somebody else's page

2012-01-29T21:20:00.000-07:00

Ice-Ghost, Get outta there!

2012-01-25T20:44:00.003-07:00

Do you desire to sit by a fire?
Do you have time to do as you desire?
And should you desire to sit by a fire,
Would by the fire you dare sit with me?

Could you surmise a meeting of eyes?
Do you make time for what you surmise?
And should you surmise a meeting of eyes,
Might then your eyes meet somewhere with me?

Can you think that you may have a drink?
Do you have time to do as you might think?
And should you think you may have a drink,
Would might a drink you then share with me?

Might you command a holding of hands?
Dare you make time to deny your commands?
And should you command a holding of hands,
Would then a hand you hold if t'was mine?

Could you suppose, to sniff of a rose?
Do you have time to do as you suppose?
And should you suppose to sniff of a rose,
Would then a rose you sniff if from me?

Perchance you see yourself drinking tea?
Do you have time to do as you see?
And should you see enjoyment of tea,
Then can your tea get drunk there with me?

Might you entertain a ride on a train?
Do you make time for what entertains?
If you entertain time aboard trains,
Might aboard trains will you go with me?

Can you create a fully cleared plate?
Have you the hunger it takes to create?
And should you create a fully cleared plate,
Would you create that plate-space with me?

Would you dismiss the thought not to kiss?
Have you will not to do what you dismiss?
And should you dismiss the thought not to kiss,
Would you dismiss the thought there with me?

Could you relate, to choosing a mate?
Do you have time to do as you relate?
And should you relate to choosing a mate,
Would might the mate that you then pick be me?

At least - might you pretend a letter to send?
Do you ever act on what you pretend?
And should you pretend to write and then send-
a letter, send it please, to me.

2012-01-22T21:50:00.000-07:00

So the boss of the boss of my bosses made us take down my sketches...

So I started-in on my journal! Ha!

2012-01-22T15:20:00.004-07:00

Refuse to admit the real world exists!
With its obs and ligations
And contrary nations
And cranky old coots complaining on stations.

Run with abandon to imaginations!
With the rain and bows bounding
And razzoos resounding
And dancers who dare to be deadly-darling.

Realize your wonder keeps your sane remaining!
With all the accs and idents
And the false compliments
And suckers who'd suck you to a life of laments.

Rejoice and realize you need not their resents!
With all their fauxs and their pas
And their fa-la-la-las
And their pinkies held high as they drink with "ta-tas."

Reflect and remember to live for guffaws!
With friendly cuds from the dles
And some star-staring strolls
And folks that you love for they love you in fulls.

Remember your shoes as you walk on their soles!
With the grav and the ity
And the jaunts through the city
And no complaints as you step without pity.

Reject just the stepping, get your feet gritty!
With some carts and all the wheels
And you'll know how it feels
As head over heels over head over-heals.

Regard with due caution the dealingest deals!
With all their limits on time
And their, "Save you a dime!"
And methods that weasel you into a crime.

Relinquish the real to live life like a mime!
With your eyes open to see
And experience free
A more vivid world than could ever be.

nothing

2012-01-17T13:21:00.004-07:00

Before the pen struck page there was nothing written there.
And now that I have wrote, it has nothing once again.
Yet now with double lines there is twice as much of nothing.
And having written three at least nothing's no longer doubling.
And four of nothing isn't much for four and nothing remains four.
Yet now in five lines live six nothings or maybe even more!
For if the first nothing counts as one - then in those six there's eight.
And having pondered on that eight - writing nothing made it nine.

Before nothing gets out of hand, it seems we have to contemplate.
And thinking clear on nothing it seems eleven or ten to date.
Yet the more we think of nothing - the more nothing duplicates,
And soon enough the nothings will take up all the space!
And having written now at least thirteen nothings to the page.
Yet four or fifteen isn't much when it's with nothing that we gauge.
For five or sixteen nothings are quite the same as only none.
And with six or seventeen nothing there's naught space to add but one.
For it seems I've filled a page with nothing, oh dear me, what have I done?

2012-01-08T00:21:00.004-07:00

What just happened tonight I don't even.

Wow. Um. I, uh. I hope - er... details soon?

It was an unbelievable day at work, let's just say that for now.

Also, I made Michael Martin Murphy a green tea chai latte.

I didn't know who he was before someone else came in and told me so.

We don't normally have those drinks on the menu, but I steeped a bit of green tea, mixed up the chai and milk, and invented the 'recipe' on the spot for the guy.

M.M.M. - "This is quite a bit better than the usual Starbucks one I get."

me - "Well that's cuz theirs don't have any soul in em."

He laughed and said, "Yeah, they just use the premade mix stuff."

Awesome dude. His beard is amazing.

2011-12-31T20:25:00.003-07:00

Alexander Hamilton

2011-12-30T18:38:00.003-07:00

Ulysses S. Grant

A doodle from work today,

as seen taped to the side of the espresso machine.

2011-12-24T23:49:00.002-07:00

Olive Thomas - 1894-1920

I regret those mistakes that are painfully obvious in this sketch, but it is just a sketch. I may attempt this one again.

She lived an amazing, but very short life which ended in accidental ingestion of mercury bichloride. I particularly like the quote about her and her husband, Jack Pickford, that is cited on wikipedia (oh, shoot me, it's a good starting resource). Attributed to Mary, Jack's sister, "[Olive] and Jack were madly in love with one another but I always thought of them as a couple of children playing together..."

I can't help but think that that's the way it should be.

2011-12-24T23:33:00.000-07:00

It's been a few days since being up on the hill. But the last time up there I found this picture. I like it.

poor kid blues

2011-12-16T00:48:00.004-07:00

if i were me then's what I would do,
splash a hundred different colors and arrange em for you,
so that you can look on it and tell me what to,
and if you'd like to have it then i'd sell it too,
but i ain't mees'long as i work,
making dimes making dollars for some other jerk,
don't matter how hard, tough, or bustin' i try,
i ain't never gonna be the upper guy,
and if i was me then's what i'd do,
is write a hundred thousand words and i'd tell 'em to you,
make you laugh make you sing make you dance or cry,
and if they was good maybe then you'd buy,
so you could say the words to folks you know- -
but i ain't me soes what i'm gonna do,
is work hard to make my dimes soes through an through,
for the jerk above till i turn blue and blew-
out all my joints in my knees and my fingers too,
but that's just a given for the you know who's,
of the world that's we who do the do to doos.

and if we were we you know what we would do,
we'd craft an image so huge of our love for you,
but we ain't we when we work for hims,
make our dimes makin' dollars for the nameless men,
and we craft and toil and sweat and cry,
but no matter how dauntless or how hard we try,
we ain't never gonna get no-anywhere,
making widgets for some wizard up in god knows where,
but we keep on goin for a lack of time,
and we toil and test our sense of life,
but we do it all to get the gets and the by and buy-
's what we need for the living we can hardly call life,

but soon's we realize that life ain't life,
if we ain't we, and he's just some guy,
then maybe we could start-a love a' life,
and put a bit a' soul into what we spend our time,
cuz it ain't for a nickel that i like to breathe,
and a dime's not worth all the stress i see,
so i'm gonna do my best'a stick-to a bit of me,
even though i ain't - but i hope to be,
an' if i got fight, someday i'll free,
m'wrists from the slavewage that's shackling me,
to a life a' predicts and sail the sea,
because if i was me then's what i'd do,
is sail a-hundred million miles cross the ocean to you,
cuz there's nothin but love's gonna pull me through-
this everpresent trap that's the poor kid blues.

2011-12-11T22:11:00.001-07:00

base pencil sketch and watercolor paints (topmost),

digital color alterations (below):

All that work and the real gem turned out to be the watercolor testing card:

Oops indeed.

2011-12-05T12:28:00.000-07:00

Oh man. Nothing like 16 hours of sleep to kick a cold/cough right out of your system. Sometimes the best cure seems to be going to bed at eight and waking up at noon.

It's Monday. And Week, well, we got some issues to work through.

HIYAA!- KARATE CHOP exit.

2011-12-04T00:10:00.001-07:00

Be but a blood cell
in a bus stop's heartbeat -
pumping down streets- prompt,
or late's- the city's mood.
To run or walk- to the stop,
the rhythm's concrete- to either feat,
and riders we - surrender free,
flowing and bounding as driftwood.
//
Foolish those who try to fight-
minds full-on gnashing 'gainst window's light.
Praying 'faster' or for flight
will win neither, nor delight.
//
Best course, if late, is closing eyes
and letting motion melt the ties
that tether you to a wrist watch world
of deadlines, deadbeats, and pretty girls.
. .
Then open up once more and see-
blue-sky-puddles and sidewalk-feet,
which reflect and dance and skip and sing
while missing not one bet or beat
and unaware a' your latency.
//
Then may your smallness there serve you to remind,
Live more to what's in front - than to what's behind.

2011-12-03T20:01:00.001-07:00

Here's a story of a photo.

Snow was flurrying around, it was cold, and I tried to read a book while riding the lifts but it's tricky turning pages of a book with mitts and the fingerbones get chatterin' when exposed for too long so the novel landed back in my pocket.

I took about seven pictures today. Some of the great views of the town from the gondola. Others of a mountain valley with skiiers flying by on the run. All of the pictures had more of a backdrop and setting than this one.

Two riders overlooking a drop down onto a steeper blue run, the mountain otherwise empty in eye-shot. Empty lifts passing on the right. I noticed in but a second that it might be kind of neat to have a chair passing in focus while the silhouettes of the riders in the background tell a story. Sort of a "they were just in that chair" thing, or the whole circle of life cliché, or the familiar rhythms of the mountain that all snow sports people keep in their muscle memory.

Well, the chance to get that photo was slim. My hands had to fly out of the mittens, clamor with cold zippers, get the camera out and to the right setting, aim and time with the passing lifts, catch the right focus distance... all in about 15-20 seconds or less - I actually missed the angle I wanted by what felt like a significant amount of time. This was the one and only photo of the moment.

Though it turns out that the other carefully chosen, scenic, more traditional shots of the day, well, they're all terrible. This is the only one worth looking at.

2011-11-28T15:02:00.002-07:00

if you build it, snow will come?..

...but to build it, snow must come (and not melt).

Ah! catch 22.

This is a view of the yard from our balcony, with a possible setup of park stuff to build once the snow starts really sticking. Fun fun. Hopefully. It was fun to mock-up, at the very least.

2011-11-27T00:28:00.004-07:00

So give me all your damaged goods sweet sister.
I want to know what really drags you down -
and how you get to where you're going despite all you've been around,
for soon enough we'll both be splitting town.

Cuz there's more to life than laughing off our failures.
So lap it up like kittens to their milk,
and spend y'dime on spending time 'round those-who care not'a wealth -
for a pocket book can't dictate mental health.

So give me all your damaged goods sweet sister -
lo' I've never met or known you for a day,
and I wish I had the time or rhyme to will a wisp o' you'n-to yesterday,
but a mem'ry-a you I don't have'a chance to fade.

And I want'to meet what I can never just- remember,
to carry but a grain and never the whole truth -
by the tomorrow's eve of a future day there played an angel-laden choir -
while we drank our whiskey hummin' only blue.

So I live my life for you my sweetest sister.
Never a breath of air did you once steal away -
n' though you wept for three, I can't not feel it's you and me -
as each-my steps land solid for you're in my ground.

So I carry on with you oh my dear sister.
You're a freight train whistle sharp at 3AM,
jarring me awake to seize the day a'which you never had a chance -
and every move I make it's with you that I dance.

2011-11-14T20:58:00.002-07:00

delicious pile of fresh cookie

2011-11-13T19:32:00.001-07:00

pencil, digital color and background

2011-11-11T00:17:00.003-07:00

that's life

2011-11-10T21:01:00.002-07:00

almost frozen toes,

because basically the whole trail was covered in snow,

but my schexxy bike got me through it.

oh yeah!

(awkward timer-fail-face)

2011-11-10T20:42:00.004-07:00

duck.

2011-10-19T18:23:00.003-06:00

turtle.

29 - Spitting Time

2011-10-13T16:14:00.001-06:00

'n your time it kinda kills me, but I
don't need to know
jus' what you're gonna do with it
or where you're gonna go
you've got a destination, but it,
it's not down on my road
but t's not like I ain't never been to your show

'n your heart it kinds beats, lo'
but mine /it/ kinda drums
and it drive me down the road to see ---where
I ain't/ never been from
it may start with just a leg but
-soon enough it'll be a jump
and once up, no, I ain't never gonna land th' plain

'n you ask me how you doin'
and I say good-n how ya been
not-s though we really aim to know
we just mixin' with the wind
not-t will-ill at each other
but our time is come and went
an where you go- hope your road treat you better than the heaven sent

31

2011-10-11T14:45:00.001-06:00

Thirty one spins of the earth until the eleventh of the eleventh of the eleventh when I will delete myself from facebook and officially start trying to gain what many of us have lost - by losing touch with the 'world' delivered to me by algorithms that tell me what the program thinks I want to hear from people that it thinks I like.

It is time to become human again.

After thirty one spins I should be in the heart of the mountains - the snow will have started covering everything. It will be so silent. The crisp sound of frozen crystals, like leaves, rolling in the wind - while standing on on the top of a descent of snow. A deep breath before letting go.

I need to pack light. Every minute spent on the 'book is a minute spent not with the people immediately around me or a minute spent not on the mountain. Though that is a bit hyperbolic, holding a grip on distant connections and checking idly every day for some unknown is a piece of baggage too heavy and foolish to take along in the move.

I will lose touch with many of you. But you need me as much as I need you, which is not at all. Go hug your friends that you can hug and carry a memory if you care to do so. I am glad to have known you.

This is a 31 day notice. If you want my email or phone number, feel free to ask. My email address has been out of date on my facebook profile for nearly three and a half years (and they've been bothering me to update it because it's "required" the entire time).

"It doesn't really matter. Here goes nothing. It will be interesting to see what happens."

2011-04-29T01:48:00.005-06:00

At my funeral - don't wear no colors black-
cuz I'll soon be turning green, s'ya may as well wear that.

And at my funeral - don't bring no flowers blue-
I'm already dead, they shouldn'a need t' die too.

And at my funeral - I hope you'll steal the show-
cuz nobody likes a downer, and down's where I'm gonna go!

And at my funeral - I hope you sing whiskey-
Nobody should weep of thirst, the only dry there should be me!

And at my funeral - don't be not standing tall-
For I stood my whole damn life, to knee ya shouldn'a need'ta fall.

And at my funeral - don't cut no preacher slack-
Though his book may bury me, my soul ain't coming back!

2011-04-29T01:41:00.002-06:00

As I walk this streetlamp path
My feet are sore; I cast a laugh
To my heart waiting to hear the most
A message from a friendly ghost.
One that says it wants to keep-
For more than love and more than sleep-
A bond for free that lasts beyond
The distance of-all those who've gone.

2011-02-22T11:35:00.002-07:00

Oh, I have seen caged birds sing
but never with joy...

And nothing would break my heart more
than should your melodies, by my hand,
be transformed into threnodies sung
to mourn the loss your own joyful soul.

And should any come-downers climb up
to our post to command our descent-
I will descend to defend our perch
and fight to ensure the down-senders- sent.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

So stopsign blues on a sidewalk street
impose a rhythm on your dancing feet
but a thought that, maybe- the sign is stuck
"Stop" as an imperative without any luck.

But unlike his sharp- your command's kind.
In stopping me you planted smiles inside-
if nurtured they'll grow until their release.
Though we met on the corner-
let's explore the whole street!

2011-01-17T03:16:00.001-07:00

In case you hadn't gathered, or you're new, or you're worried, or I don't know you, or or or -

Some of the things I write here are purely for humor, or are written from an intentionally different perspective - like the mind of a character I've invented or a hyperbolic exaggeration of a single moment or mood.

Or they're originally written at 4am in sloppy handwriting in the dark because the words were keeping me awake.

But I don't bother labeling anything as such... it's more fun to keep people guessing (total excuse).

2011-01-14T13:02:00.000-07:00

2011-01-12T21:06:00.004-07:00

I'm a man, man.
I've got unstyled hair, dirt under at least seven fingernails, and if I don't shower for a few days parts of me stink more than others.

I'm a man, man.
I can act tough, put on some airs, drink at least seven in a night, and if I don't masturbate for a few days I might start to get a little cranky.

I'm a man, man.
And flexing my small pecks doesn't do much but it does somehow make me feel a little more in touch if I secretly do it while watching an Arnold Schwarzenegger movie.

I'm a man, man.
I've got a rock hard, well defined six pack of sexiness stored safely right behind a soft and cuddly lader of packaging... because I don't believe in damaged goods but I do believe in humorous rationalization.

And cookies.

I'm a man, man.
I like chopping wood, being drunk, dumb humor, and stupid video games. I belch, enjoy dirt, have a bad diet, drink black coffee, and gargle whiskey.

I'm a man, man.
My heroes are explorers, famous pirates, pioneers, and drunkards like Frank Sinatra. Yeah - he had a good voice and style but he was also an ass.

I'm a man, man.
I like hammers. And every time I smack my thumb with one I quietly feel validated and manly behind my loud stream of expletives.

I'm a man, man.
And it's not like these things are secrets but in a crowd as touchy-feely as a bunch of poets I feel the need to be a little feely-touchy and I'm well aware that that doesn't make a damn bit of sense.

But I'm a man, man. And I can can-can. Or I can smash cans - of carbonated beverages - against my forehead.

But I'm a man, man - So I'll grow up, act stupid as much as possible along the way, pick some fights I know I'll lose - pick my nose and flick some boogs - but the most strange and compelling thing about a man, man?

Well that's when a man, man, becomes a man-man, man.

Priorities shift like "do-wop do-the-twist" hips and our man world is shaken.

Love falls down in and if we're lucky there's kids and happiness and warmth and cuddling and all sorts of other things than real men don't care about... but man-man-men do, man.

And well, I guess the thing to remember is - it's ok - even for man-man-men, to pound their chests like silverback gorillas every now and then just because... You know, when nobody's looking,

man.

2011-01-12T20:52:00.002-07:00

When I get my jetpack - I'm going to hover over squirrels and throw nut-husks at them.

2011-01-07T00:01:00.009-07:00

"I made a fake profile on a dating site"

So, I made a fake profile on a dating site
and I decided that the profile should look
a bit like Audrey Hepburn because it might
draw in some glances without writing a book -

and maybe if I let it go I could record
the awful attempts that men often advance
and draw out a few joking comics to accord
the myth that men most often think with their pants.

And I whipped it up and slapped on a picture
of some adorable portrait found on the net
and before I could answer even two Q's I capture
the first man's attempt at trying to connect.

No joke, this is how it went, unedited:

"So I clicked your pic because of your eyes -
but sadly to my surprise,
I only saw a few words written to describe.

Ok, so poetry isn't my strong suit,
but I do speak the truth.
I'd love to hear more about you,
if you'd care to share."

Poetry isn't his suit but eagerness must be
he sent that message in under ten minutes
but he's not alone as they all clamored to know "me"
and I began to learn why so sacred are digits.

Now, I've got to be honest with you all
I felt a bit jealous - my real profile gets nothing
when compared to this imposter. and the gall -
of women to say dating is hard - they're fooling!

Here's how you do it:

Slap up a pretty picture and you get a line
Admit a few hobbies and they'll kneel down low
Hint at horizontal prowess and they'll whine
Fish with an interest they'll pretend to know.

And BAM - you've got like fourty two men
waiting to buy you dinner and drinks.
Fill out a page with slight admittance of sin
and get meals for weeks - by just sending winks.

And they kept coming in:

"I thought that was actually audrey, keep up the good work."

"You are gorgeous! that is all."

"So when you buying me dinner?"

- seriously?

"Hey, you're really cute."

"I'm pretty much tons of fun."

"I'm here for the hot chocolate. If you don't respond right away, I'll know that you were in a coffee or tea mood."

- now that's at least clever -

- and finally, no joke at all -

"How much does a polar bear weigh?"

... ... ...

Inbox inundated with Juno-esque lines
I began to percieve a problem steady unfolding -
All these clever blokes are jumping in time
Bouncing like Tigger in a Winnie remixing.

Their attention is short, seldom over a paragraph
From one page to another they cast the hook
Probably sending over thirty eight and a half
Like ADD rabbits in some strange romance book.

But guys, I gotta be honest with you all.
We performed better than I expected us to.
I was counting on creepers but we stood tall -
Most of the lines were not terribly rude.

In fact - I felt sort of bad about this device
See, so many men were sending their words
and some of the guys seemed decent and nice.
I felt sorry for those not sincerely heard.

So another experiment I right there began.
I started a blog to record the worst men.
To tease terrible lines was the honest plan
but those who seemed nice, to the joke, I'd let in.

We'd all share a laugh making light of the jerks -
And go on our way hoping to find love -
And maybe we'd even learn from the worst -
And fly above scum like a pearl white dove!

So I sent the link out to only one fellow,
the address to that blog so he'd not be led on,
but then 'anonymous' raged with one hell of a bellow.
It seems his head was not level like some rasta-mon'

This is what he sent, unedited:

"Your egotism and the ability to make yourself seem smarter and better then you are disgusts me. You think I'm on that stupid site so I can be an experiment to this idiotic pathetic blog site? I was being sincere so yeah, your a jerk and this site is a jerk and your going to have jerk children. You will just plop out these jerk bags and then you will have completed your mission of over populating the world with more jerk babies being one big jerk family. I hope I don't run into more con artist, yuppie, wanna be artsytartsy types like your Jerk self."

And I thought well now. I wonder what - his - favourite kind of chicken is?

That's when I realized something terrifying.
That all of these men sending these clever clips -
Could be psychotic assholes one nudge from flying
Far off into angry, ranting, jerk-laden quips.

And if being let IN on a joke results in this -
from some guy who seemed not only nice but artistic -
what would they do then to their dearest miss
in some future quarrel - which with love is intrinsic?

And then like a freight train I was hit with a shock
of some understanding uncomfortably gained.
So I took down the profile and stopped all the crock -
took up a pen, furrowed my brow, and then strained

To write out some moral with rhyming restrictions
like, "Men are deceptively normal 'till they turn violent,"
or, "You can never tell who's hiding what sort of sins."
But I came up confused and hardly content.

See I learned how easy it can be to lie,
and how simple it can be to anger my kind,
and how like traversing a minefield it is to try,
to find someone sensible while keeping in mind

that your body's a magnet attracting beehives.
We men all fly at you while hiding a stinger.
Our romantic words and our scruffy-chic eyes
mask that what's true for the bee might be true for our gender.

We all seem to sting at least once before we can truly be kind -
even if after the prick our next big move is to die.
What separates the good man from the dispicable minds
is being able to love while truly disarmed, and with a limited life.

And it's uncomfortable to see such necessary pain,
but I made a fake profile on a dating site for a laugh
and instead came away with a thought that I'll name:
"The Bitter-Sweet Love Equation," though it don't involve math.

It goes a bit like this:

We, as a species, seem the most beautiful after we've had a chance to be ugly. We seem capable of honesty only after we've truly lied. We seem to understand love only after we've broken hearts. And how we learn from experience is both our greatest strength, and weakness.

Basically it means that once we've been terrible there is always a chance to be wonderful.

And for the love of all, we have to take it.

2010-11-18T00:40:00.001-07:00

Probably the coolest accidental picture I've ever taken. Rock on, little camera.

2010-11-15T17:51:00.001-07:00

Advice to Jaclyn - and everyone else:

I've read a growing collection of articles that indicate that people who strive to be happy end up being more stressed and discontent than people who don't bother.

I love this. Because there's few things more annoying than someone telling you to "buck up because the sun will come up" when you're fuming. And there's seldom any moment that, just to spite those people, you could wish with greater enthusiasm that it actually won't (man, that would show em!).

I'm not saying embracing bitterness and anger is a good thing - but if you're mad then you're mad and it may even be justified. When you're happy you're happy.

I just hope you don't end up as one of those folks who goes to bed at night with a headache because you've spent all day trying to be something you're not. Point is, though I don't know you well, you seem like a pretty rad person to me - even while pissed and resentful.

So f- it all - it's all gravy. Be angry. You're still cool in many people's rhetorical "books."

2010-11-06T14:43:00.000-06:00

I'm not exactly sure when I died
but for months I've been trapped inside
and somehow you woke me from my blues
so I've got to say that I'm in - debt - with you.

Because for so many days my eyes
were stuck, a never-ending glaze of whys.
I, slept until I couldn't sleep, then awoke
'round two or three, lazy horizontal bloke.

My, nights were wasted playing games
My, days were half slept and half in shames.
I'd, go to bed with goals, plans and dreams
And, rise too late to finish anything.

But, sure I've got a loving heart.
Though, that don't mean shit when I can't start.
My days when morning's still outside.
A broken roller coaster's no fun to ride.

Then one first Friday at the slam
I came to put a book in your hand.
You had some art hanging on that wall
So I thought you'd be in the crowded hall.

I anticipated and scanned the room
hoping that maybe I'd see you soon.
I had in my bag Melville's Moby Dick
for I've got a memory that'll always stick.

A summer's day spent out in the grass
Where you read aloud for the time to pass
A page or two and your soul shined bright
with passion that I loved like light.

Never seen a love so powerful true
as you had with that prose, through and through.
And I promised then there with my heart
to then end of that book I'd read from the start.

But I haven't cracked a single spine
On a single copy, though I've had time.
Hell I've held this copy of this book here
for what's turning quickly into a year.

And six months past that summer day I found,
this copy with gilded pages nicely bound.
So for a year and a half in mind I've held
a mem'ry of how that summer grass smelled.

So I was finally about to gift this book
And so eagerly around I did look.
But your smiling face was nowhere seen
and it made me think of something mean.

See that warm day was part of a fling.
Nah I don't mean that, we didn't do a thing,
But talk and talk and cuddle a bit,
and sleep over (just sleep) once or twice and that was it.

For about two weeks it was moving fast
my hollowed heart felt full again at last -
You said maybe we should slow things down.
I agreed without a single fret or frown.

Because I didn't want to fuck this up
for I wasn't just some love sick pup.
I thought that maybe we had a chance
at some sort of lasting real romance.

But just like a gamblers cold remorse
Just not in the cards for me of course.
After saying you'd like to slow things down
you never called back as if you'd fled town.

Was it foolish then for me to hope
For some explanation? Was I just a dope?
Why'd you not return a single word?
Not like my expectations were absurd.

I agreed with you wholeheartedly
that we should play most carefully
with our whole hearts because we cared
at least I did, fuck-damnit, am I love-impaired?

But days weeks and months of silence passed
and you didn't answer though I surely asked.
and it took quite awhile but I did reason
that your lack of action was not just love-treason.

Since then you've made art hung on that wall
I bet you've been in love, you've probably a fall.
And a week before about a month ago
you said, “Yeah, I want that book.” you know?

So I came on down to see the show
and I'd thought I'd finally get to go,
“Here this is for you, and thank you too.”
Because that mem'ry's no longer blue.

See sometime in those eighteen months
I realized just what you had done.
You gave a swift kick to my heart
and got it to finally up and start.

Before you I was trapped and cold,
Thinking that I'd die alone and old.
A weepy dumb dramatic fool
and probably eight tenths a tool.

But up you woke me from that slump
Like a sharp steel toe kick to the rump
and once I got over your not calling back
On my life I ventured a happy attack.

And it lasted for an awful long
Until something unknown went wrong.
And fall again I fell into
Feeling stupid and far too blue.

Till I came up to see the poet's slam,
To give you this book because goddamn,
holding on to a gift for a time so long
seems something silly and awfully wrong.

And low and behold again you filled
my heart like a drink restored after it's been spilled.
And funny how you weren't even there
Hell I wonder if you'd even care?

But now – I don't mind if we don't speak,
Or if to see me again, you never seek -
Because you've already for me twice
dug me from a grave - that's awful nice.

Especially when considering,
You had no idea what you were doing.
I guess for me you're eight tenths a muse -
Two tenths left over just to confuse.

So I've come to say I'm in – debt – with you.
And maybe you'd like to have this book, too.
And I'm not exactly sure when I died
but you pulled me up again, though you never tried.

And thank you, finally, for who you are
Whether you knew it or not you helped my heart.
So take this book, in thanks, from me
Because dammit, it's kind of heavy.

2010-11-05T01:04:00.011-06:00

While on a bench with a gaggle of friends
Out the front of eyes, your gazes extend.
And while your pals can see a good yard or three
Your vision seems flirty with infinity-
Out past the cars and the trash on the ground
Out past the streets, tree leaves, beyond sound
As if you're not even there with your arms wrapped around
As if I feel your squeeze- but it's your heart that surrounds
You show me why- to hug like it matters-
to laugh till you're shattered-
and grin till they're flattered-
and sing till 'throat's tattered-

Strange while surrounded you seem so alone
As if waitin' on calls from a home never known
Some future ring that you wish you could find
Some fortune's charted - laid out in your mind-
Out past the illness and cold winter hands
Out past the railyard and poor punk-rock bands
As if you're not even there with your friends by your side
As if their company's good but it's just there to hide
While you wait to escape all the clamours-
to chase the endeavors-
and to follow enamours-
and to plan on forevers-

You say that you miss me- I miss you in kind
When gone for months I thought I'd never find
A chance to tell- you seem apart from the rest
For good or ill, sure the time it'll test-
Out past your plans cast forward in steps
Out past your worries or any precepts
As if you feel with your toes the heart of the earth, old
As if your hand could give life back to the Midas gold
Are you aware of the power you keep-
even while you're asleep?-
and the splashes from your leap?-
and the gifts for those who weep?

You make your exit with weights on your back-
Yet your smile sincere - for cheer, you've a nack
I only hope there's a foundation of stone
For the spirit you carry all on your own
Out past abusers who've made an attack.
Out past all lovers who stopped loving back-
As if you don't make grace wherever in any place!-
As if you're not an angel in this whole messed up race.
With the flick of a wrist you could wage war-
Or send warmth to the poor-
Or grant real ease to the sore-
But to choose which is your chore.

So on a bench with a gaggle of friends
In love with you, but I know - just the bends-
From rising so fast that I lost my sight.
I thank you for lifting up to a height-
Up past the humbugs and grumble-y mood
Up past the smog and the frightfully crude.
And I don't expect anything from our new friendship
And I won't force or command charted course on this trip
But I thank you - and I say sincerely
You're in tune more clearly.
You give real love more dearly-
Than all those who just merely-

2010-10-15T15:25:00.006-06:00

Is the core of an apple really the core?
Or is the 'core' really more the flavors?
Is the soul of a person somewhere inside?
Or rather the sum of her endeavors?

If ink in my pen's worth less than a dime,
then what's that say of the value of words?
I'm sure you've met folks, some you'd call worms-
like 'em or not, they're still food for the birds.

A broken hand holds different once it is healed,
and less likely to take it for granted.
The food that now you eat knew not its fate
when it peacefully grew unas/salt/ed.

Oceans of words full of what we don't know
are written daily by folks with a guess.
A good climbing tree's no say in the act-
to challenge fate just leads straight to a mess.
---
Core of an apple? What a dumb thing to ask!
Eat the damn fruit and then start your next task!

2010-10-14T21:02:00.003-06:00

All children take heed for you are soldiers
Your battlefield's life - your ammunition's time.
The enemy all those who'd divert you
From seeking truth - from living wise.
So never flee while growing older
They'll grant you no peace - they merciless fight.

They control you when you hold a controller
You play their games - you waste your time.
They write their rules and they draw the maps.
When you're in you can't run, When you're volunteer trapped.
Shut off the tube - don't look over your shoulder
By the time you see - buy time back you can't.

All children take heed - takes one to know one.
For I lost the fight - For I'm a casualty.
(I) mourn frequently for all I could have been
While blind to the loss - while stuck in the game.
(I) wake up now freed from a dream on the run
But where am I now? But where am I from?

If I collect all the time spent apart
from the real world, from life out of screens.
I can project it'd be worth half of my life.
For not only time - for un-pursued dreams.
So to connect, I try, with all my heart.
Run from living graves! - Run while still you can start!

Please children, for once, live not by example.
Take command: your days. Take command: your dreams.
Please expect more for you life than a chair -
You sit on for days - you sit placidly.
Never a bore, real life, you can handle.
Don't just let it pass - Don't just let it pass.

Don't just let your time pass.
Don't just let your life pass.

2010-10-14T18:10:00.001-06:00

My Jazz is stored deep in my heart
my dance is of no category
and should the band fall far apart
feet keep rhythm with scat and glory.

To sit dead in a room of taps
seems hardly short of heinous crimes
for dancing floors aren't made of traps
n' boppin' feet just want a good time.

Stand up and move - don't be afraid.
If your soul is hopping, you should too.
Heart-songs through movement will be played.
No better cure for a feeling blue.

So come on then let's kick our shoes
n' to the poppin' band let's pay our dues.
Fools - maybe - the sitt'n left jealous -
'through ears 'll pass jeers they may tell us.

'cuz

A cursed crow will still sing the same.
A coyote's voice will never change.
By living true they earn their fame.
We should too despite tags of strange.

And life is movement so let's live.
We get plenty time to be dead stiff.
n' You're still breathin' so come let's give
these folks a reason to wonder if:

Their static sitting is a shame?
Their pinkies up should be twirlin' hands?
'They sit all night then who's to blame?
Soon the hourglass will lose it's sand.

So if you've got a beating heart,
then you've got a drum and you can dance.
And let your rhythm guide your art.
Prove you're alive, and take the chance.

2010-10-04T21:30:00.002-06:00

If Angelou was
like you, when she was your age -
Woo! - She'd have been great.

2010-09-27T01:14:00.006-06:00

Here's to the thief that stole my ambition
to fight for the grind of rep-repetition
shared her stale whiskey-coke from her nalgene gun
OH could I taste toxic plastic
OH could I taste toxic plastic

Here's to the thief - OH how I pretend
that we kissed when we almost kissed then
when we said goodbye on the crowded stairs there
OH such clear created mem'ry
OH such clear created mem'ry

Here's to the thief with her jaunty crew
to some other town to shoot her brew
Steal the comfort of an everyday dream
OH praying on our hearts in wait
OH praying on our hearts in wait

OH how we love our gypsy love
without even a name for the memory's face!

OH how we love our gypsy's love -
(Here's to the thief!)

2010-09-10T02:59:00.010-06:00

These are some things that kept me up a September evening,
Questions and problems I couldn't stop from seeing,
And guilty of them all, it's easier to call forth some answer than put it into action, but

That are phones are getting smarter,
but are our people?
That our lives are getting longer,
but are they as full?
That we try and try to find what will make it all worth the time but isn't time itself worth anything - anymore?

That all our foods are lightning fast,
but are they as rich?
And if the day could last longer,
would you flip the switch?
But I have I have to ask what you'd use it for and furthermore I do implore you've already got switches for light.

You must forgive me but our struggles are manufactured.
They're worth nothing but the distance they drag us down.
And I must I must say that it's our own damn fault today if something we see bad now, is ten years still around.

That we are all so rushed and late,
would you hold a door?
That our cars all have GPS,
but can we fix them?
I ask are our techs somehow just traps built to hold our spirit back and keep it from touching anything real out in this world?

That our bosses got promoted,
but can't do our job.
That we're kept awake by stress,
aren't our nights worth more?
I must I must remind you please find the time inside you to say thanks to those you love - to turn the world off for them's worth hugs.

And you must forgive me but our troubles are manufactured.
They're worth nothing more than the distance they drag us down.
And I must I must say that it's our own damn fault today if something we see bad now, is ten years still around.

That our phones are getting smarter,
but are our people?
That our lives are getting longer,
but are they as full?
It's hard to say, and I don't know - but I've got doubts that show that while so connected we've never been quite as far apart.

That all our foods are lightning fast,
but are they as rich?
And if the day could last longer,
would you flip the switch?
It's hard to say, and I don't know - but I've got doubts that show that while so focused on time we forget what's in our hearts.

And you must forgive me but our troubles are manufactured.
They're worth nothing more than the distance they drag us down.
And I must I must say that it's our own damn fault today if something we see bad now, is ten years still around.

That we are all so rushed and late,
would you hold a door?
That our cars all have GPS,
but can we fix them?
It's hard to say, and I don't know - but I've got doubts that show that while busy-dependent on our toys we forget the truest joys.

That our bosses got promoted,
but can't do our job.
That we're kept awake by stress,
aren't our nights worth more?
It's hard to say, and I don't know - but I've got doubts to show that our advancements are most often made for hurting.

These are some things that kept me up a September evening,
Questions and problems that I couldn't stop from seeing.
And I must I must say that it's my own damn fault today if something I see bad now, is for me in ten years still alive and kicking.

So maybe now this is a new beginning,
Or probably just hypocritic-rambling,
It's hard to say, and I don't know, but I've got the evidence to show that words written most often lead to nothing.

2010-08-23T01:04:00.001-06:00

Ever think about starting an old fire and realize the entire forest is already burning?

2010-08-05T22:22:00.008-06:00

Careful Johnny Knowledge
With your opinions solid
Intellectual nonsense
about which you seem so sure.

Your tone it is so careful
As you craft your clever verbage
Which talks down the common worker
Like your post's somehow more pure.

Quote your famous artists
List your playwrites all aplenty
Command all founded opinions
The highest of which is yours.

But don't overlook beauty
In the movement of a hand,
Recognize all the hard work
for you, in tilling of the land.

And I hope that someday you will find the light inside your soul
That will be worth more t'you than any word you'll ever know.

But I can tell so far you've not found that happiness in full
By how diligently you seem to try to impress that girl.

2010-08-04T13:20:00.004-06:00

It's easy to forget that it's easy sometimes
and we don't have much but we're still alive,
sure the future looks bleak, but, we'll be alright.

Because it's hard to remember that it's hard sometimes
what we tend to forget is how we get out fine,
even if it always seems that it's tougher this time.

Because it's easy to forget it can be hard to remember
we don't have much but we'll make it through the Winter,
then when Spring warms us up we'll complain about the rain.

Because it's hard to remember that it's easy to forget
and when summer rolls around we'll be wishing we were wet,
by midwinter again we'll be missing all the green.

Because it's easy to forget that it's easy sometimes
And it's hard to remember that it's hard sometimes
Because it's easy to forget it can be hard to remember
And it's hard to remember that it's easy to forget

So if you're waiting on something then you'll never get started
Your days will pass by and you'll end up broken-hearted
So hurry up, do it quick, while you're still alive and free.

Because it's easy to forget...

2010-07-21T15:54:00.003-06:00

Sometimes things need to fall apart before they can come together.

We'll see what happens from this point forward, but there are some very cool things happening now. First off - one of my wild ideas is beginning to actually take shape. Remember that teaching thing that I went to college to learn how to do?

Well, I'm setting up a tutoring thing related to that - but it's going to be more extracurricular than just tutoring. We're talking about a life mentor sort of thing and I've got a good bit of freedom with how I go about it, too.

I'm starting with just one student, but if I could expand to just three to five or six I'd be able to focus on this pretty much full time... and if things go well with this one student I might be looking into starting up a website or something and getting a business name registered - but one step at a time.

The premise? Well, this one student just needs some help with everything in general. He needs help focusing in life, organizing priorities, completing work... just all around mentoring / guidance. Now, I'm a teacher - I'm also a bit of a dreamer and very able to see that our classrooms are wildly failing many students like him. I want to have a class without walls, a school without a building. An education about life that actually happens in life itself.

They teach us in education courses that if you're going to connect with your students that you have to make the material relevant to their lives - and then they say that you have to do it while in a square box in X amount of minutes with school-board-approved markers and safety scissors. I'm sorry, but this system is failing and it's failing because it's full of fake everything. The next generation is set to be the first generation where literacy rates actually decrease - among other wonderful little statistics I'd rather not rattle on about. It's generation: "Huh?"

So, what are we going to do? Well, for starters, it's not going to be easy for either of us (my student or I). I'm going to challenge him, a lot. He'll have ongoing projects and goals outside of school itself, in addition to working on everything for school once classes get back into session. But I'm going to help him, too. The kid needs life experience and perspective - he needs to talk to real people about real things. Interviews with people from the community, hands on activities, volunteering, working, living, and fun. Fun everywhere in everything - whether washing dishes or talking to a business owner. Almost everything can be fun, and that's one of the most important lessons to understand.

The coolest part about all this? Well, I'm a teacher, and all of this stuff will be tied together with purpose and relevance and come together in real projects, real life-experience, and real development that otherwise may never have happened for this student, or any other students that may be involved.

As long as there's potential in this endeavor, I'm going to be working overtime getting ideas in motion for it. If the system doesn't work, fix it. If the system can't be fixed - try something else.

...

Starjet Adventures -
a revolutionary life, education, and adventure company.

coming soon.

...

I don't know what happened that started all this in motion, but the final catalyst happened on Monday when I decided that morning not to go to work.

That entire day turned into one set of inspiring events after another, and so here we are. A huge thank you to everyone involved with that day, you know who you are. Let's see if it was a good thing. ha!

2010-07-06T14:40:00.004-06:00

It's been awhile since the last update.

Since that last post, I've found a job. I don't like it. Not like that's a huge surprise. I just don't care about it at all - I might as well spend my day moving rocks from one side of a field to the other and back again. In fact, that would actually give me a greater sense of purpose.

Anyway, I spent a bit today working on this little flier - any critiques before I do a test-printing of it at a Kinkos? (click to view it bigger) Maybe I can find a little work doing something that I'd actually care about.

2010-02-08T01:27:00.001-07:00

Just imagine the freedom that a well cared for bicycle represents. Capable of such great efficiency - a unique balance is met. As long as the rider has patience and twists a wrench from time to time, a few tubes of steel can take him/her around the world. The only fuel is food - which is necessary anyway. Within every loved bicycle is a wonderful spirit of adventure, and a great potential seldom realized.

2010-02-04T17:50:00.003-07:00

So, this little story kept me awake last night for awhile - I couldn't get it out of my head. I don't know what's up lately, but I can't seem to shut off very well.

Anyway...

The Parable of Souls

A soon-to-be father approached the great Keeper of Souls and said, "I need a soul for my future son, who is yet to be born."

The Keeper nodded and remained still until the man's next question.

"Do you have any souls that are strong and brave so my son may be revered and seldom afraid?"

The Keeper's reply, "Of souls of that sort, I have none."

The father, disappointed, thought for a span of time upon other values that make a good man.

After a time, he said, "Do you have any souls thoughtful and wise so my son may live a meaningful life?"

The Keeper's reply, "Of souls of that sort, I have none."

The father, disappointed, thought for a span of time upon other values that make a good man.

After a time, he said, "Do you have any souls clever and quick so that at least my son might make due with his wit?"

The Keeper's reply, "Of souls of that sort, I have none."

The father, disappointed again, thought for a span upon other values that might make a good man.

After a time, he said, "Do you have any souls of patience and humility so my son may be happy with humble productivity?"

The Keeper's reply, "Of souls of that sort, I have none."

The father, disappointed, thought for a span of time upon other values which might make a good man.

After a time, he said, "Do you have any souls of endurance and hope so that my son may never feel at the end of his rope?"

The Keeper's reply, "Of souls of that sort, I have none."

The father, disappointed, with this repeated reply began to feel weary as he thought what next to try.

After a time, he said, "Do you have any souls honorable and just so those who deal with my son may do so with trust?"

The Keeper's reply, "Of souls of that sort, I have none."

The father again thought on other values he knows, to try to find a set of which with his son might proudly grow.

After a time, he said, "Do you have any souls loving and kind so that among happy companions my son may find peace of mind?"

The Keeper's reply, "Of souls of that sort, I have none."

The father, frustrated, let be known his contempt for this Keeper of Souls who seemed to keep nothing for him.

The Keeper's reply to the father's grievance, "Sir, you seem a man of virtue who will care for his son. You show you are strong and brave for demanding from me a soul much the same. You are thoughtful and wise for all of your requests are of positive kind. You are clever and quick for under stress all of your pairings of values make good sense. You show patience and humility for not turning away from me. Your endurance and hope maintained your composure to your last request. With honor and justice you will surely raise your son, and you possess love and kindness for showing such deep concern for his fate.

I have a soul for your son, best suited for him, you will find it is fit for the world you live in. This soul is of nothing - no values, no shame - and as soon as he's born you must teach within him all of those values you've just asked he be given."

And so, since that day the nature of fathers to sons, mothers to daughters, and parents to children carries on and will do so for all of humanity, forever and ever.

2010-01-28T12:59:00.003-07:00

I wish everyone would just slow down and quit hurrying up to die. Where's my horse-drawn carriage trip to California? Where's my freight trains that go only 35mph? Where's my biplanes and mechanical typewriters and hand-written letters for all long distance communication? Where is the ability to go out to eat and sit with strangers BECAUSE you want to talk to someone and - you know - you don't have a cell phone or facebook chat, so it's just what people do. Where a day was working, but working to live - not to make money for someone that doesn't even know your name.

With our technology, our medicines, our inventions - there's so much potential for a beautiful world. But not if we don't slow down a bit. It doesn't take stuff to be happy. In fact, the more "stuff" you have the more stress comes of it. As soon as you get a thing you have to defend the thing. Maintain the thing. Use the thing. Then you get more things. Defend the things. Maintain the things. Use the things. Finally you get so many things you need an itinerary just to schedule your defense, maintenance, and use of the things so that no one thing goes too neglected and all of a sudden you've got so many things to do that your one most important thing, yourself, tends to slip through the cracks.

Slow down. Breathe.

Most of us have so many things we don't hardly have any time to share things. I mean, sharing is beautiful. It's not just for kindergartners. Look at what sharing does - it lets somebody else defend and maintain the thing. In sharing, you just trade the "use the thing" step. How great is that? But if we're too busy to give up some things, if we don't slow down, we become overburdened by overworking ourselves unnecessarily - and we get ultimately less "use the thing" time, which is the best part. And we miss out on one of the best parts of sharing - company. Companionship.

So, I guess what I'm saying is slow down. Share something. And then go hug a gypsy, because in many ways they're doing it right.

2010-01-28T00:24:00.002-07:00

A thought I had while falling asleep:

There is one pebble that knows all the secrets of the mountain. Learning those secrets is simple, just find the pebble.

2010-01-27T13:46:00.001-07:00

Yup.

2010-01-27T02:46:00.001-07:00

link to image only at 800px.
These are out of order now, but you'll live.

2010-01-27T01:20:00.001-07:00

link to pic only at 800px

2010-01-24T18:30:00.002-07:00

link to image only at 800px

2010-01-18T15:56:00.002-07:00

Vegetarianism/Veganism: The least impactful and most humane way of not dying for as long as possible.

2010-01-16T01:47:00.002-07:00

Serendipity -
You'd better watch out, world - You're
making me like you.

2010-01-15T00:38:00.002-07:00

An elderly woman heard me say to my friend upon purchasing a soda,
"The only reason I bought this is because the label said it was from the 30's"
He said, "Oh yeah?"
I said, "Yeah, and everything that came from the thirties is awesome."
The elderly woman smiled.

2009-12-02T19:45:00.003-07:00

So, my company from a couple nights ago at the Alley Cat Coffee House said I just *have* to write this one on my blog...

So, here it is. It's an ode to the evening spent among new acquaintances despite having a whole bunch of work to do before graduating very soon.

I normally don't have a title for poems,
but I think I'll call this one (it's littered with inside jokes from the evening...):

...You had to be there.
New company's voice all achatter-

And meeting three never met before
Despite sage advice, I'll sit for more.

We've in the corner rung out versus,
Songs and lines which did dearly serve us.

Our audience a cute collection
Of academics in reflection.

Some give us smiles while others scoff,
But the grumpy, they soon bugger off.

For this new group I'm now enchanted,
Despite from which I'm now distracted.

But of all accounts I'll remember
Less the typing on a computer-

And more the pinching of tempurpedic
After which giggles so ecstatic.

So despite panic soon approaching,
I'll not regret this night spent loving-

This group of strangers, charming, jolly
Dong! to meet them, despite the folly.

2009-11-22T19:51:00.005-07:00

Holy Pants! I made this!
Link to the video!

2009-11-09T17:27:00.002-07:00

Hurrr!

2009-11-07T11:41:00.008-07:00

Here's a good defense mechanism: offense.
"No no, we're here to talk about you, my dear
Stop censoring yourself, what do you really think?
You're holding your words in now, you're building walls,
Tell me, you say, why you just can't accept it?
Tell me, you say, what'll you do to change it? tell me,"
And I'll pitter-patter my fingers along the keys
Playing the little melody you want to hear.
Until...

Wait wait wait wait, hold just one damn minute now.
It's time to pull the wool away from your eyes.
Here's a good offense mechanism: compliance.
I'll subversively play the one in need,
While you play the game of the one who can fix.
And I'll dance along to the point of no return where
You realize just how fucked you are - your heart,
Reaching out to grasp anything with intelligence
While at the same time denying still a stretch for truth.
Go on. Act like you're together. Act like you've got it.
Act like everything is right. Act like you're not...
...torn to pieces, frail, weak, alone, and hiding grievance
Behind hyperactive schedules that make you feel important.

Christiane Singer's, Notes of a Hypocrite, reads,
"What makes love so difficult for us is that
We never direct it towards what we really love."
She's almost right. Try, "What makes love so difficult,
is that we often direct it towards what we know will explode."
We're destroyers. Our nature is consumption and overload.
Eat it. Burn it. Use it. Consume it. Buy it. Toss it.
Only consider recycling it, when it's convenient.
Overdose on a grandiose metaphor and sleep it off.
Tell me you're any different when it comes to love?

Play the game to change it?
Life is an infinite number of games and I bet
You don't know all to which you're enrolled;
You don't know who's playing which with you.
Go ahead, try and sculpt me. Try and cut out my excess.
Try and meddle, dig in, get real close - come on.
Look into my eyes, the better to see you with, my dear.
You didn't think this little puppy was a wolf, did you?
Then the time came, twisted and disturbing,
Pliers pulling and pinching and ripping soul,
With castanets clicking out a sick little rhythm.
Bringing you down took friendly fire, too,
And she wept in a panic, but you don't know.
You orbit your manufactured steam-powered sun
but you're running out of coal - aren't you?
Who's playing whose game, again?

Listen - My friends run away, can you hear them screaming?
They get scared, can't take it, get angry - get free.
Before you go, hear this:
Your weak manipulation will get you nowhere,
Unless you start to manipulate yourself.
I hope you find someday what you're looking for.
And I don't intend to tear apart your world,
But I will. It's an addiction. Innocently chaotic -
I don't plan, the dice don't intend to land on seven,
But they most often do. I can love you
And fuck with you at the same time.
I'll swell, weeping tears you think you understand,
You'll think you're helping me, but good intentions -
Will force you to look in the mirror,
And I'll make sure you see everything.
The sick reality. The grit. The gore. The pain. The beauty.
You're not going to like what you see, friend.

I love myself. No matter what you say,
No matter how you try to convince me
That this love is something impure or untrue.
Or somehow I should hold myself in higher esteem.
You'll just never comprehend how it's possible:
The only souls who can take me down
Are those who are too much like me -
Maybe you were almost one of them.
But you weren't.
When two of us meet, like a duel at high noon,
The dusty street with the sagebrush rolling -
One will fall, but both faces grinning.
More often, we smile at each other - knowing -
And let each go on existing, almost inhuman.
More like a beam of energy flying between lives,
Than a being content to live eating ripe fruit.

We are the catalysts of humanity,
We are the engineers of memories,
We are the destroyers of stability,
We are the constructors of deltic change,
We are the failures of conventions,
We are the winners of nothing.
We are not what you expect.
We are not what you understand.
We don't even understand ourselves -
But we love it.

For awhile there, I didn't even know it -
An effective defense mechanism: offense
Pales against-
And just whose game?
You certainly didn't deconstruct me, monsieur.
That's impossible - I don't even exist.

-A liquid-chaos anarcheart wit
like a grandfather clockwork that ticks
constant a tocking, pendulum swings
with a pair of dice chancing the action
where will they settle next, where will they settle?

2009-11-07T10:20:00.000-07:00

snow angels = cold, wet humans

2009-11-06T17:54:00.004-07:00

How can anyone go to the gym, smell sweaty spandex covered crevasses, and grunt alongside hundreds of unpleasant individuals when we have outside to play in?

I've recently discovered quite an excellent network of mountain biking trails around the Horsetooth area. Chances are I would have known about these earlier had I many friends into the scene, but I tend to go alone on my biking adventures so this whole area is like a giant new park with excellent swing sets to my inner child.

Today, I rode up the front, down half the length of the lake, over some parts of trail far beyond my skill level, reached a dead end, rock climbed up about fifteen feet with my bike to get out of that dead end, rode back, and back down on the trails into the city after the sunset.

Multiple almost-wrecks. One almost fall would have broken many ribs - there was a nice sharp rock edge waiting to catch me down below. Almost went over handlebars once. Climbed up that rock face while dragging my bike - which although the rock was easy... I had my bike. Just had to laugh at the top of that one... Also, riding on skinny dirt trails scattered with nice rocks is spooky after the sun's gone down and the sky is darkening. Saw about eight deer - some very close - almost hit one. Did some very complex stuff on the way down I probably would have chickened out on... if I'd have been able to see the trail clearly... hahahaha

Too much fun. My goodness.

Oh, and I took a picture.

2009-11-03T23:49:00.006-07:00

...fans of the yet to be created dislike button on Facebook...

What would you choose to dislike? Generally I see those cute little messages, "I put, "like" but I really needed a dislike button for this one," on status updates for unfortunate events.

If your pal drops his three hundred dollar glorified telephone into a toilet, or something important happens - like he gets ran over by a bus while eating a footlong, breaks his leg, stains his best shirt, and decides to post it on facebook - you're going to be such a lame friend as to not post a little message in reply? You'd rather just hit a little button that does it for you? I guarantee you're not going to make your friend feel any better by clicking a little fucking button. Even the "like" button is worthless - whenever I get a "like" that isn't accompanied with a message I then have to ask myself, wait, why the heck did johnny just like that? And the fact that my brain even goes through that process irritates me. So I've got some internet-fan-squad who "likes" my statuses - the only thing that proves is I have a few american friends who don't mind sitting around with their power hungry computers burning up resources while reading the feed to see if there's anything they could "like." But fat chance if more than 10 percent of them would ever consider buying me a coffee.

Or would the "feature" give you some kind of innate gratification? No yin without yang? No yes without no? No up without down? Fine. But do you realize what you're pleading for? You're asking, in mass groups, for negativity. "Please, Facebook gods, make it easier for us to show our agreement with other people's whining." There's something to strive for.

Already we take for granted what we have. We can spy on people so effectively that it's literally becoming an expected part of culture. It's almost wrong to meet with a friend, strike up conversation, and NOT know about their latest Facebook proclamation. The majority of users have probably committed a few white lies, "No, I didn't see. What were you for Halloween?" as if they didn't already go through all the pictures from the parties trying to figure out who had more fun. What better way to keep up with the joneses, right? Except maybe a little button so we can see just what Mrs. Jones doesn't care for.

Right now, I can be the 1,507,788th "fan" of the "dislike" button on Facebook. It's true. I rarely ever see this kind of mass mob psychology. I mean, thousands of soccer moms getting black eyes to buy a tickle-me-elmo for children who'll snot all over it without even realizing what the hell it is or why it's jiggling is one thing - but millions of people rallying an organization to provide a useless feature to a "service" that does little other than contribute to the atrophy of leg muscles... I'm dumbfounded.

Add up all the time spent on Facebook. I would love to see how much of it is spent doing productive activity - organizing events, writing messages to friends, keeping in touch and networking - when compared with answering quizzes written by illiterates, complaining about stubbed toes, uploading embarrassing pictures, and generating idle drama... Take all the time spent wasted and imagine what could be done. People might even meet in real life sometimes.

Anyway, back to the button. Dislike. Hrm... dislike. I think all of the fans of the dislike button should reconsider their plea for the feature. Instead of the dislike button for status updates, we should have a dislike-friends category. So that we could agree to not like each other. We have a friends list, right? Don't we need something to balance out all this love?

I mean, some people have hundreds of friends on Facebook! Some have thousands! Won't their stalkers also be interested in who they don't consider friends? But, oh yeah, I forgot... facebook friends don't mean shit. I'm up to 134 right now - 120 of which could very well be lost in Cuba for all I know.

Hrm... On second thought - give me a dislike button - right under the profile picture - so I can start telling the world just who I don't bloody care about. That seems pretty productive, right? Funny thing is I think we'd all start by going through our "friends" lists...

Man, this rant sure is an unorganized jumble of crap. You probably shouldn't waste your time reading it.

2009-11-01T11:30:00.003-07:00

Halloween! 8oth post. Blurry American Gothic. Hobbes. And Hayley visits! Neat-o.

2009-10-29T20:40:00.011-06:00

A group of kids in hooded shirts skate on the street in late September. More than three hours and will continue until the sun sets the distant sound of hard plastic wheels rolling along asphalt amplified by a thin layered board. The kids take turns. Talking. Fetching drinks. Sitting. Skating. Laughing. Cheering. She always gets the most applause. She's cute and she's the only she among them. That fact doesn't bother her much; in the papers she writes in college she'll say it does, but she likes the attention. The hes flirt, too, but this group won't be broken by relationships for years to come. They all think they're misunderstood.

Maybe they are. Maybe nobody understands the joy of buying something for the quality, then skating it to death until it snaps beneath feet. To truly use something until it's no more. Just that simple idea seems lost in our economy of disposables. Or maybe the repeated failure is too much to handle. The patience required to learn one trick. One simple trick. The first kick-flip could take months. The heel-flip months more. To ollie more than a few inches, another month. Who has the time? The dedication? The perseverance through injury and embarrassment. Or maybe it's the laughter. Who has time to stand around for hours doing "nothing" at all but "hanging out." Lost on these observers is that feeling of satisfaction. Who can say they've spent a month failing, but today - today it finally happened. Maybe they are misunderstood. This group of friends so dedicated, so tight-nit, so friendly, so joyous... If they were understood, they'd be role models for children promoted by parents everywhere.

They believe every No Skateboarding sign really means, "Don't get caught," but should it really be frowned upon if the "crime" is ridiculous to begin with? Their small rebellions inspire genuine discussions of politics, philosophy, and morals. Mental activity on such levels is certainly worth a few scuffed up corners on benches, curbs, and stairs. Or at least I'd hope so. Do we really value a ninety degree edge on a concrete stair more than the mental, physical, and emotional health of our youth? Or do we value more that mental activity that is inspired by watching the nightly sitcoms and then posting to Facebook our deep thoughts on what happened in the latest episode of Glee (or insert current trendy show here). Oh wait - I'm tossing red herrings, false cause, and other fallacies around, aren't I?

But think for awhile. What do we value? Is interest in a four wheeled board any less worthy than interest in football pads or celebrity trends? What does it mean when a teacher says, "Well, I really didn't imagine her as a skater," when talking about a sweet young girl in one of her classes? And why not? I want to ask. Have we really not grown to value passion, grace, and beauty in life? What is more graceful and beautiful than a skater rising out above the lip of the bowl to land perfectly a sweet, smooth transfer? Imagine the hours of practice that went into each and every nuance of the movement; the hundreds of falls, dozens of scraped limbs, two broken wrists, hours of solid practice, the virtue of never giving up... tap tap, the wheels over the lip, silence through the air, gently touching down - the wheels slide a little, feet adjust - the entire body blends to absorb and stay aligned during impact, arms pull in from being extended to correct balance... and finally, a huge smile. There's genuine passion and elegance there. Is this moment, often lived alone for the skater, but sometimes cheered on by a few friends any less valuable than an audience cheering on a varsity player making a victorious score?

The kids start to talk about school. The sun is dropping. The fall chill is setting in. Their drinks are finished and they say their goodbyes. She has to practice a speech. The hes have their own homework to do. They part ways and skate home to their houses. I assigned some of their homework. It is 8:30 in the evening, and I indirectly interrupted their conversation about capitalism and how, yes, business competition is partially responsible for supplying a wide variety of quality products (with examples given for their own board, truck, wheel and bearing choices), but it also can be a wasteful system promoting the disposal of perfectly functional items. They don't realize that their conversation is perfectly suited to a discussion in school. They don't realize that their conversation is probably more important than the work I've assigned... Or that the grade she receives on her speech won't matter at all two years from now, let alone twenty. That what will be remembered is the moment before the work, when he finally landed that trick. They don't realize, but they will someday soon. And hopefully they will remember for all of their lives.

What is sad is the adults in their lives that don't realize. The parent that scolds more than encourages, the teacher who does the same, the security guard that confiscates, the business owner that presses charges, the team of adults that shun behavior and stifle the very core of who these individuals are. That say, "You being you here is not allowed." How many can say that they get this message on a daily basis - and still maintain a level of happiness and contentment? Still ride. Every day. No matter what. Even while most of the world says, "Who you are is wrong."

I don't want to say that. Ever. And although I have to hide it sometimes (especially in my current position as a student teacher), I'm proud to say that while in my teacher role I'm more inclined to skate down a hallway with a kid than take a skateboard away.

Ride on, ye who ignore the status quo. Ride on and never give in, and never forget, and may you never let those who misunderstand get to you.

A group of kids in hooded shirts skate on the street in late September, and I feel a little guilty because I assigned them homework.

2009-10-25T12:01:00.004-06:00

For a contest at FixedGearGallery.com

This was one of the best day's I've ever had.

This sticker, I think, is a philosophy that many of us who frequently ride our bikes hold true. I certainly do.

Every day (mostly, 14 days driven so far this semester) I ride across town to teach at high school. It's a beautiful ten mile ride to get there, and the sunrises are incredible. Right now, students are learning about the Epic of Gilgamesh. Shown here is a dinosaur drawn by a student during an off-period while I pretend to "teach" next to it. Rawr.

An impromptu fire drill happened after some rowdy kids accidentally threw a shoe at one of the fire alarms. Caught this picture by holding my camera over my shoulder while walking past these two and snapping a picture. I'm lucky it was mostly in focus!

A rather appropriate sign for the gallery that I pass every day on my way home from the school. Yellow diamond caution sign, "Cars Entering Roadway." I really wish this was the mindset that happened on all "roads." Cars are the real danger... 1500 pounds of metal rolling at near twice our speed with drivers that might not even be watching the road vs 200 pounds of bike and rider? Hrm, I wonder who's the greater risk?

The lovely meal that I've been living on for the last few months. I'm student teaching right now, which means I pay twelve credits of tuition for a full time job... and after buying things for my biking habits (and a few drinks from time to time) there's little left for fine dining. Also shown are lyrics to a beautiful song by Jaymay that I was listening to at this very moment - "You'd Rather Run."

After the sandwich, my roommate (brown shirt) and I get ready for a concert we've been waiting for for a month. We are very excited, and rather silly. I found the hat I'm wearing in the attic of the house I rented last year. What a find, right?! It's rather ridiculous... which is definitely okay for going to a Gogol Bordello concert! WOOO!

We wait for the doors outside the Aggie Theatre. Here I nearly finish a flask of whiskey and goof around with the people nearby in the line. A good time for all and some very fun pieces of conversation.

The opening act, Apostle of Hustle entertains the crowd with some funky Canadian good times. They were a pretty fun act.

Gogol Bordello takes the stage, and the crowd goes insane. I am a lover of the pit, in the front of the stage and jumping the entire act - my camera was tied with string to my wrist and I was being shoved around in every direction - my excuse for why this one is a bit out of focus. I've never been to a more energetic show in my life. Beautiful people, wonderful pit culture, and smiles, laughing, and shouting of lyrics in every direction. One of the top three concerts of my life.

Eugene, draped in flag, saunters out on stage for the opening of the encore. The crowd called for encore for at least five minutes straight. We were all exhausted and out of breath. We'd shout loudly for about thirty seconds; get quieter while we all caught our breath while clapping and stomping; and then start shouting "Gogol! Gogol!" again. This was a fantastic encore - the entire band came back out later, and played a setlist almost as long as the entire show before it. After the concert the band had to take off to Kansas almost immediately. Those of us who circled around to the back of the Aggie by the tour bus were sad to hear the news.

I got to talk to the bassist, Thomas, for a little while. I gave him a comment that sums up the night well, "Beautiful music, beautiful energy, and beautiful f-ing rhythm."

After the show, I was too busy being pulled into beautiful conversation and falling in love at first sight (it happens to me a lot - hopeless romantic deep down under my cold, bitter heart) with a Rachel that I met at the show to take any further pictures.

So, thank you Apostle of Hustle, and Gogol Bordello. Thank you to my roommate who came with for the show. Thank you to my students at the school for giving me something to do every day. Thank you to the girl with the hundreds of bracelets (Ana) in the line out front for joining our conversation. Thank you fixedgeargallery for giving my my daily dose of bike. Thank you Rachel (of Denver) for a set of beautiful memories and for rekindling my belief that there are people like you in the world - I hope you made it down to Denver in time the next morning. I can't tell you how enamored I am with the conversation we shared. I hope you find a great nursing job, but here's to the eastern Europe trip we tentatively set for the future! Thanks to whiskey, for being a lovely elixir of joy (to those who indulge responsibly, of course). And thanks to bikes!!!

2009-10-06T19:28:00.006-06:00

Holy crap, I LOVE these socks! Thanks, Mom!

(they were a present like... a year and a half ago or more).

2009-10-05T22:05:00.004-06:00

goddammit I just want to hold a hand and lift you up in a huge fucking hug every time I see you. And cradle your head and feel your soft hair and for you to smell good once in awhile. Yeah. You don't even have to smell good all the time - I'd just be happy for once in awhile. And we'd dance just for the fuck of it and neither of us are any good so that's that.

someday you'd get drunk and throw up on my shoes and I'd finally get a new pair and it wouldn't make a damn bit of difference between us. Actually, you might like me more because I'd have a cool new pair of shoes. Not that you're shallow, but I'd probably be happier and stepping lighter because I wanted a new pair of shoes anyway. And I'd probably like you more because I saw you vulnerable, sick, and throwing up on my shoes and you were kind enough to let me take care of you.

occasionally, we'd go thrift store shopping together all fucking day and not buy one damn thing, except maybe dessert. Or beer. Which we both know is as good as dessert. We might have stolen a pair of socks, too. And maybe a scarf. We'd pass an old woman on the street and say hello and smile, because people don't do that enough. We may even buy her a beer too. Or give her the scarf because she probably commented about how cute it is on you. She'd say no, but you'd insist.

and we'd ride our bikes to events - because then you can bike home no matter what you've ingested and laugh all the way back. You'd sleep in and I'd get up. Or I'd sleep in and you'd get up. And it wouldn't piss either of us off either way. Some days - we wouldn't sleep at all.

we'd listen to good music and eat food. We'd listen to music and dance around in an apartment. We'd listen to music and draw or write. We'd listen to music with a crowd of friends around. We'd listen to music and rant about life. We'd listen to music and play board games. We'd listen to music and play bored games. We wouldn't watch much TV, but when we did it'd be clever programming. Or maybe the Antiques Road Show or Bob Ross. Or Northern Exposure. Or Always Sunny.

I'd go on a bike ride all fucking day, spend the next with friends, and the next slothing about alone, and you'd spend Friday and a whole weekend away doing whatever the hell you wanted, and on Monday it'd be like a clash of the titans - if titans were Care Bears and into hugging. We could make it the whole time without worrying, or needing to talk - but we'd probably want to anyway.

and you'd be positive and hopeful, and inspire me when I feel like weathered shit. You'd do it without trying just because it comes from who you are no effort required. And I'd be fucking thankful as hell and do the same for you. And if we both landed in sadness together - well, we'd be the most pathetic mass of weeps anyone has ever seen and it'd be goddamned beautiful - and if we were both rising on happy, well, watch out because we'd be a giggly mess running down the sidewalk and we might not be watching where we're headed.

we'd brush our teeth almost every night and morning because dental hygiene is important, damnit - but we'd skip occasionally because we're just too comfortable to get up before sleeping. Sometimes I'd pass a note at dinner - and you'd write back - and we'd spend an hour eating and passing notes just 'cuz. And not always, but sometimes, when I'd hold your hand while looking at something, I'd know it was forever. Even if it only lasts one more day. Or one more minute.

eventually, I'd catch you singing a song I know - and I'd join in, and we'd have the best damn impromptu karaoke session ever. And you may even have a list like this, and I'd find it - and say, "Why the hell haven't I seen this?" with a huge smile because I love it all and want to get started - but I'll know that we already have. I only asked because I was so excited. I was so excited. So excited. And I'll know that you could have written so many more things - just like me.

and I'm not even sure who the hell you are, but I'll find you someday. It'll be great. And I'll hold your hand and lift you up in a huge fucking hug every time I see you. I swear.

2009-09-26T22:58:00.009-06:00

Danielle Ate the Sandwich and You and Yourn

So, on today's "Bike Saturday," which turns out is usually just me riding my bike on Saturday, my roommate Jake and I got to see this pretty lady give a performance at Everyday Joe's. Lemme tell ya, she's a looker! She also Ate a Sandwich and had this face to make of it:

I set my camera on a table, with instructions - take pictures and return the camera to the table... hardly anyone grabbed the camera, but a few did. I have no idea who this fellow is:

Eventually, Danielle played some of those song things, and we all giggled at humorous jokes in-between each diddy:

A gnome was very much in approval of the event, and brought a wheelbarrow to carry his enthusiasm:

This is my friend Jake. He is good because he is the only friend that showed up (out of many who said they would, too...) and I am glad that he did, or else I would have felt alone and rather more shy.

This fine looking pair played first, there was much harmonizing:

Apparently Danielle has really bad ideas sometimes.

But sometimes, she has very good ones. Lamp is very famous - as you see, she's appears almost luminous and is wearing a green dress! We were both pretty surprised that such a celebrity would allow us to take a picture with her!

But eventually it became time to leave... and I didn't want to be where I was going. I'd much rather have spent some time drinking some tea and making fun of cats with tiny mews with a new friend. But I suppose if every little dream came true there'd be no reason to dream.(I can't really say why everybody wishes they were somewhere else)

2009-09-21T22:20:00.001-06:00

turns out, I'm scared of a lot.

2009-09-20T11:27:00.000-06:00

another one - which is better?

2009-09-19T21:52:00.002-06:00

business card for Bike Saturday!

2009-09-19T17:08:00.003-06:00

That was the most intense four hours of biking ever. 14.8 miles to the trailhead. About eight miles of mountain biking trail - some of it totally unmanageable, most of it do-able but really tricky, and only portions of it as smooth dirt single-track. Back on the road just SW of Horsetooth. Climb and descend around the south tip of Horsetooth. Nine miles back home. Couple of small blisters through the bike gloves. Faster cadence on downhill than ever before (caught up with a pair of quick spandexians who passed me with their fancy bikes just after the bottom of the hill).

Dehydrated half way through it all. Numb legs. Dizzy some. Almost ate it, often - very often. Crazy downhill skids around rocks on the single-track. Sweat drops blowing off nose every breath while climbing hills. Filled water bottle at some random shack coming around the lake (scary lookin' dude let me use his hose). Bought a Klondike bar at the Horsetooth shop thing further down the road from the shack. Snapped one photo. Rocked the casbah. And have decided I need a much smaller chainring and an extra chain so I can "change gears" at the bottom of the mountain-biking part in order to do it better next time! HA!

2009-09-13T22:08:00.010-06:00

you were wandering sidewalks with your socks on
you've danced holes in the heels of every pair
you say life's about losing then moving on
and I'd ask if that's some kind of despair

there's a million reasons for every cause
and for each cause an equal sum of effects
add one to that number for why I should be gone
but I still get up after each of my rests

you collect roses but keep only the stems
you say they're neglected by the everyman
but you trim each thorn so to avoid the pricks
and say to be kind we all need a hand

I say that I drink for fondness of the beer
and I say that I sleep for I need the rest
but the drink's for the buzz, the sleep to pass time
because met her, finally, I've not yet

and you cook a meal you wish you could share
and you're alone though your table's set for two
so you face your front door that you've left unlocked
with each bite you hope it opens to you

I smile at every fair stranger I pass
and scowl unbeknownst to those who don't smile back
for I know only those who grin like a fool
could bring color to this cold heart now black

last fall you knit yourself one pair of mittens
you wear them with pride every time weather snows
used only the ugliest colors of yarn
you say even the unwanted need homes

I judge my c'llection of unhealthy habits
and find long overdue the ending of some
hear myself saying that it's hard to concede
if waiting for past that has yet to come

you wait for a letter that was never sent
its sender grew blinded by love that he shared
yes, he never wrote, yet in his heart he kept
still a longing for you uncomparéd

and I've kept for years a small gift that I got
it sits where I see it for hours every day
by a girl I loved t'was handed to me
a love not shared - freely given away

you say life is not about what you're given
nor is it about the grand sum of your worth
so you're happy that all your prized possessions
could easily fit inside a small hearth

and I think on my piles of collections
and stress over all that I don't need to own
and pledge one day to run far far from the heap
with someone yet I've never even known

and you know that your life journey will be sweet
someday travel to any number of lands
you hope from love to find that inspiration
of the sort that can't be held in a hand

but I know that if I postpone the journey
waiting for someone to leave with on this trip
that never will I leave even this city
and that never will set sail my hardship

2009-08-16T18:35:00.010-06:00

All too comfortable to be anything but a bit above average/
Contentment as commitment to apathetic submission to commercialism/
Education as business/ pump in minds to turn those with hopes to clones/
From day one they want one who'll spit one script but I refuse, I won't and I don't/
And I guess I'm sorry if I care more for students than for my wallet/
And I won't change who I am to appease that man in a suit/
And I'll drink when I want to get drunk but that doesn't make me bad/
And I'll sing at the top of my lungs for love and rage but never on command/
Administration games play at meetings tossing ideas like paper airplanes/
All end up in the same place/ (even if good ideas) cast away food for the rubbish bin/
That is, if it goes against the status quos or puts power into the worker's hands/
But if instead it justifies the salaries of the upper guys then vote it in/
And hold your own tongue if you start to develop an opinion or a conscience/
Nobody wants to hear it or that's what they say but why oh why do I find/

that everyone I rant to has some kind of opinion?
that everyone I hear speak thinks they've got solutions?
that everyone I meet tries to tell me what's what?
that everyone I've ever loved had feelings deep in their gut?
that everyone I bump into says I that was in their way?
that everyone I talk to has something more to say?
and everyone that listens to me wants for me to speak their lines?
and most of the folks that ask me questions only ask for the time?

Yet we're all too comfortable to be anything but a bit above average/
Contentment as commitment to apathetic submission to commercialism/
Education as business/ pump in minds to turn those with hopes to clones/
From day one they want one who'll spit one script but I refuse, I won't and I don't/
More to life than earning shiny silver dimes and investing in other's lies/
And if I am a teacher then I'll teach on more than books and poetry/
And if I am a bartender then I'll be serving more than overpriced drinks/
And if I am successful you may find yourself asking for advice/
And if I turn a failure then this could be the last you'll hear of mine/
So steady ears please turn my way/ and hear that either result is fine/
To win or lose is life/ if my pain or joy I can truly claim as mine/
Because sometimes it's hard to remember that if you're not dead then you're alive/
Sometimes it's hard to remember that your life won't last as long as you'd like/
Sometimes it's hard to remember that your dreams just like your days slip right on by/

2009-08-13T23:59:00.004-06:00

still vegetarian. Yay, leafy things.

and here are some things in my new room...

2009-08-06T14:55:00.007-06:00

full moon bike chaos - some visual documentary - it's like facebook, except not so obnoxious because I'm not tagging people in inappropriate photos... Swell!

and some people I met later, after the ride - because I waited with someone for her friend and missed those that rode up the canyon - that I stayed up with until 8am - who needs sleep when you've got ridiculous, right?

2009-08-05T14:27:00.002-06:00

so I've moved into new apartment in full.

have been sleeping on floor - because my room is small and so I'm trying to get used to it so I won't have to have a bed anymore. It's getting better - was able to sleep in normally today. And after sleeping on the floor - my back doesn't crack like a bendy-straw every morning anymore. So that's a good sign, right? :P

I like the reduced stress of living here instead of the house - utilities paid + no lawn to take care of by myself is a nice touch.

moving was a bitch though - I need less stuff. Even though I don't have "a lot" compared to most americans... I still have too much in the sense that moving is a huge friggin' chore and I can't possibly fit it into one car load alone. Baaaah!

someday I'm going to get away from everything, and that day will be awesome... and I think I'm going to head SOUTH when it comes. It'd be cool if I had a pack of travelers with me, but knowing me, I'll just wake up some day and leave alone. cést la vie.

2009-07-28T03:30:00.005-06:00

time for some late night channeling of all things thought - I just took my shoes off - have been wearing them for fourteen hours or so - the ceiling fan stirs the air in my room and I can smell them. Just a bit, nothing fierce to the sinuses, but an odor - natural and feet-like.

today, I wore my yellow shirt, long sleeve, button up, outrageously ripped right sleeve. With my , "jaunty hat," as it's been called, and some old brown pants that are straight out of an old seventy year old man's closet (probably) - I fancied myself a modern day Oliver Twist,,, without all the hardship, or singing.

lunch today consisted of overpriced buffet food at an over sized Italian restaurant/buffet down in denver. I have a buddy who's leaving for Argentina in the next semester, so a couple friends and I drove down to see him. I rode with Tegan - burned a Real Tuesday Weld cd for the drive and listened to it three times. Topics of conversation included a great deal on how most people are kind of morons - especially when it comes to relationship matters in general... or intimacy. There's apparently a lot to be said for intuition, and the ability to read body language and react to it - nice guys finish last... because they make you finish first? ha. maybe. Just funny and amusing conversations.

and I've felt hungry ever since I got home, but I think it's just the fluttering, again. Who knows what the heck is going on. I know I'm not, though. I have eaten plenty today. In fact, in this month of vegetarianism I think I might have gained a pound or two... nothing major, but might have. I don't know. not a big deal.

Sunday was nice. Helped out at the garage sale, which basically meant standing around in the sun because there wasn't a whole lot to do other than move a box, occasionally. But I enjoyed it, and was good to see Tiffanie for a bit, was worried that was slipping away or something. Don't want that to happen. Jumped in the river afterwards and it felt amazing like it always does after being in the sun for some time. Drank a little rum and coke that morning, but not to get drunk or anything, just for fun. After that, got all wrapped up in thought about the final goodbye moment that I decided to deliver a little note in a yellow police-ticket envelope about it - who know's if that was a nice idea or not? It was supposed to be cute and make a smile, is all. We'll see. Truth is, I've decided, "fuck it, I'm just doing what I want to do." I think it'll be for the best. After all, it's how I've lived my entire life so far - and I'm alive, and happy most of the time. Hope for a or b, what good does it do? Why not just live - you know?

maybe that's the trouble of it all. Or, at least, in the past. Expectations, hopes - dissapointments, worries. What good does it do to play jenga with blocks made of internal psyche? Why not just let all the blocks muck about how they see fit? Is a tower really all that better than an indestructible pile? Especially when the pile isn't so bad to begin with. I'd rather be a pile of all these experiences that I've had than a tower unsteady and unready for the slightest breeze with pieces being knocked out of me on a daily basis. I don't even like the idea of getting married, even. I'd rather end up with a good friend after years of adventure.

but I still hope. It's just a different hope. Not a self centered selfish hope, but something new. A hope for failure - almost. Not anticipating failure, but embracing it when it happens. As my dad told me, "I hope you fail all the time... not that I want your plans to not work out, but the more you fail the more it means you're trying things... doing things - and you'll succeed sometimes too. But I hope you have many more failures." There's nothing wrong with something that goes awry. It's natural. It's necessary. So now, I hope only that I can laugh at myself, learn, and be happy even if I'm cleaning hairy muck and scrubbing the bathroom tub - spending more than six hours on a prime-weather Saturday doing nothing but cleaning alone. Because fuck it - at least I'm doing something. It's not like life is slipping me by as I clear out the grime. But I do hope I don't screw things up somehow - which is natural, of course.

2009-07-25T13:22:00.000-06:00

2009-07-22T18:38:00.014-06:00

Old man on the front porch waiting for mail,
Your invitation calls, I sit for a spell,
To hear your rants and weaving of tales,
And your many complaints, eager to tell.

So we seem to get along while we talk,
Spend good afternoon hours in bullshit,
With hellos to passers on the sidewalk,
And your words hitting true, oft made of wit.

You know enough of problems to complain.
You know enough of past to project.
You know enough of people to pass blame.
But do you know enough of action to protect?

Old man on the front porch waiting for mail,
I can see that your eyes have lost their shine,
Have your honest tears yet filled up your pail?
And what led you to live here on the line?

These apartments cheap and falling apart,
The luxury's low, rent follows in kind,
Fit for students, poor, or those making art,
Which of these are you, old man? Do you mind?

I sat with you for hours there, outside.
I sat with you for hours to learn your mind,
I sat with you for hours where, I tried,
I wonder if the same you did with mine?

Old man on the front porch waiting for mail,
On politic we fumed, our lack of rights,
On happiness reveled we in its jail,
But on love, old man, you cast no insight.

Where and when did you hide your love, old man?
And why did you dodge giving thoughts to me -
As if buried in a time capsule can,
The map to which you can no longer read?

You know enough of problems to complain.
You know enough of past to forget.
You know enough of people to have shame.
But do you know enough of love to seek it?

So I sat with the old man awaiting mail,
And found myself disquieted by fear.
That maybe like he, I'm on the same trail,
To be weary, recollecting past years.

What will I do to be sure that my age,
Doesn't come empty with growing complaints,
Too little on love, too much playing sage,
And far too many hours studying taints?

I think I'll grow young, start acting my age.
I think I'll grow young, leave him to complain.
I think I'll grow young, tender love all ways.
I think I'll grow - old man - and try less to cast blame.

2009-07-14T00:43:00.002-06:00

end of midnight ride, playing outside of house.

2009-07-12T00:46:00.005-06:00

With the deepest sincerity and a fiery passion I do hereby damn and curse and condemn any man who has ever let his dick control his reason, thus giving merit to the stereotype under which I suffer. Is it he, who turns any act of kindness I commit into a perverted attempt at seduction? Is it he, who transforms my words into meaningless filth with one secret shallow meaning?

I'm getting rather sick of it. Are honesty, integrity, honor, kindness, sincerity, and innocence that fucking rare?

If I knew it wouldn't rot and fall from my arm before I die - I'd promise to wear this string until my death - and expect nothing in return. I still do intend to, until it falls away or becomes otherwise unwearable, as a reminder of a few things. The day I was inspired to start to try to become vegetarian (still kicking). The day I first met... and the day I found myself unexpectedly and wholly rendered loopy over one. etc. etc. Every day it gains more meaning.

But certainly not the day I tried to begin a quest to get laid - I can't believe assholes like that. I was thinking seriously on celibacy, in fact.

If I do something nice it's to do something nice. I'm not looking for a return. I just wish more people knew that, I guess. I feel kind of alone, in that, sometimes.

I feel like I've been unfairly judged, lately. An example is the landlady we were to rent from - most recently - declaring that I'd be a terrible person to live with and that I'd be irresponsible and not trustworthy... this woman was telling this to my friend who I've known for a few years now. She had no basis for such claims, but made them anyway. She also insulted my father's honor to me over the phone, and lied to both Jake and I. Before this, I was looking forward to spending some of my spare time helping her with gardening around the apartment building and getting to know her because she keeps a good number of flowers around the building. I asked if I helped, if I might be able to pick a couple from time to time - with the idea that I could give them away. She then, said that I could. I was thinking of cutting roses for Tiffanie - who's now... well, I don't know exactly. I hope still a friend.

Why, again, did this happen? Where did that landlady get such a negative impression of me that she'd lie to Jake and I - to get me to not live in her apartment building?

sigh

time for some "emo" music, I guess - but I like it. One of my favourite songs, and feels kind of related to the moment.

2009-07-10T00:42:00.005-06:00

Jon Coleman - Something Hopeful

For the last couple days, watching this has been a daily routine (a couple times a day).

Such a great song - and such a cool guy.

2009-07-10T00:24:00.007-06:00

The Elders

fantastic show - plenty of dancing and antics - and I was onstage (and playfully tried to leap into the lead singer, Ian's, arms). It was pretty goofy, he didn't expect it - but serves him right for calling such a silly kid up onto the stage. *grins*

plus, danced with a decent number of different people - and a woman at least ten years older (in the nicest way possible) gave me her card for kicks - and one was the woman kind of "in charge" of things, she works at the museum in Loveland and I've shadowed her once or twice - she came over during an intermission and told me not to go onstage again (which I expected, because of the combination of water and lots of electronics, and I teased her about having to stir up some trouble for her at least once a year) while we talked about other things for about twenty minutes. Later on I stuck myself between these two and threw my arms around both of them and we jigged for a song. Hilarious and very fun.

Afterwards I talked to Ian - complimented on the show and said that I hoped I didn't throw his back out or anything. He laughed - a good natured guy. I also asked about him buying me a ticket for the cruize they're going on, he said yes - but surely was only joking. *eyeroll*

fun fun fun.

thanks to Jake and Erica for taking these pictures!

2009-07-09T11:27:00.001-06:00

fuck

2009-07-08T20:12:00.008-06:00

"It's just another drink," he tells himself, every time. After all, when blood on cuffs is the smallest concern - a few ounces of jack seems not like much. The blood is always cleaned by the time his daughter, Chelsea, is released from school. Charles works quickly - and he's proud of that, too. "Preserves my art much better that way," he boasts only to those who understand.

He eyes the rocks glass, adoring the color of his whiskey. The round glasses dangling on his nose hold back dark hair that too, hides a drop or two of red - he doesn't notice them, nobody will. A swirl, and a sip, before steps to a hall-washroom sink to rinse off his hands. Deliberate scrubbing, hasty motions that splash and wet the cuffs - water collecting in the slowly draining antique sink turns pink. An innocent color, he thinks, like his daughter's favourite pillow - or a children's television program. Charles grins at the thought, "I wonder if they know they're building fondness for the color of diluted crimson."

Hands clean, he sips while watching the sink drain. A small pool always collects right around the stopper for the water draining slowly - it takes an extra shot or two of water at the end to clear it down. Charles knows everything about his home. It is old, antique, full of art and beautiful things. Rustic plumbing, wooden floors, unnecessary wash-bins, old wooden chairs. Charles wouldn't want Chelsea to ask about the food coloring in the sink - wouldn't want to get her hopes up for pink vanilla cupcakes. He adores his daughter, and will only raise her hopes when he knows he will meet them. Leaving the washroom, he sips more whiskey with his left while unbuttoning with his right hand the white shirt, top to bottom. It's easier that way.

His bedroom upstairs a half-mess: one side of the bed is made, one dresser is organized, one closet is in order - categorized - even the shoes, one jewelery box on the organized dresser is perfectly set, charles has a small assortment of watches scattered across the top of his - along with three socks and a bottle of aftershave resting on it's side. Charles ignores that which doesn't belong to him, "It's not my place, to disturb the past." The laundry hamper apathetically receives his dirty shirt as he hears the love of his life enter downstairs. Charles grabs the nearest clean shirt - he doesn't have much time - when he notices that he usual happy screams of, "Daddy!" are replaced with a loud thump of an overladen backpack and hurried stomping towards the kitchen.

He pulls the t-shirt over his head with vigor - the collar get's caught on his glasses and flips them from their precarious perch far forward on his nose to the floor. He stumbles forward in a rush. Something is wrong in his daughters world! Below his right shoe he feels a crunch, immediately recognizable. His glasses are ruined, "destroyed by love," he tells himself glancing at the blurry shards of glass on the wooden polished floor. But one last sip before descending.

As he nears the kitchen, where his daughter - cuter than he's ever seen her, albiet blurrier than usual - is frustratingly dipping a cookie into a glass of milk. Charles hears her sniffing back tears as he approaches.

"Chelsea, what's got you so - darling?"

"Will!"

"The boy?" Charles is squinting into a cupboard, to pull a glass for milk to join his daughter in her rant. He loves her, but at the same time he finds it so adorable the things she so often gets upset over - such innocent lives children often have.

"Yes, duh. He..." she sniffs a long and disgusting-cute mass of snot back into her throat before chomping on her dripping cookie.

"He what?" while pouring his glass.

"Pulled my hair! and then!" She looks furious, and leans forward across the table, nearly tipping her glass of milk with her coat if not for Charles' quick hand to save the accident. Whispering, "He pinched my butt."

Charles struggles feverishly, his cheeks flushing, to hold back a grin. He knows he has a cute daughter, after all - it was only time before she attracted some attention like this. Settling himself, "Then what shall we do with him?"

"I want to kill him!"

"Now, now..."

"No, I want him dead!"

"But - now hear me out Chelse..." leaning forward much as she did, he whispers, "What if he likes you?"

"Eww!" This time her flailing arms are too much to handle. She knocks her glass which slides to a loud crash on the floor. The milk spreading across the floor mirrors the color draining out of her cheeks. Charles smiles - he knows there's certainly worse things than spilt milk or a pinched seven-year-old-butt that his daughter is going to have to live through in her life. But this isn't the time for those conversations.

He smiles wider, and the color in Chelsea's face slowly returns, "Sorry, daddy." She doesn't even finish her utterance before she's up into his arms. They waltz the kitchen, she dangling from her fathers embrace - feet above the floor. She hears her glass further crunching beneath her father's feet. She smells the whiskey on her fathers breath. She looks him eye to eye, with a child's curious ability to appear wholeheartedly serious at the strangest moments, "Daddy, where are your glasses?"

"No matter, sweetheart, no matter." She snorts, relaxes, rests her head on his chest, and squeezes him about the neck, tightly. Charles feels only the squeeze, and his daughters still-moist-from-tears-cheeks pressing into his shirt, but he doesn't hear the glass breaking below his feet. His world exists above the spilt milk, in his arms.

Tomorrow - he has to return to his work. But now, swaying in the kitchen, his world is perfect - he is only a father, not a coroner. He knows some of the horrors of the world, but he knows that right now his daughter is safe in his arms. He feels her cheeks smile, before she sighs. She thinks he works in an office. She thought he'd be upset over the spill. She cried all the way home over childish flirting. She, Charlie knows, is the most beautiful thing in his old house.

2009-07-07T15:39:00.005-06:00

Oh Poudre river... How fun to splash in thee.

2009-07-06T23:49:00.004-06:00

Yep.

Having trouble adjusting to the feeling of wanting to be around one person so much.

As in... damn near always.

Bike ride didn't even fix it - Yikes. Haha.

2009-07-06T21:34:00.006-06:00

*can't take my eeyes off of you... you're just too goood to be truuue*

I don't think I'll ever understand my life. Maybe that's the point. Every day things happen that I can't explain - or maybe it's just that I'm injecting more meaning into the ordinary. We're alive though, so why not look for some kind of purpose for the everyday? Don't think there'd be much to live for otherwise. But to the point...

Who the hell am I? I mean, I'm nothing that fantastic. I'm slightly lazy, don't produce anything noteworthy, scared of careers, have an aversion to authority that will probably get in the way, am unhappy with much of the 'responsibilities' that come with my 'citizenship' to this country - basically I'm a guy in slight arrested development, and am mildly happy with it.

What I'm getting at, I suppose, is that while I hold myself to certain values - and try to be somewhat nice to those around me, and try to benefit my community and earth in general now and then... none of it is enough to "earn a living." But that doesn't mean I'm a bum - I always find a way, but I never want that way to be normal or ordinary. Truth is, it hasn't been either so far and I'd be rather depressed if it ever were to come to that. I've seen the trapped - the living dead - the nine to five with just enough money to visit a theatre from time to time... How tragic to spend an entire life in such a way. It's selling a soul piece by piece, so gradual they don't even notice until they have nothing left.

Well, this week has certainly been new. Finally met someone who a long time ago I talked to very briefly and thought awfully cute. "She's" also going to read this, so referring to her in the third person feels slightly odd. Hi Tiffanie! You make me so fucking happy - I swear! Basically, I can't get thoughts out of my bloody head. Thoughts of her (you) bouncing around up there like a madhouse full of hyperactive children with an infinite supply of bouncy balls. She (you) want such wonderful things from life - and share many of the same aversions that I have. I've seldom met anyone like that: with such a spark that will guarantee a life remarkable. Add to that unique and wonderful personality the fact that I think she (you) is (are) the most adorable person I've ever had the pleasure to actually know - and I'm in over my head. It doesn't help that she (you) has (have) been so absolutely kind to me. Singing little lines is just a cherry - she (you) actually seem to appreciate me - I can't even explain how fantastic that is.

So many people are so wrapped up in themselves - much like those little bouncy ball thoughts the imaginary kids are playing with, their souls (imagining that such a thing exists) are little capsules bouncing off of everything. Hers (yours) seems to be more like a fire, or some magic light that touches and inspects all it comes near. I'm growing addicted to that warmth, and truly appreciate it.

So, yeah. There's that. And I don't know why the fuck my life works out like this sometimes - I didn't do anything to deserve to meet such a person. But I'm certainly not going to "return to sender" because I have a sneaking suspicion that she (you) could turn out to be something pretty damn remarkable (actually - fuck that sentence - you already have been something pretty damn remarkable and you are, at every moment, something pretty damn remarkable - you're not "going to become" you're already there, Tiffanie. You're already there.).

2009-07-03T16:49:00.001-06:00

2009-07-03T00:08:00.010-06:00

The river where my wanderlust was born,
birthed also a life indebted.

Under each known tree were branches - to climb,
or jump from into the water -
bed full of stones that our feet knew as friends -
stand there, atop the shin-breaker.

Our bicycles heavy, cheap, heavier
when full of water as we ride
in the current - up and downstream the same.
Ahead, my friend disappears down under -
he found a new well in the bed,
we laugh before taking turns at the same
for an entire afternoon.
At the river we talk of girls, wonder,
but never of resolutions.

We learn how to work natural ingredients:
dirt, sticks, and manual labor.
We take pride in our small rock-dams in sidestreams -
pretending we had influence.
We catch a small fish from a nearby pond
and transfer it to the river.
Like waking for a midnight snack in dark -
every turn and overhead branch - a feature of our second home.
Today, we buy a shovel, and build ramps -
next week we will find they have been torn down -
- we will build them again.

We forever build them again.

2009-07-01T00:25:00.008-06:00

Tactile - scrape the page, pen
feel the line, smell toxic ink
hear the small beep - distraction
look up, hope - and grin.
No luck - new virus definitions mean nothing.

Tactile - feel the touch, skin
sense the warm - smell unwashed hair
and love the scent just the same
look up, hope - and grin.
What luck! to be seen by those eyes means everything.

And sleep, but mostly pretend to -
your heart will beat too fast
and your arms will numb,
the next day your back will ache - and so tired!
but worth seeing how while dreaming, such grins!

And wake, but mostly pretend to -
heart flops as beaten dough
and your neck is stiff,
smile anyway - today your life changed!
for better or... but present - beautiful.

2009-06-29T18:55:00.003-06:00

On accepting life:

today, Tyler suggested I go to see a doctor at Hartshorn for my knees. Apparently they may offer some cheap (or free) physical therapy - or, a good point he made - they may also suggest some advice about supplements that may speed up the healing process.

well, the night before I spent some time tying a piece of bike-tube to the end of my stick-cane so it wouldn't slide on smooth floors anymore... it works great now!

so as he is telling me this sound advice, I start to feel a little tugging. A part of me wants to keep my injury. I would be limited a lot (comparatively) in my biking, sad, but I'd never stop riding the thing...

"So, you're telling me that if the doctor told you not to ride it all all for three months, and then you'd get better, that you'd still ride?"

"Oh yeah, I'd be one of those people that stands up and says, "Ha! doc, yeah right!" I can't not ride for that long. I love it too much... I mean, they'll probably be able to just give me new knees someday anyway."

"So you'd take surgery over doing what the doctors say for three months?"

"Yep."

I don't think he understands me sometimes. I mean, right now, knee injury and all, I'm happier than ever.

the pain that happens sometimes is no bar in finding happiness. It's just an ache - a reminder. A few times after a lot of activity I have been unable to put any weight on either one knee or the other, but I have that sweet home-made cane! And when it hurts it just reminds me of how great the day was. So I laugh at myself for being an old man, maybe curse a little if the pain was sharp or sudden, but then I smile.

I love my life. All of it - and I was getting used to the idea that some of my goals or dreams may have been altered if this knee-weakening turns out permanent. I have a lot of goals and dreams that involve biking long distances. I was feeling okay with changing plans, at least until Tyler started talking and then I realized I was prematurely missing the injury! Which is great because either way it will turn out to be a win for me.

Ha! Take that, fate!

Oh, and don't even get to me started on this sunburn - I love this sunburn so much!

2009-06-29T18:11:00.001-06:00

2009-06-29T03:16:00.003-06:00

Wow, I should be in bed.

But, just. Aaaah! and weeee! and (to summon Einstein) YahoO! and such.

Jumping up and down, and the like, but mentally, because of tired, and knee.

and, and, and, and...

I should just sleep, maybe.

woo!

2009-06-25T23:37:00.002-06:00

submitted to the AP for fun - writing "newsy" is weird, especially when about a dorky topic:

Star Vault, a Sweden based video game development company claims on their website (starvault.se) as having, “...the goal to become the leading innovator in development of Massive(ly) multiplayer online role-playing games (MMORPG).” Yet a recent economical choice also sets them apart from most developers.

With the upcoming availability of the pre-orders for their current project, Mortal Online, Star Vault has listed the first copy of the limited edition version of the release for auction on ebay. Search there for “Mortal for life” to see the listing.

Within four hours of being posted the auction rose to over two thousand dollars. Bidders remain anonymous, but if a few keen celebrity bidders were to find this unique way to both raise money for charity, and support a unique video game development house by garnering media attention this auction could mean more than just a one time shot for one charity.

Video game entertainment is a multi-billion dollar global industry, and certain large corporations developing these massively multiplayer games could certainly stand to learn a thing or two from Star Vault when it comes to listening to their fans and acting charitably.

Mats Persson, Mortal Online's Creative Director who handles a good share of communication with the followers on the game's forums has alluded multiple times to their team being limited by having a small team and funds. Though it seems they are an altruistic team, and are open and honest with the fans on the forums with frequent posts directly from the developers that answer questions and give feedback.

Star Vault is building their project from the “bottom up” rather than the top down. They aim to include the key features that players will need to truly enjoy the game first, rather than building a list of promises only to deliver disappointment to their players. Even with this philosophy, the list of features that has been made already makes Mortal Online revolutionary in the MMORPG genre.

Mortal Online is set to be immersive, brutal, and player-skill based more than any other MMORPG game currently released or in development. With such a move to donate to charity when they could really use the funds, Star Vault clearly is a team with their hearts in the right place. They are gamers developing the sort of game they would want to play. Readers who enjoy such games and are looking for something new can visit www.mortalonline.com for more information.