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May. 25th, 2005 | 05:52 pm

A Mental Postcard

Sitting here, in the coral wreath.
I’ll think I’ll float around just a bit.
In the sun, in the sea, smell barbecues
And bide my time for a whit.

Think about overpriced margaritas,
Free-spirited college girls,
And senoritas.
The kind you don’t see much of in Indiana.

I’d like to make this
My postcard to future me's.
A touchstone that,
When cudgeled and bedraggled,
Or waylaid by self-doubt
Can be a reserve of tranquility.

I don’t know much about anything.
And I believe in even less.
As astute companions have suggested,
It’s probably why I so often regress
Into cynicism, animalism,
Absurd situations.

Armed only with ‘come what may,’
And a tried romance with apathy,
More often than not,
Only bacchanalian delights
Have delivered me from the hand of my enemies.

Still when I can’t swim,
I’ll pretend like I can,
And let the waters engulf me freely.
So that the stains of regret
In Lethe I'll shed,
Like so much dead weight not needed.

No worries about tomorrow,
Or senseless sorrow,
No need of sterile conformity.

I’ll tell myself it's all
Just another harmless shadow play on the wall.
Another distraction while wandering the cave.

One has time, after all,
To chase after the blinking lights,
In the relentless hare-chase of destiny,
That brings us incrementally closer
And pushes inexorably harder
To dig! dig! dig! our own graves.

To rest once before winding down a day.
To rest once before resting forever.

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(no subject)

May. 17th, 2005 | 06:49 pm

So, I'm thinking of taking a hike. Hard as It may seem to believe, it would be the first time I've really been outdoors all year, excepting to jump on my trampoline a few times. Bear in mind that I live surrounded by several thousand acres of untamed nature, somewhere in Laconia or Elizabeth, IN (We're unsure of where, exactly. The address says Elizabeth, while the phone number's Laconia. Either way, the only thing to do around here is to go hiking.).

Until now, I've had a lot of things to preocuppy me. There's the music project, the whole work and keep up your metabolism thing and what have you , and as if that weren't enough, I've kind of taken an unfortunate liking to the satellite tv we get out here. I haven't quite squeezed in time to make it out there this season.

Incidentally, I did mention the graveyard, didn't I?

The graveyard dates back to about 1800, judging from the average time most the folks resting in it left this world for the next place. If your adept at navigating the windy forest trails, full as they are of errant vines and branches, it is only about ten minutes' good walk from my house. Once you spot the old, wooden cross marking the spot, you find a nearby patch of unassuming markers dating from the early to mid-19th century. A few graves read from the mid-1700's. Most of these latter were juvenile victims of typhoid or cholera. The very latest is from about 1900. Only a few, unfortunately, have still legible epitaphs.

My aunt, who live over the valley yonder, said it's a family cementary. "...That would," she says, "explain why, for all of the weeds that blight the place, you once in a while see it freshly-mowed."

Similarly, the folks around town have it that some reticent, old Indian comes up a couple of times a year and weedeats it or what have you-- I guess whatever it is that spooky, old, Indians do that doesn't make noise or unnecessarily expose them to the sinful ways of Western man. To me, this part is just a bit of hogwash invented by local yocals with too much time and imagination on their hands. Anyways, on occassion, the rumor's that it's an Amish. Besides, I've never really seen it mown. I've never seen it in any shape other than what's like every time I go back there.

I do see how people get that impression. The stones are never turned over. The weeds never sprout so high or the bushes so thick that the stones become buried in all the folliage. The place has a remarkable timelessness and strange serenity about it.

Usually I don't attempt it because of the chiggers. Tonight, I'm feeling a little restless. A few brews more, and I'll go where the restless spirits go. I'll unburden.

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(no subject)

May. 17th, 2005 | 05:30 pm

Who are you? said the knight,
while burning his dark, incestuous stench
inflamming the leaves and the passersby
riding and strutting with sapphire
With the wanton cruel pride of the witch.

And the dove?
And the dove he sat immovable,
eyes fixed, entranced, perched squat on his branch.

Who am I? I am the cataclysm
Of your deepes surrender
The pining for loves lost
And thorny handle of a rosy situation,
Your spiny alligator

Who are you?
I am the beast and the whore,
your stupid elemental fear.
I would lash and whip you a thousand times
because you're the only one near.

Who am I?
I'm a haunted hatred
Who will curse and lure you into the ground
While drunken men dance around you
And dark soil sweetly embraces you

I am proud, protestant, ecstatic glee
for remembebrances of brighter days
when maybe a few fools and harpies
didn't surrender
to the infamy and the irony
and genuflect with cowering simplicity
to all of their mercenary's ways.

You may think me a shadow, a pale ghost
But turn right back around and I'm there, beside you,

Lilting voice, curling upwards
Entreating So gently
Tirades of mounting vehemence and sincerity.



...your ear.

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A Questijon for Great mind s to pondere

May. 17th, 2005 | 04:18 pm

Is it just because I"ve already had three, or is it because I've got Star Wars on the brain, that Dos Equis sounds not so much like a beer, as a fictional planet? Or that, while sounding like a backwater planet ruled by the Hutts, it tastes like backwash?

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(no subject)

May. 16th, 2005 | 10:05 am
mood: ecstaticecstatic
music: Imperial March

Well, it's now only three days until my life will be complete. You know what I'm talking about. You too have been unable to eat, sleep, or shit without thinking of that showdown between the Emperor and Yoda that they teased you with in the previews.

To top it off, guess what lucky boy just learned that he will be in Orlando when Disney World is having their Star Wars weekends? No, sorry, as much as I would like for the answer to be "____ (insert name here)", I am afraid only one of us has asked off of work next week.

For once, fair Fortune is giving this reporter his just deserts.

Website says they're going to have Star Wars themes, costumes, characters, and trivia contests, including Who Wants to Be a Millionaire, Star Wars version. I am more than a little psyched about this, since the last time I was at MGM and I played that game, I was in the audience and got all of the questions right (still only coming in 9th place, unfortunately...stupid thumbs). Best of all is, they're going to be having a celebrity cast appearance each weekend. This means I can finally father a little Luke like I was destined to (with Natalie Portman);learn the mysteries of the Sith (Ian Mcdiarmid); or at least have somebody to get some weed from while I'm down there (Ewan McGregor). God help me, if it's Jar-Jar on my day there, we're going to see a Gungan hate crime.

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Sold Down the Mercury-Polluted River...Again.

May. 13th, 2005 | 02:42 pm
mood: apatheticapathetic
music: Bob Dylan - Things Have Changed

Click http://www.latimes.com/news/nationworld/nation/la-na-paint10may10,0,4918994.storynother to read about another great milestone in the Republican Revolution. These certainly are comically stupid times.

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(no subject)

May. 12th, 2005 | 04:01 pm
music: Neutral Milk Hotel - Communist Daughter

Superannoying Superego

Friend, you're neither saint nor monster
when you're cursing at some soccer mom
for observing the state's highway laws.
Even venerable Dr. S__,
Respectably groomed and dressed,
Mutters about his back once in a while.

I think you picture yourself
In fine, dramatic shades
Of Wagnerian splendor, knightly grace.
Against a tapestry of collapsing civilization

You sweat out the pills
and out it spills, over into your life
In the form of aggression,
Unchecked, agression

Which you keep to yourself
To be unnecessarily reprimanded about.

There's no way of hating anything
Except what lacks a face, contrary to what they say.
You're smart enough to know
That every preacher and dim-witted politician
Has an astrovan in his or her way.

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(no subject)

May. 12th, 2005 | 02:44 pm

Well, friends, I just got back running errands on campus, and it’s now officially, as they say the tongue of New Jersey, ‘hotta dan ballz out heeyuh.’ It is sure to be the first of what will be many silly putty sack days in the months to come. To top this off, the fan in my dodge is shot again, and my shag of a mop is oppressively hot. Time I think to close-crop.

I just saw a girl at the library that I have a crush on. I can’t remember the last time I had a real, youthful, school boyish kind of crush on someone, one of those lacking an overt element of sexuality, the mild and harmless kind. Figures that I would see here there with her boyfriend.

I decided to use this hiatus between the end of college and the beginning of real work to record my first album. I’ve been playing guitar for 16 years, writing ditties since I was about 13 or 14, but have never really felt secure enough about my skills or had the time and equipment to make a record. It’s finally all starting to come together. Here lately, my one-track mind’s been on my sixteen-track recorder. Looks so far like it’s going to be a solo project. I can multi-track pretty much all of it except the drums, anyways, and if Bob’s not willing to whittle away a little more at his free time to come up and practice (the man lives off of social security, for chris’sakes), I’m sure I can convince Byron to at least throw down some drum tracks. Had a singer for a while, too, but we both came to the conclusion that we were hindering, rather than aiding, each other’s development. To my surprise, I found that with a little tweaking, my voice actually sounds pretty good.

I’d really like to find more musicians that I’m compatible with, but it’s such a pain in the ass to try to get people to drive up to Elizabeth, AND know how to listen to what’s being played, AND not try to steer the music in a totally opposite direction. I hate the thought of being a musical control freak, but damn it if isn’t so much more productive when I just do it all myself. I used to think it was so lame that really good bands would break up over musical control, and the members would come out with solo albums that seemed like pale reflections of the earlier, collaborative stuff (e.g. Lou Reed and the Velvet Underground, or more notoriously, anything Robert Plant has done until his newest album). I now realize that the splits often have less to do egotism or money than the simple fact that differences of opinion over what the finished product should sound like are a force that—more often than not—threatens to rend apart the project from the very beginning. Bands with a number of different songwriters that survive this pressure for a lengthy period of time would seem to be the exception rather than the rule.

The one thing I dread most is writing the lyrics. Mostly because I’m inexperienced. Also, because I can’t be as long-winded as I am accustomed to being in writing prose; everything has to be so damn tight, rhythmic. I’ll probably be posting more lyrics on here, to your collective annoyance, and maybe on some poetry forums, in order to get some feedback on how to improve quickly.

I suppose I should do some work now. I’ve been living on easy street since school got out. But two haters named Patty and Teresa are knocking down my door.

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(no subject)

May. 2nd, 2005 | 01:19 pm
mood: excitedexcited
music: Lou reed - Take a walk on the wild side

School's out fuh-eva! Presently at an cloud 7 and a half, and the plane's still rising!

On a more or less completely unrelated note, I ate Chicken McNasties at UofL's McDonald's for the first time in like 20 years last night. Imagine my surprise when I learned that the nuggets look like Indiana on y'alls side of the river also.

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(no subject)

Apr. 20th, 2005 | 04:33 pm

Yippee! I just got back a test with a super good grade on the cover page. I usually don't post my academic ramblings here, whatwith all of the lawsuits these days and the potentially lethal mixture of eyestrain and boredom that, say, an essay on Gregory of Tours might expose one to. In case you lot want to read this one, though, I've made good use of my newfound powers of cutt-ingl-ery below. It's called "Continuities in German Culture and the Rise of the Third Reich." Had to do it for Blum's Historical Methods class.


Such a nice man. Such a good teacher. So comparatively lenient about deadlines.


Shittiest thing about take-home tests (other than having to do them at home), is that one still has to write another essay-type thingy--the actual essay--which, however, I've learned through painful experience, cannot be just a rehashed version of the take-home test. This, my friends, is but one of the many reasons for my scant number of postings lately.


Click Here to Remember Why You Never Majored In a Sucky Arts & Sciences SubjectCollapse )

In other news, the most beloved Pope John Paul II has recently died. It is the opinion of this reporter that the mere passing of his early vessel should not prevent future generations of the devout  from gazing upon the visage of this most venerable of saints. I propose that we prop up the late father's right arm, fill the bulletproff booth of the Pope Mobile with formaldehyde, and continue to let the good father get on with his urgent work of dissipating evil by blessing random passers-by.  As every person of faith knows, Armeggedon is just around the corner, and the we've no time to waste.

 And as for the new one, there's just something about the way he looks.... http://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Pope_Benedict_XVI&direction=prev&oldid=12526972. (Special props to Brooks for pointing out this article.)


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