun to say. it stands for National Novel Writer's Month. check it out --> http://www.nanowrimo.org/. i initially thought 'not for me' because i am not a novelist. i read a bit, and it's not just for novelists...just crazy people who want to try to write 50,000 words of a novel in the thirty days November affords us. still i was skeptical. but then i started writing, and now i think i'm crazy enough to do it.

and the poems

Redemption, Retraction, Redistribution

A few months ago, I made a post titled "Advertising," (http://whateverescapesmymind.blogspot.com/2008/03/advertising.html) which was a statement of intentions to reward or punish good and bad advertising with my business (or refusal thereof). Beer, oh glorious beer, was something I promised to buy more of as a gesture of acceptance; beer adds are generally awesome. However, Bud Light decided to disallow the reproduction of their "Real Men of Genius" sound clips on a non-affiliated web site. I took this as a hostile action by a company who shuns free advertising, and therefore my customership.

Today (or whatever day the following events took place) is (was) a good day. Bud Light, as a result of pressures from...somewhere, fear of losing my and potentially millions of upset beer drinker's business and probably some degree of not caring, has lifted their outrageous injunction on Whipnet.com (or whoever) allowing the "Real Men of Genius" sound clips' availability at http://budlight.whipnet.com/. So check it out, listen, download them for later, and remember, give credit where credit is due: buy Bud Light (or at least some, as a way of showing our gratitude).

turkey

i just cooked a turkey. butterball. i saw them at wal*mart on wednesday and thought, "yeah...turkey," so i bought one. i really like turkey. turkey sandwiches are my favorite. on rye. or not. wheat's cool too. the bread doesn't so much matter. as long as there's turkey. fresh turkey; not that pressed, preserved, water-added, pre-sliced delicatessen nonsense. i mean real turkey. the ones that come with the neck stuffed in the body and the guts (or in turkey speak, 'giblets') stuck in the neck cavity (who knows, maybe butterball's own little joke, i almost cooked them in there though, that would have ruined my weekend). on to the turkey.

happy halloween

(turkey not for trick-or-treaters...no treats or tricks this year, just a dark porch light and a sign that says "full size candy bars at apt. # 1011 (that's the lady who always wins the patio decorating contests. literally, every month she wins. and what does she get? 25$ off her next month's rent. i promise you her decorations cost more at least a bill every month...it makes no economic sense. she must get a kick out of the season. if that's the case, she should have the best candy too))

Graduation Day

Black, white,
Day and night,
Now the stage is set
For the rest of your life.
And here,
The culmination
Of your adolescent years,
Is your first chance
To stand for yourself,
And draw more
Than a passing glance;
To cry out above
The crowded room
And show them
What you’re made of—
But as your echo replies,
You realize
The room is empty,
And finally see through
Their colorful lies.

20 june 2007

360 degrees of up

something has always bothered me about space battles. i understand that the vacuum of space is not conducive to the theatrical intergalactic dogfights: no sounds, so the lasering and wooOOooo's are out; you can't maneuver like fighter jets without earth's atmosphere or an incredibly complex, ridiculously inefficient system of thrusters to operate star wars style; and no explosions--no oxygen means fiery balls of destruction are out. no, what really bothers me is that everyone is always facing each other on the same plane--as if they were adhering to the laws of some gravitational force below them. who says which way is up in space? there are potentially infinite choices of up and down, and everyone in the universe picks the exact same plane with which to stage their attacks and defenses (unless they are being chased, but then return to 'normal' up, but that's no different than barrel rolls and yawing in earth's atmosphere).
...really? i don't like it.

misanthropic tendencies

Two friends of mine recently compared me to Hugh Grant in 'About A Boy' (mostly the beginning) and Emile Hirsch from 'Into The Wild' (until the last minute or so). I initially considered them compliments, although I sensed they were meant as accusations. Each statement was laced with sympathetic sarcasm, and it made me wonder, for half a second, if their 'concerns' were justified. So I watched both movies again and concluded about the same thing--still compliments--with an addition: I don't see solitude as a negative thing. Yes, movies romance the idea of interdependence on one another, often punishing a character for striking off on their own, and even going so far as to condemn isolation in character, setting and other thematic components. Why is the fear of a solitary prison so commonly projected onto those who embrace their seclusion? I understand that conformity calls to some as a vampire to it's victim; they are entranced by it. But when did accepting this life and spreading it become one? Are they linked? Is their happiness now interdependent on reception and reflection of societal expectations? I find the idea incredibly ironic. And I feel sorry for those who are trapped in that world.

cheap clubs

so here are my new clubs...cheap clubs...my favorite. that's a full set of irons, a driver that mostly intimidates me, [finally] a decent putter, and a set of wedges that i may or may not use. all total, about 1200-1500 retail, 800 if they like you, and 350 if you skip over the salesmen and flirt with one of the supervisors. i chose the latter path. i'm pretty excited to hit with the irons, and my putting could sure use a club that weighs more in the head than the shaft. the driver though...it's just too big. it scares me. the wood i usually drive 210-230 with decent control is about one third the size; the driver i normally slice really bad or hook slightly (sometimes straight...about 240-280) is around half the size; this driver is 460cc with freakin' weights on it (two...silver means something, copper means something, it came with it's own tools...that's just too much, what happened to hitting a club with a ball...this was a lot simpler when the scots were in charge) and i will be able to slice (and likely hook) the ball farther than i can see. whatever. the rest i'm excited for, and a whole heap excited for the price. now robbie needs to finish his midterm so we can go lose some balls.

the Absolution of Time

Time, like space, is both infinite and finite, depending on our perception. We can look at what is now and that is unambiguously finite; what is is, and what is not is not. But we cannot look behind or ahead and see what was or will be with any clarity because time, as the universe itself, is infinite—a concept of reality that we cannot every fully grasp until it becomes the finite now. We refer to time in its finite state as when—time is a measure of when; since when, until when, between when and when. When is how we break time into units measuring whats and wheres. We do have control over what (our actions), where (a finite unit of the infinite universe) and when the two converge; however, if nothing happens the action never exists, but the where and the when do. Where is precise space, and when is a precise time. We created where and when for our sake; time exists independent of labels and occurrences within itself. Our existence means as little to time as no existence--we are irrelevant to the concept that we call time.

And we call time relative? Relative to who? To what? Because we named ‘time,’ because we divided it, categorized it, supposedly gave it ‘purpose,’ we think time is relative to us? People are awed by ‘space’—the infinite unknown, but carry time with us as if we invented it. People concede that existence is bound by infinite space, finite at any one moment, labeled for a harmonious coexistence. But we are also bound by time because we cannot change how it affects and controls our existence. We can only divide it into seconds, minutes and hours, for the convenience of measurement, but that amount of time exists independently of any intelligent designation (and has, despite some current beliefs, through many ages and civilizations). When something happens, it happens at some time. Nothing is also an occurrence, which happens (or doesn’t happen, depending on perception) at some time. But do we acknowledge the time when nothing happens? Do we care? What of time when there is nothing? Before all we see here, long before, infinitely before, and infinitely after, time will still be, regardless of the infinite somethings and nothings.

We cannot change time, like we cannot change space; we may only choose what to do in the time and space allocated to us, but no act of man can change the design of space or time. And though we are granted choice within time and space, we do not enjoy a choice and consequence relationship with time itself. Time simply is, and we exist within the when between which our life begins and ends. And just as our physical existence is played out relative to infinite space, our lives exist relative to the absolution of time.

rhinoceros

most of the time i run, the world fades out a bit. not my senses, they are heightened if anything--not quite to superhero status, just more sensitive. smells, good or bad, are more potent; lights and darks are more vivid; pain is reduced; and it seems like i can separate sounds into different, distinguishable levels and categories. but thinking...thinking is something i sacrifice. and logic (not a big loss for me there). and formulating ideas. sometimes they come to me in streams of words, sometimes in jumbled images. and sometimes...rhinoceros.

today was one of those. i was at a decent pace, with two chicks running towards me on the same side of the road. as we approached one another, she yelled "why are you running so fast?"

i suddenly had this image of a story i read probably three or four years ago. two kenyans were two kilometers into a fifteen kilometer run. one of the two passed the other at an incredible pace for being just into the race. the slower man called up to his opponent and asked "why so fast?" to which the man turned and pointed behind them in response. the curious kenyan turned and saw a charging rhinoceros closing the gap between them. he immediately took off with all he had, and the rhino eventually abandoned his pursuit.

so i responed "rhinoceros." she stopped with a curious expression on her face. i stopped wondering why the hell i just said that.
she said "what?"
and i said "it's a short run today."
"oh, i thought you said rhinoceros."
"i did." you idiot. continuing with my run, i left her there, pondering of that ridiculous outburst. i was over it. i turned to look back and she and her companion had also resumed their morning run. but she too was looking back at me, smiling. it wasn't a 'who's that creepy rhino guy' smile, just a normal smile. as if she knew the story well or had just read it herself. or she didn't care. she was cute though, maybe i'll see her again.

unemployed

(really, after that last post you should have seen this coming). i don't think boredom is possible anymore; as long as you have the internet. i was poking around on msn and google this morning looking at the world around me--sports, politics, religion--and came across a list of 'where-are-they-now' internet stars of the last decade. do you remember 'ask a ninja' or 'the numa numa guy' or 'the evolution of dance?' i do, but i just spent about an hour looking into all that old razz and i'm not done yet. 'ask a ninja' has a book (that i just ordered), 'the evolution of dance' has me looking into you tube videos of michael jackson dance impersonators (boo creepy pop star, hooray thriller) and somehow i managed to dredge up homestarrunner.com. thank God i'm hungry with no food around, leaving for lunch may be the only thing that saves me from an internet-induced coma.

fired

i was 'let go' last night. which was my boss' sissy way of saying fired. he was staring at his desk all somber and remorseful...thank God, because i was smiling on the verge of laughing out loud. i already have a job elsewhere, and i gave my two weeks a few days ago, and asked for a raise (i knew they couldn't do it, but i figured i'd throw the ball in their court before i left, i'm done playing their games anway). so last night, he called me in and said he had to let me go because i've been talking to my old boss (with whom i have the new job) and that was a conflict of interest. well...no one else in the company sees it that way, they are in fact pissed at my until-last-night current boss. everyone except my current until-last-night-former soon-to-be-again boss. he laughed as hard as i did. to sum up...

bad things about me being fired:
one. have to move
two. a few weeks earlier than i would have preferred
three. i won't see some people as much as i would like
four. no more company truck, and i have to go buy a vehicle this weekend.
---that's it

good things about me being fired:
one. i'm already packed
two. i'm making a lot more money for working fewer hours and more days off
three. i'll still see those people (lunch with a few today, golfing this week with a few)
four. my new company is buying me a truck, whatever truck i want
five. it's with my old boss, and i get along better with him than anyone in this company
six. (sweet vengeance) all the customers and my old job will follow me to my new job, and that shop will likely shut down because my old boss and i will take all the work
seven. no longer on call every day all the time
eight. (punishment) to my old boss for being an idiot...he'll most likely be fired for driving off two of our field hands, firing me for no good reason, leaving my division of the shop without anyone to run it, running our shop into the ground (lousy numbers a few months in a row), bad decisions, and generally being a crazy dude.
nine. more time to blog, write, read...do whatever i want.

this was my plan, just a few weeks ahead of schedule, i couldn't be happier because this makes the break with my company all the easier. i'm not the bad guy for leaving (which was one of my few fears) and no bridges burned except that between my old boss and me. and i'm still smiling.

blogging bereaved by business...

...but now resurrected, in large part because of a very unfortunate accident at work (more on that in a minute). i've been busy, gone, and not here for a long time. april twenty-seventh was my last post; lame i know. i've been writing, just not blogging, who knows... but i'm back now, i'll see what i can do about the consistency. i have plenty to post, some new some old some whatever.

ok, the incident. a ton of paint thinner splashed into my face at the end of work today (after i was supposed to be home, that's what i get for lending a hand), and it was not pretty. that stuff burns como whoa. i get some on my hands here and there, no big deal, must be the facial orifices, and it got into and burned every single one: pores, eyes, ears, nostrils, mouth, a few cuts on my face...much agony. i took my contacts out to flush my eyes and face, lost them, and had to drive home without. a little scary not being able to see while driving. on the plus side, my face is very dry. not like bad dry, but free of oils dry (i used some face stuff in the shower, i should be alright). i don't think acne will be a problem for the next few days (or weeks, one could hope). i know toothpaste would have been safer, but not so much my choice. an hour and a half later, my eyes still sting a bit...hopefully nothing permanent.

Is God responsible for...?

Some people thank God for their good fortune, and some blame Him for their misfortune. Most Christian Doctrine teaches us that thanking Him is expected, but that blaming Him is near blasphemous. I don't see how one can exist without the other. If God is responsible for the successes of a person's life, then he must be responsible for their failures, not solely, but at least equally. You cannot assign fault after the outcome; if God is in any way responsible for a series of events, then He must be given, and accept, His share of the responsibility of the outcome, because it would be a result (directly, indirectly, solely or in part) of His actions.

Another thought: if man is governed by predestination or religious-based fate, God must be solely and ultimately responsible for all things. But if we have the gift of choice, as I believe we do, how much blame or praise does God deserve, given that any occurence is the result of the definite actions of various people from a pool of infinite choice and therefore infinite possibility, otherwise ungoverned?

reflecting on expectations and obligations

I've been out of school for almost a year (well...summer school, but who really counts that? (except dr. h's speech class, that was real stuff)), and I'm starting to evaluate my life; not so much a judgemental sense, more a reflective look at the last few years leading to this point, the paths ahead, and the expections and failures and successes I've gone through.

I've spent a lot of time wandering and pondering--pretty much all of college--just taking life as it comes. It has and continues to work well for me, but responsibility and dependency inevitably set in with [time and] age. This means my own living arrangements, transportation, food and a job to support the wants and needs of an early twenty-something single guy. My last year in college living off campus eased the transition, but the real world is harsh no matter how you enter it.

For me, the hardest part was the unexpected move closer to the monotony of life after college. I've seen this life in others and am a bit afraid. Yet some of my family and friends have maintained a certain level of excitement throughout their lives, and I have hope for myself. But this syndrome, living life as preservation of the species, threatens at every turn. I graduated right on cue (with a summer session margin of error), got a job, and now looking at buying a house. And I'm only twenty-two. Crazy. For me at least; some want to get on with the rest of their lives, marriage and houses and kids and such, but that's not me. Not that I'm trying to artificially delay the rest of my life--time waits for no one--this is the rest of my life, chillin' and taking things as they come. But the more and more I think about it, this house thing is another step down a path towards that great dull light of adulthood.

I'm not saying a house and the responsibility that goes with it, or any manner of adult responsibility ultimately leads to a lame existence, but it can. And I know myself, I'm not worried that spontaneity will fail me. But I do fear opportunity will fade into obligations. The house thing, along with other minor decisions in my life, are not necessities, or much wants, just opportunities. And what happens when I rush into a binding agreement because it makes sense and find out, months, weeks or even days after it's too late, that there's more for me than the path I've chosen? Sense, logic and reason have always closed doors and narrowed my paths, and I've always embraced the gift of choice and done what I wanted anyway. Two things usually happen: it turns out better than it could have otherwise, or I end up learning things the hard way, but sometimes that's the only way I learn, and it's always the best way. This is a gamble I'm willing to take; sense, logic and reason be damned...I'll use you when I feel I should.

Commitment is for some people, and maybe an older version of myself, but me, now, no way. I will try again in a few months and see where I am; maybe by then I'll be comfortable enough with myself to know that no matter what obligations I have or will undertake they won't hold my back from being me.

post-college revelation

I am amazed at the disparity of world knowledge amongst my coworkers. Some people are completely ignorant to anything outside of hunting and strip clubs, yet some are better informed than most people I know. I'm beginning to understand that the blue-collar environment is more closely related to the happenings on Capitol Hill than I previously thought. I think the people in blue-collar industry have a lot riding on politics. That is where you find unions, lobbying, and industries regulated by many federal agencies (the EPA for one); jobs that heavily reflect the decisions made in the political arena. Coming from the Pacific Northwest, we were less concerned with the federal issues, but I do remember the loggers, mill workers, fishermen and farmers discussing the latest in local politics. And then in college, students seemed very radical and issue-intense at every level of legislation (federal down to new university rules), often overlooking the big picture--as many college kids with dellusions of untouchability often do (but in college you can get away with that)--while the professors were always more concerned with how issues outside of their immediate life would affect them.

I never thought that college kids could be so narrowminded, especially about themselves. Experience and wisdom trump enthusiasm and ignorance. Too bad I didn't figure this out in college.

honeymoon suite

i stay at motels for my jobs that are a few hours from home...usually super 8. i always get non-smoking because smoking is gross, i try to get a king size bed because i can never decide between the two queens (although the extra pillows are nice) and as of tonight, i will no longer leave my room assignment up to the desk lady; i will request the honeymoon suite that is always the adjacent room. i'm tired of...honeymoon noises...until late into the night when i have to be up at four or so in the morning. i wasn't aware that super 8 provided such an option, but apparently they do, because i always get stuck in the room next door.

april fools

this is not a joke or gag or whatever. i'm honestly unhappy with april fool's day. i've been thinking about it for a few days...the guys i work with pulled stupid stuff all day and won't let it go. it was annoying. mostly because they do this all the time, not just the first of april. and every time i called them on it, they just said 'april fools' with a dumb grin on their faces. am i bothered...yes. because april fools is a deceptive and nasty holiday. it's an excuse to lie and be an a--hole to people, or tell a truth you don't want/weren't supposed to tell, then gauge the reaction, and if unfavorable, say 'april fools' and make them feel like the fool. i refuse to play along with the insidious ramblings of these cowards hiding behind april fools.

[e.g.] scooters, vacation, fall

the suggested labels remind me of a brilliant september day in high school. it was late september...a few weekends into my junior year, when some of us decided the beach needed a visit. normally, this would be crazy talk (late september on the northwest coast) but one last day of summer somehow snuck into fall, so off to the beach. we brought tons of food, tents, blankets (it's still cold), a soccer ball and frisbee. someone (not this guy) got the genius idea to rent scooters and ride them on the beach. i, like an idiot who can't see the future, was all about some scooterage...until, while riding along the surf, hit a clam digging hole (a big one, must have been a geo duck) and crashed. much sand in the shorts, and soaked with forty-three degree salt water. not cool.

cotton swabs

I wonder...for the first ear application of cotton swabs, was removing the wax a consequence of a wet-eared man trying to get dry, or drying that of a dirty-eared man?

christian guilt

i'm about tired--no, i am tired--of getting e-mails with a christian theme, or just any theme, that have that heavy dose of christian guilt at the end coercing you into forwarding [what usually turns out to be] a lame e-mail to your friends and family. you know what i'm talking about...the e-mails that say "you may not believe in God, but he believes in you, pass this on if you do, if not, just delete it" (and have fun serving the dark lord for eternity, but they never actually attach that part), or "pass this on if you're not afraid to stand up for your God" (even though the e-mail is another dumb set of jokes or feelgood story that your friends and family have asked you not to forward anymore).

and they have some sneaky e-mails, with cool titles like "check out this crazy explosion" and the first line of the e-mail is "would you have opened this had it said 'check out this awesome God?'" the answer is no, i wanted to see an explosion, and i don't rely on e-mails to guide my spirituality, and i don't feel bad for deleting chain e-mails of any kind. God doesn't care either, his inbox is full enough.

he financed what?

A guy I work with was telling me about a recent purchase: meat. I was thinking 'no big deal' right...it's just meat. So I asked what kind, he told me 'a ton of chicken and beef' and just gave me a stupid grin. I figured I would humor him, so I asked 'how much meat?' and he said 'three hundred pounds.' Seriously. He showed me the receipt. I know what you're thinking, disgusting right? It gets better, or worse, whatever. I asked how much, he said 'fifteen hundred dollars.' I asked 'did you just have fifteen hundred dollars lying around?' and he said 'no, I financed it.' 'You financed meat?' Yes, he financed meat. That's not country, that's not redneck...that's straight texan.

Advertising

The state of advertising in America is appalling. Ads suck more every time I watch television. There is no accountability anymore; companies are settling into a belief that they can advertise however they want. Something must be done, so I've decided to bring consequence back to advertising, as it should be. I will reward good advertising by purchasing/using their products/services, and punish bad ads by not buying their crap. Of course, finances and practicality will limit my rewarding (those waving boat commercials are neat, but really, a boat?), but nothing will limit my punishmenting; this is America, there's an alternative to everything, and I'm ruthless.

Things I will buy more of:
one. Beer. beer commercials are awesome, except budlight. They prohibited a website (http://budlight.whipnet.com/) from providing the "Real Men of Genius" sound clips. Any product that declines free advertising obviously doen't want my business.
two. Fig Newtons. 'It's not a cookie, it's a newton'...advertising genius.
three. http://nowwhat.com/en-us/. No idea what it is, but the commercials are pretty cool.
four. Bowflex. Anything endorsed by Chuck Norris has a place in my life.
five. Soccer. Always great advertising, no matter what it is.
six. Foreign stuff. Honestly, foreign commercials are much better than ours.
seven. Condoms. Foreign and domestic (but mostly foreign) condom commercials are hilarious. Always.

Crap I will never buy again.
one. Budlight (see above). But if someone else buys it, then it's ok. Like being against hunting and eating Bambi (he's tasty).
two. The CW, Lifetime, Oxygen. If the commericals are any indication, these are lame.
three. Herpes Medication. Have you seen the 'I have herpes,' 'And I don't,' 'And we're trying to keep it that way' crap? Exactly.
four. Tinactin. John Madden annoys me.
Five. Cricket. I actually saw an ad for this. No joke.
Six. Tickets to most movies. I'm tired of getting all excited for a new movie because the preview was awesome, and then finding out that all the good parts were in the preview. So if a preview is too good, I won't go see the movie (unless the preview was awesome).

That's all. I may throw out an update later. And why only six craps and seven awesomes? I'm trying to stay optimistic.

Smurfette

i was watching some old episodes of the Smurfs on DVD this evening, and realized that smurfette is the only smurf chick on the whole show. ...thinking what i'm thinking? ...sllllllUT. honestly, how else are smurfs supposed to go on living? yeah yeah, they are created not birthed (smurfette by gargamel (the women created by the bad dude as a distraction for the smurfs)) but what kind of message does that send to the kids?...what impression does that leave to be revisited later in life? all roads lead to whore...a little, once big-nosed (now somewhat respectable thanks to papa smurf), blue-skined blonde sexing up the dude smurfs. smurfsgusting.

handkerchiefs

what's the deal with the handkerchief? all i ever see people use them for is to sneeze into, and then they fold them up and put the little boogie back into their pocket. that's disgusting.

mannequins

when did they start putting hair and makeup on mannequins? they're freaky looking. back in the day when it was just torso, and then headless, that was fine. even when they went breathless mahoney style, i could handle that. but now they have real faces, and they're really watching your EVERY move. it's gross. and scary. what next? real hair? mechanical movement? voices? another reason never to go to the mall again.

but the terror doesn't stop there. at the next station or whatever, they don't have heads again. so you've got some that are damn near human, and then you walk around the corner and they're missing an appendage, or a head. like the mannequins do battle at night when people aren't around. if that's true, i guess i'll deal. but if the store managers are the ones screwing around...not freakin' cool.

beanbags

i miss beanbags. beanbags were awesome...back in the day...pre-high school. you come home from school, a cold practice, anything, and just relax. you could read, nap, watch television on family nights...whatever...fireplace optional. now, kids don't respect the beanbag. they have stupid little chairs that you grow out of (cannot grow out of a beanbag) and even televisions in their room. and what of family nights? gone. ridiculous.

beanbags everywhere...i miss you

weekend thoughts

sixteen.march.2008

one. if necessity is the mother of invention, explain to me pom-poms...and the macarena.
two. i like moonlight shadows (not my own of course).
three. i always feel accomplished when i squirt the perfect amount of ketchup on my plate
four. i would love to see a spelling bee, where the word is, say, banana, and when the contestant asks the judge to use it in a sentence, the judge says, "the word you have to spell is banana."
five. don't suck (that's good advice, for anything)

Bronson the Butler

I’m not the type of person who would ever want or need a butler, but if I did have one, I would name him Bronson. I don’t mean this as any manner of disrespect; I certainly wouldn’t have a man working for me, or possibly living in my house, whom I did not respect (or if they were creepy, and butlers kind of creep me out). Also, this is not a mark of ownership, he may work for me, but he doesn’t belong to me or have any other obligation towards me outside of our business arrangement. In naming him, it would not signify a subservient position; we would just be two people working our way through life, and butlery duties are not below any man. Butlering used to be a highly respected and even coveted position, much like bodyguarding of today. Somehow (through American slavery maybe?) servitude has been reduced to something slightly above low-level entertainer (like birthday clowns…I hate clowns) and just below pro bass fishermen. Regardless, he is, or would be, an employee, not a deed. However, unless his name was already Bronson (which would challenge my beliefs about fate), I would have to rename him.

miniature food

17.February.2008

I was thinking about miniature things today. Not like miniature golf, I mean miniature edible things. Actually, I was just thinking about food. And I wanted a moon pie (chocolate of course). I got there, and they didn’t have moon pies. Blasphemous I know. But I gave the attendant (see: register guy) a chance and asked if they might have any in the back. Well this man, Charles I believe, pointed out a display near the register, where stood, with a heavenly glow, mini moon pies. So I bought five, and they were amazing. But it got me thinking, what’s so much better about miniature version of this and other delicious foods.

Weeks later, I think I’ve figured it out. It’s the crust. The outer layer. Mini moon pies have more chocolate [or other] frosting, as a ratio of total ingredient glory, than their original sized cousins. They same way miniature meat loafs are way better than one regular sized meatloaf, more of the outer crusted up stuff (never had a miniature meat loaf? Try one, it’s fantastic). It’s all about the ratio.

Now you might say, “What about cupcakes? Cake is much better than cupcakes.” And I would agree, but think about the crust, or in this case, frosting. Cupcakes are top-frosted, whereas cakes are top-, side-, and sometimes middle-frosted. Cupcakes are not mini cakes, they are cupcakes. Now mini cakes…probably the most excellent food on earth.

the Common Era

Until recently, I was unaware of the terms ‘common era’ and ‘before the common era,’ or C.E. and B.C.E. I grew up with B.C. and A.D., meaning ‘before Christ’ and ‘anno domini’ (in the year of our Lord, not ‘after death,’ because we would miss recording the years of Christ’s life). The two sets of time demarcations are the same; they represent the same event—Christ’s birth and subsequent life (as usually follows a birth)—but the former terms do not explicitly recognize the life of Jesus Christ. They do, however, conform to the system that does. So although intentionally secular, the use of C.E. and B.C.E. is self-defeating; by attempting to ‘take the religion’ out of this historical marking system, they (the people who use these Christless terms) acknowledge the religious significance of B.C and A.D. Just like when secular or non-Christian religious people get upset over the words “under God” in our Pledge of Allegiance, “in God we trust” on our money, or the Ten Commandments displayed in courthouses and city centers; they concede religious value to material things, which, in the minds of some, validates the Christian claim. If, as some believe, there is no God, or Holy Trinity, or divine power of any kind, they would do better to ignore the Christian aspect of such things, because they are jut fueling the religious fire, and fighting a losing battle (here in a predominately Christian society, founded on Christian values). If someone rejects Christ as the son of God, and wants to refute His divinity, then treat B.C and A.D. not as the celebration of the birth of the Messiah, but as a convenient historical tool used to unify the many calendars of the Earth’s people.

why I write

27.january.08

My mind is alive
with a thousand chattering voices,
all mine.
And as I walk
through infinite corners
that exist,
but not in our tangible sense,
I realize I don’t like
my mirror image,
or my shadow,
and know
that the two are connected,
somehow.
But what I like the most,
is the quiet inside my mind,
like silent letters
dancing in rhymes,
and the (satisfaction)
of seeing my thoughts,
alive,
on paper.

The Collective Voice

17.june.06

We live in a society of self-expression, a continuation of the laments of a persecuted society. They fought back with the gift of speech, and through their words, a people were united, and a country was born. Through time, however, the concept of self-expression has been brutalized and mutated by ego and pride, into an addiction. The voice of our forefathers, the voice of reason, hope, change, is now simply, sadly, just the voice—an insatiable beast penetrating deeper into our society each day. And we pave the way. Pamphlets and books and magazines, radio (an entire spectrum) and satellite radio, telephones and cellphones and text messaging, television, The Internet and e-mailing and blogging…blogging…

We cannot all be heard all the time, or even some of the time, if some of the time is at the same time. If we all speak, no one is left to listen. Why are we not content with merely listening, hearing and not being heard? Everyone wants the spotlight, the mic, the podium. Our society is cursed with delusions of importance, of consequence, of substance, stemming from an egotistical desire for affirmation of …what? Being distinct, being special? The uncommonalities that signify the end of something and the beginning of another have us all searching for a voice in this world; for some way to proclaim our uniqueness. We celebrate our differences, believing that without them, we are insignificant; our society recognizes similarity as a stigma. And because of this, we have all convinced ourselves that whatever we have to say is infinitely more important than anything else being said, so we speak, sometimes just for the sake of speaking, afraid that silence will expose the truth without the deceptive blanket of words over our heads. But we fight silence like we fight solitude, neither embracing its retreat nor respecting its opposing harmony with the collective.

Some may claim to be that quiet savior our society so desperately needs. (Don’t be fooled, they are still vain, just sneaky. And don’t try to fool yourself, you will lose eventually.) They might appear to be listening, taking a breath, nodding along. In truth, they are lying to your face, feigning attention to your words, waiting for their turn to speak, and your turn to lie, creating a mystical fabrication of being heard. However, we are also impatient. ‘Waiting’ to be heard has a short life ahead. Soon, the wait will be over, and we will all speak together, separate but equal, voicing our opinions, thoughts, laments, and feelings. We will talk softly at first, but then louder, and louder, hoping to be heard over the roar that is the people of this earth shouting into space as if air itself had ears. But even screaming only adds to the sound of your neighbors, and theirs’ to yours, until, in mid-sentence, the collective voice shatters our ability to hear, and the world goes deaf.

And when again the world holds its breath, whether the next great tragedy or the next divine miracle, when the people have only tears to shed, our cries will go unnoticed, and we will realize that we have lost our ability to hear, and more importantly, the high of being heard. The withdrawal will create chaos—madness will replace reason. We will be a people punished by our own lust for individuality. Abusing speech will have lead to the destruction of hearing—the medium of reason—and the eventual destruction of humanity. And we will have only ourselves to blame.