Poetics of Anubis

Armageddon?

2007-04-09T00:12:00.000-07:00

Not yet my friend. Not yet.

Note to the world: Armageddon…?

You claim the wars,
The innocent dying,
Constitute the end.
You’re wrong.
You say the cruelty,
Barbarism and evil,
Prove the end times.
You’re wrong.
The end: the only explanation of
The outlandish violence,
The drugs and fights…
But you’re wrong.
The blood spilling,

Terrorist activities
Shaking your sheltered life,
Your securities shattered,
The wonton hate and malice,
The pain of the hungered.
Thousands of wars for tar and sand:
All confirm it’s the beginning
Of a most terrible end.
You’re wrong.
When Armageddon is coming,
We will all feel the Wrath,
Chaos will be unending,
The Great City will fall in ruin;

Its twisted carcass, bent and smoldering
Upon the defiled ground.
Countryside aflame with falling fire-
Stars whose light has been
Transformed into shadow.
The day will become night,
And night will become terror.
The very mountains will shake
From the ocean’s fierce beatings.
Rocks will melt, oceans will freeze.
Plains will rise, hills will be leveled.
Rivers will overflow with blood;
Congealing and clogging our

Thoughts and judgment.
Plagues will infest nations,
So numerous they will make
Seven look like a blessing.
Hell will be given free rein on earth,
Compassion will become extinct
Rather than endangered.
Frenzied Horrors will be unleashed
From the deepest, Darkest
Divisions of our imaginations…
Demons from the dankest corners of our
Demented and tortured psyche.
You say Armageddon is here…?

You’re wrong.

Damn Kids

2006-06-28T22:35:00.000-07:00

You know what really pisses me off? Its those damn kids with roller wheels in their shoes. They go zooming around, running into stuff - pretty much thinking they are the shit. And their parents always look a little ashamed, like they can't decide how their child conned them into letting them have the atrocious crap laced to their feet. That's what pisses me off. You know what else? Those driscolli strawberry containers that you buy in the supermarket, you know the little plastic carton that hold probably half a pound of strawberries. well, the edges are fucking sharp, and plastic grocery bags just don't like sharp things. why can't they round the corners on the little boxes?!? it would actually save them plastic in the long run... douches.

Why and When

2006-01-30T12:09:00.000-08:00

Why And When

As black as a cavern’s deepest chamber,
Confusion spinning my reality,
Hand out groping the wall, eyes dilated.
Truth’s glow blurred by doubts of morality.

Where once rose the sun now hangs a new moon;
The fading light gone with a single blink.
Lost and dazed without anchor or harbor;
Wandering with no thoughts as what to think.

Clubbing in Canada

2006-01-24T13:23:00.000-08:00

Club

Beat throbbing
Through me;
Swaying and jumping.
Treble getting lost in bass.
Lights flashing,
Smoke swirling,
Liquor flowing.
Spilt beer and vodka.

Heart rate following
The pounding music;
Thumping and pumping.
Treble getting lost in bass.
Hips swinging,
Arms waving,
Mouth singing.
Sweat and perfume.

Pulse quickening
As the song changes;
Dancing and wishing.
Treble getting lost in bass.
Music blaring,
Ears ringing,
Dawn coming.
Tequila and cigarettes.

New dogs and new tricks

2006-01-10T19:31:00.000-08:00

You can always teach new dogs new tricks. And thats the precise reason adults should always put their toys away.

my bleeding mind

2005-12-25T17:42:00.000-08:00

my bleeding mind

it is not ours to wonder why
but only to do and to die.
when we tilt our heads to the stars
and see reflected our scars
we understand that we are not
meant to question. our thoughts do rot;
and yea though we always ponder,
ne’er do we know why we squander
time with those we love. let them go?!
for when the blood begins to flow
it is not ours to wonder why
but only to do and to die.

Fire Club Productions

2005-11-30T14:45:00.000-08:00

Ladies and Gentlemen:

I doubt this will interest you! But tom-boys and scoundrels, come this way! I am a proud member of what has become Fire Club Productions. It started out as a small group of friends, then it started growing! It soon incorporated a larger group, supported by tens of tens around us. We had become dedicated to fire; we were its creators, its producers, its directors, and we wanted it published. Out first films focused on fire and "breaking stuff" and explosions... then we started branching out. As our organization began to grow, we found we held the interest of talented actors and actresses who now live throughout the Nation, and we used this pool of talents to create films about controversial issues of our time period. During the brief success of this film, we turned our considerable talents towards bigger and better things. We brainstormed for days until we came up with the perfect sequel to our very first film. After multiple experiments to create our props, we were ready to begin filming. However, due to various causes, we eventually conceded to take a break, and reconvene as a filming crew, as a cast, and as producers, again in the summer.

After this brief reprieve, we began creation of our most spectacular film to date. A critic reported it to be "Three thumbs up! That's how good it was!" She went on to say it got "Six stars!" A reporter from The Modern Explosives Film Journal of Canada said it "molded modern explosive issues with technology... to create shards of society that fly at you with incredible speed and determination." Overall, when this film hits the screens1, it is sure to become a blockbuster.

1) In select locations only

Love Grows

2005-11-05T04:11:00.000-08:00

Love grows as all things do.
It grows with time, branching out.
The roots sink further as years go by.
It ebbs like an ocean and
Flows as a river within our souls.

As I discover who you are,
It blossoms, and the petals
Encircle us while we dance
To the gentle melody of a
Drizzle falling on a mountain lake.

Love learns to fly just like a bird;
Falling hard but then knowing how
To flap its wings and soar.
It descends on me, a tender dew,
Glistening perfect and pristine.

Written for a friend, they know who they are.

Ended

2005-10-24T14:18:00.000-07:00

ended

She stood by his side,
Where the clouds kiss the mountains
They stared, minds numb.
Wind blown slopes.

They embraced never touching,
It will end, she hoped, he cried.
Empty tears from a missing face
Where the clouds stroke the mountains
Wind. Wind blown hair.

She watched as he stumbled,
Down from where the clouds
Never quite touch the mountains.
Unknown, unanswered questions.
Her blank face, cut open by the
Wind. wind… wind blown away.

She didn’t know what to do.
Her shapeless body shivered.
Where the clouds blanket the mountains,
A broken blade of grass lay on the rock
Wind. Wind blown, cold.

Her hair trailed behind her.
Two glazed eyes, vacant sockets.
Formless clouds alone.
Where the wind ravages the mountains.

Drunken Proverbs Take IV

2005-10-23T23:06:00.000-07:00

Well, I think another toast is required. This time, its an actual toast made by a drunken idiot. When they were asked for something to toast to, they responded almost immediately with "Let's toast to the Thermarest pillow!" What the hell kind of request is that? I'd be inclined to say that exactly half of the population doesn't know what thermarest is, and that one percent doesn't know what a pillow is. Thats less than half of our population that knows what this dude was toasting to. And those who knew, well, they were more bewildered. Who toasts to a pillow? Honestly.

I'd also like to issue more evidence for the topic of drunken people living in their own world. They hear what they want to hear and see what they think they've seen. Size can be completely squewed. For example, "dude, you have a cavernous belly button." Ok... who analyzes belly buttons? It was a normal belly button, if anything, it was way hairier than cavernous. Also, apparently a chick of polish heritage has a mouth that "could swallow the world." Last I checked, the world was a wee bit larger than 6 inches wide. Besides size distortions, some drunks develop ADHD. Some develop it to such a degree that they don't even finish entire thought processes. It's obvious from the stupid things they say that their mouths are speaking exactly what their heads are thinking, with no consideration for what it means. So, when their thoughts change half way through, so do their quotes: "I just ate some pineapple, lets go to DormLamerThanMine." I can't see a single connection between pinapples and dorms. They smell different, they're different colors, they aren't even the same size.

It is also obvious that our school is also a liberal arts college. I was in a room with two other people and suddenly, as we were about to leave, we heard talking in the hall. We weren't the occupants of the room, and the residents were out of town, so... we turned off the lights and were really quiet. But soon enough we heard chanting rising about the average symphony of drunked slurring, we distinctly heard "george bush don't like black people." This was repeated six or seven times to great effect - we couldn't stop laughing. I distincly remember thinking that they should have a march on Washington with that as their motto. I think they'd get a lot accomplished. They might consider changing it to "goerge bush don't like poor people" That way it would incoorporate the other non-caucasion races in America.

Rebuttal

2005-10-19T12:22:00.000-07:00

Ah, fiend, stand up to your cruel words with a name! I have recently been attacked. Yes, verbally slandered and shamed. Some poor fool (alias KoT) mistook my words, my harmless blathering, for an insult to the name of ramen. I encourage each reader of this rebuttal to familiarize yourself with the post entitled "Noodles" and then with the comment listed thereunder.

If I had been serious on attacking this wonderful food, I would have first and foremost spelled ramen correctly. Second, to me, the oriental flavor is perhaps the best tasting flavor known to man, besides the lime shrimp flavor and fondou. And sir or ma'am, where have you found ramen for $.10??? I have yet to find it for less than $.12! Perhaps enemies can still work together to save money, eh? And your wise words on homeless people, yes, they don't have the appearance of those born to nobility, but can we not all aspire to be the most we can be? No, of course we can't. Despite what Disney says, the beggar shall never become prince of England, nor will the squireboy become champion knight of the round table.

And in this same venue, a college student should not aspire to start a candy company when they have only but one qualm with a flavour? I wouldn't dare trying to sell something named waterpus, unless it was for Halloween, I've heard nasty names sell well. You are correct sir (or ma'am)! I completely overlooked that fact that Smirnoff Twisted Watermelon has alcohol in it! How foolish of me to add it to the category of other things that taste like watermelon yet also have other things in them. Because watermelon jolly ranchers have sugar, and watermelon flavoured water has water in it, but silly me! I should never have grouped the Smirnoff Twist's in with those other things that have other things in them besides watermelon! To remedy this, I'd like to say how Smirnoff Twisted Watermelon malt beverages do not taste like a stuffed watermelon, yet these both have alcohol! I'm so glad I got this issue resolved, I would have been up all night.

Now I ask you, stand up to your harsh words, I demand an apology! (not really, that would be arrogant - you are, of course, entitled to your wrong opinion).

p.s. my fake ID says I'm 67, but what's it to you??

I would also like to reply to another comment made on the post entitled Allegory. For this poor fool also completely missed the entire point of the post. This poem was written in my frustration with past friends, how they call when I'm needed, not because they want to do things together. I did not mention a female anywhere in the poem, and it was arrogant for you to assume so, for it was written towards both some old female and some old male friends.

I must say, however, that this deuche is slightly more gifted in the sixth sense department. Though this poem was written with no intent towards a girl i like, there is however someone I like. And oh! Suprize! They do know I like them, and the ball is now in their court. Second, they know about this site, and unless I'm mistaken, they read it. So perhaps you should keep your presumptuous nose out of matters you know nothing about, take a poetry class so you don't grossly misunderstand a poem, and stop insulting other people's work.

Allegory

2005-10-17T17:41:00.000-07:00

Guard Dog

I am that scruffy guard dog.
The lone sentry on your threshold.
I protect my master, my best friend.
I'm there when problems arise.
I can't complain; you need me,
And that gets me through the night.
I know that you'll come and find me
When you need a loyal friend.
But you never take me places.
You never ask me to jump in the car.
And who does the dog go to when
He needs help and protection?
You assume I'll be here for you,
And you've always been right.
Love will keep me here forever;
Yet, being only called when needed,
Petted in thanks and not in salutation...
The love seems to wane like the
Red moon I now howl at every night.

Darkness Surrounds Her

2005-10-16T15:07:00.000-07:00

blanket

darkness surrounds her,
presses in, overwhelming.
no walls, no limits,
contained by emptiness.

no light, no warmth
absence of pleasure,
total ambivalence.
darkness encompasses her,
heavy and oppressive;

confining in its simplicity of
no end, no boundaries,
darkness covers her.
a blanket of blood;
congealed memories of
times forever lost.

she inhales it in gulps, the
darkness enters her.
it finds her heart.
no peace, no beginning
to have an end.

no sight, no colors…
chill wind carrying frost.
with each labored sigh
darkness smothers her.

darkness possesses her.
no life. no reason
to still be mocked.

no love, no life, the
darkness becomes her.

now darkness need come no more.

Noodles

2005-10-14T02:13:00.000-07:00

So how did the makers of Raman noodles decide what the flavors were going to be? Who the hell decided what the Oriental flavor was going to be? How does one get picked to decide this monumental task? Millions of pre-packaged salt attacks are going to be eaten with this flavor. Did they assemble a mass panel of oriental people, an equal random sampling from all Asian countries, and give them some flavored salt and say, "Hey, does this taste like your food?" Inside they were saying 'Yes, we know you have hundreds of dishes, just like us, but we want you to tell us if that tastes like all of them.' Or maybe they just had leftover spices after making the other seasonings and mixed them all together and tried it, and the stoned dude in the corner said it tasted like the two-week-old chicken teriyaki he ate last night from his room mate's fridge.

Same thing goes for artificial watermelon flavoring. It doesn't taste like a fucking watermelon. No 'watermelon' candy or beverage has ever tasted like watermelon. Like Smirnoff Twisted Watermelon... it does NOT taste like liquid watermelon. Do watermelon jolly ranchers? no. i thought not. They should call the flavor something else. I hate the flavour, so I'd be inclined to name it something foul sounding, like... waterpus. but, for the courtesy of the people actually eating it, maybe something like flip-flop flavor?

Of Smiles and Fires

2005-10-12T15:38:00.000-07:00

A Fire Burns Within Me

A fire burns within me.
It tears at my seams and
Bursts at my door,
Longing to get out.
Your gaze lights me up inside,
Your smile throws kerosene
On my fire’s searing heart.
Your laugh makes the flames
Higher and hotter and stronger.
As my fingers reach for yours
My world slows until that
Perfect moment when our
Hands fold together and fire
Shoots through my body.
Like hot chocolate warms
You inside on a cold winter night.
When I look into your eyes
I feel the love inside me
Rise as a dragon from sleep,
Yearning for something
With unquenchable passion;
Raisings its wings in a sweep
Of power and honesty.
Each time I see you
I’m reminded of your beauty;
Each time I’m with you,
You make me whole inside.
I want you in my arms
More than the winter flower
Craves the first day of spring;
More than the bonfire's
Flickering and wavering flames
Crave the night sky.

note: written with recent inspiration

Drunken Proverbs Take III

2005-10-11T03:44:00.000-07:00

This weekend, I really only heard one significant quote. And whoa, it has a lot of implications attached. Are you ready for this? Here it comes:

“I just really want a dick right now!”

Yes, you read that correctly. A girl on my hall (the alcoholic floor, remember) was extremely horny. And by extremely horny, I mean she resorted (thankfully) to making out with another apparently horny girl on our floor. Now, as cool as this might sound, its rather disgruntling. Two pretty ladies took themselves out of the mating pool. What crap is that? I think it really represents college girls’ hypocrisy: they want some really bad, but they only want it from the perfect guy. So they resort to having the complete opposite of the perfect guy – whatever girl happens to be at hand.

do you?

2005-10-06T11:15:00.000-07:00

Do you kneel as I kneel? here upon the ground. this damp and festering ground. Do you look at the same stars as I? Do you throw your head back and look into that desolate void and scream? And yell… and moan? Do you yell from hate and moan from pain? Or do you laugh your empty, hollow laugh? Do you bow your head in defeat? as I bow my head in defeat. Do you look at the earth? the soggy and rotten earth. And wish you could join those a few feet below? Do you smell what I smell? the dank catacomb’s stench fills the air as it sighs, as the dead mutter. drafts of fetid and heavy air, air infected by those interred in grief and exhumed by pain. Do you stare at these gravestones? your vacant stare. the dark granite markers, coarse and jagged from age looming over freshly turned earth. For you, do they mark the end of happiness? Of freedom... of life? Or the end of love and passion? And do you bleed as I bleed? feel it ooze from your every pore, from your ears, from your eyes. Do you feel it mingle with hate and slowly congeal? Do these thick red tears drip from your cheek as they drip from mine? Are the stars yet blurred and tinted red? a deep crimson red. Do you feel as I feel?

Overflowing with Fun

2005-10-04T20:32:00.000-07:00

I have an alcoholic floor. Every weekend drunk people can be seen walking up and down our hall, usually with no apparent direction or purpose. Every friday we've got the kids that take a nap when they get back from class, wake up and go party, the kids that get back from class and open up the beer can, and finally the kids that come back and do homework. The kids doing homework usually go to the library, and the sleeping kids are usually in a room, which just leaves the kids shotgunning the beers wandering in the halls with no one else to interact with until around 7. So this means they're wandering the halls tipsy in in the midafternoon. Friday evenings, the nerds are still away somewhere, and now everybody's drinking, except for the sober kid tripping balls in the corner. So now we've got an entire floor of drunk people. The rest of our dorm is lame, so all the cool people come up to our floor. There's people rocking out in people's rooms, people laying in the hall giggling, people stumbling towards the restroom. People singing, yelling, laughing. It's quite a sight. Saturdays differ because no one wakes up til noon anyway, more people start drinking mid afternoon because no one needs a nap. People also sometimes left for some parties, so the halls are empty from around 9 till 2, when the people stay up til around 4.

Now, if this isn't testimony enough, we have some hard evidence that our hall is an alcoholic floor... our college is rather devoted to recycling, and everybody does their part over the week. The standard recepticals for recycling - including glass, plastic, and cans - held up well over the first week. Then the weekend hit. The can bin couldn't hold the beer cans, the glass trough didn't hold all the bottles, and well, the plastics container got invaded by both. By sunday night, when most were sobering up and getting rid of evidence in their rooms, the cans were flowing into the hall. The second week was a repeat - perhaps with a few more glass bottles, the fifths couldn't withstand two weekends of use. In response, the university decided upon the best route it could have - they didn't try and cut back on our alcohol intake, we would have just stopped recycling - they gave us larger bins.

If you really want to appreciate why the alcohol industry is making billions, just look at college dorm recyling bins. I guess you could also use it as evidence of the necessity to recycle. My only qualm is that the recyling closet smells like beer now that they aren't forced to empty it mid-week when it pours into the hallway.

fuck

2005-10-02T20:54:00.000-07:00

fuck

Words don’t fit; the fucking
curses can’t describe
the way I feel inside.
Waves of hate, of anger.
A beating pulse of gloom
Coincides with the thumping
Of my lonely despair.
fuck you.
I can’t overcome the pain,
The glowering feelings
Of remorse, of helplessness-
I can’t make you change…
But I want to rip your damn eyes
From your beautiful head and
Force you to watch what you do!
fuck you!
The chills rack my body
As I scream your name,
As I fucking yell myself hoarse.
I want to destroy something beautiful;
To pound a lifeless body until
The cold blood mingles with mine in
My raw and broken knuckles.
fuck you!
Look at what you’ve done!
I want to fall into a bottle,
Then fall off a balcony.
How can words show my wrath!
Prison’s an acceptable risk
For what I want to do,
For what I know I need to do.
fuck you.
I’ll watch as your house
Burns to the ground,
Listen to the screams and pleas.
My anger doesn’t lessen.
It doesn’t float away
With the acrid smoke of burning hair
Of burning flesh.

The Lyrics Are Still Singing

2005-09-30T00:49:00.000-07:00

Save Tonight1

Today's a reason for living,
And if I had just one wish,
I would stop time to stay with you,
But tomorrow comes to take me away,
So all we have is here and now,
Without you I cannot be;
All I want to do is to be next to you.

More than you could ever know,
I just want you for my own.
Your smile, it's the most genuine thing that I've ever seen,
But I love that perfect frown;
I'm falling even more in love with you.
The slightest touch and I feel weak,
I just want to be with you tonight.

I’m letting go of all I’ve held onto,
And it’s so good like this,
Time with you is standing still.
All the things you've said,
Make it always so hard to say goodbye.
You'll understand what I mean when I say
I know who I want to take me home.

So come away with me,
And the rhythm of the rain that drops
Can coincide with the beating of our hearts.
I can't keep my eyes off of you,
All I want to do is to be close to you;
You know I love you so,
And I never want to let you go.

Hey little girl, I love you.

1 Each individual line of this poem was not written by me. Each line was taken from the lyrics of various songs, and all rights are reserved by their writers. However the compilation is my own work, and as such has the right to life, liberty, and freedom.

Hot Dog Mummies

2005-09-29T00:35:00.000-07:00

Today I went to the grocery store. Imagine that, a college kid hitting up a food joint, fascinating! I went to buy water. Yes, buy water. Isn’t that ironic, buying something that’s free? No nutritional value. No calories, no carbs, no sodium, no protein. I’m buying nothing. Anyway, I’ve resorted to buying a free commodity because I came here to Washington from Colorado, where the water tastes like heaven; and, well, the water here in Tacoma tastes like watered down Coors Light (aka: piss water). Anyway, I sat there, and like the dumbarse I am, I compared the prices of water. After about 10 minutes, I couldn’t decide so I bought two types of water in two different bottle shapes. I ended up buying 59.5 liters of water.

I also bought limes.

Now, standing in line at the grocery store, I saw a magazine, and on the front cover were hot dogs. And not just any ordinary hot dogs, oh no, these were special hot dogs. Wrapped up in pastry things. Hot dogs made up to look like mummies. With mustard for faces. For Halloween, in case you still weren’t getting it. They didn’t even have arms... I don’t know if they were going for an extra creepy factor. What in the world has driven the citizens of this country to buy a magazine with edible puppets masquerading as an enjoyable activity to do with your family on the cover? Who actually wants to make hot dog mummies?? No one! Somehow, we’ve been hoodwinked into thinking we want to make nasty looking hot dog mummies, and we probably won’t even eat the creepy little bastards.

I’ve also been requested to write about best friends. I’ll only briefly touch on the subject, but, as of now, good friends will: hold your hair back while you are throwing up. They will buy you a beer bong when you turn 21 (or at least make you one). They’ll always be there to take a walk with you at midnight when you’re drunk. They’ll let you keep the bottle to put a highlighter in for your mantle, and not keep the bottle for themselves. They laugh at your drunken jokes, and what’s more they laugh at your sober ones. And they try to make you laugh midway through a shot of cheap vodka – that shit burns your nose membranes like none other.

What now?

2005-09-27T11:10:00.000-07:00

Searching for

Been looking for something I cannot see.
Searching my whole life for something hollow;
Twitching but still, moving so passively.
Empty coffee shops too fake to swallow,
Full cinemas lacking reality.
No signs to read, no shadows to follow.

Been hoping for something I can’t decide.
Cathedrals sell it never knowing why.
In those from red alleys you can confide
How the scales will never fall from your eye.
Stars fade until the heavy night has died,
Soothing nightmares end with a single sigh.

Drunken Proverbs Take II

2005-09-25T23:14:00.000-07:00

Well, I think this may become a weekly, or at least yearly event. Yes, the posting of drunken proverbs. Today I don't raise my glass in celebration of the proverbs, nor do I raise my glass in celebration of friends or family. I come here today to simply provide you with the truth.

The truisms of drunken people. They espouse it, they claim it's true, they believe it with all their might. Sometimes sober people believe it, sometimes they don't, sometimes they humor the drunk people so they shut up, sometimes they doubt them so they keep gesturing wildly. In every case however, something remains the same. It is always the multiple questions and possibilities you can ask of each statement.

Drunk people usually make statements so bizarre and so non sequitur that you can almost always apply multiple meanings. Especially to the comments made by the random drunk people you talk to for a few seconds while waiting in the keg line. For example! We have a recent proclamation "they don't make the noise, the bed does." Now, before we can apply any meanings, we have to determine a situation. These situations can be wildly fabricated by the other drunk next to you, or thoughtful contemplations made alone later. In this example, what are these people doing that is silent and makes a bed issue forth sound waves? I can't really come up with anything. I first thought about a pillow fight, but that's noisy. Then I thought about sex, but I said to myself, they must be really bad if there's no noise.

So I just came to the conclusion that what the drunk person was insinuating was that the bed was a shitty bed. Perhaps there's a terrorist bomb inside ticking. That would make noise, yes? Although when this happened to me, it was just an alarm clock in the sheets.

We can also take the subject of drop kicking babies. Yes, I said it. Drop kicking babies. Now before you get the CPA or EPA or NAACP or ATF on my arse, let me say that this person was joking. Even if they were joking only because if you've just had a baby, you probably couldn't drop kick it, they were nonetheless joking. The only thing I took away from this was that they hated babies. They never want one. If they ever got one, and if it were possible, they'd probably go to a third world country where baby killing was legal and as soon as it popped out they'd drop kick it out the window. My only qualm (besides the obvious necessity of coming up with a horrible 'dead baby' joke) was that the baby would still be attached. I mentioned this, and they said they'd find a way around it. I didn't try arguing.

Various other quotes include "Bothell sounds like waffle"; I wasn't there, so I guess I'll just mention how drunk people hear anything and take it to mean anything they want. You can call them drunken deuches, and if they think they hear beautiful beaches, they'll ask where the palm trees are. Also, apparently when you're drunk, beastiality scares you, and you become paranoid of the fact. A friend sat down to pet a dog, and the drunk person, due to their lack of glasses, beer vision, and angle, thought their friend was saddling the dog. They yelled "no riding the dog!" Personally, I can only come up with one reason for this disgusting quote. They were jealous.

Bells

2005-09-24T15:20:00.000-07:00

Bells

Union Street, right over there?
Yeah, that’s Union Street.
It’s where all the rich got married.
The little flower girls often ran
Through the freshly cut grass.
Most had forgotten about their flowers.
The bride’s maids always shrieked.
And on the hot summer evenings
Birds often came to eat the rice.
Yes sir, that’s the street.
Union Street.

The limousines, white in the summer
And black in the fall, they drove
Right up that broad street.
The grooms, even the arrogant ones,
They always looked a little ill.
But the best part was the bells.
They sounded so happy.
They rang and chimed and sang…
And the whole town could hear!
Yes ma’am, those bells right there.
The Union Street bells.

They pealed with such might
You’d have thought everybody
Over in Goldridge could hear.
Yeah, Union Street, it was
The place to start a new life.
And the bells made it perfect.
Almost every Sunday afternoon
They were singing a beautiful
New requiem for the wedded.
Yes sir, they rang up there,
Up above Union Street.

But those same bells, yes,
The ones right there-
You can almost see the big one.
But, one day they rang out
Not for a wedding; they sang
A different song that evening.
There wasn’t a melody,
They just rang and rang and rang.
No little kids frolicked.
No ma’am, there wasn’t a soul
On Union Street.

Yes… I remember the deep tolls;
They resonated in everyone’s chests.
Our hearts all beat together,
Once with every rolling peal.
Someone said we’d been attacked.
No one believed it ‘till the next morning.
The headlines screamed it.
They said there were bombs falling.
No sir, we didn’t really believe.
We heard the bells as we all stood
In Union Street.

No one did anything the next day.
Every hour there were twelve tolls,
Even noon only got twelve.
Not a soul’s been married
On Union Street since then:
They won’t stop the ringing even
To play a short dirge for a couple.
No more happy shouts
Or mirth filled faces rosy with wine.
No sir, there’s no more dancing
On Union Street.

You say potato, I say potato... You say up, I say down

2005-09-23T12:01:00.000-07:00

Well, I had an interesting conversation today. It focused on individual's views of the world, and in particular the differences between these views. We discussed this through a metaphor (like a simile without the words 'like' or 'as' - for all you non-English majors out there). If I remember correctly, for it has been almost an hour since we talked, we used the metaphor of 'what's up'? The conversation progressed as such: she asked 'what's up'. I, of course, replied with the smart ass cliche comment 'the ceiling'. At the time, I suppose I was trying to be clever, as I always am with the ladies, but then I struck upon a revelation. She stated that ceiling are usually up, and if not, then there might be something wrong.

Now, you might be saying to yourself "why the hell am I reading this??". Here's why. Because as obvious as it is that the ceiling might be up, what if it wasn't? Yeah, that's right, I just asked you what if the ceiling wasn't up. You should respond with your answer as a comment to this blog. Anyway, as I asked myself that very same question, I realized that if I thought the ceiling wasn't up, I must be on the ceiling looking down at the floor; with my back to the ceiling I would feel like I'm laying on the floor, and thus the floor would seem up. This begs the ultimate question - how would I get on the ceiling, and how would I end up thinking the floor was up? My first response was helium, just breath a lot of it. My second response was just turning the room upside down - but then the little spiky things they put in the stucco of ceilings might hurt. So I'm going to stick with the helium thing. Or space. Space might work too. The end!

drops of peace

2005-09-21T01:16:00.000-07:00

Pure rain falling hard,
Tender, enveloping all,
Comforting blanket.

a note on roof tiles

2005-09-20T01:24:00.000-07:00

why do they use lots of little pieces of material to cover roofs? hm? why do they use tons and tons of tiles, making them overlap and wasting millions of square centimeters, when they could simply use a blanket. Those peeps in south america have it right, use corrugated metal sheets, none of this asphalt shingle shit.

shingles suck. yes, yes they do.

yea though they protect your head from drips, they lance your side with searing pain

"I have a dream that one day..."

2005-09-19T02:13:00.000-07:00

Land of My Forefathers

I need to get out of this sweltering place,
this place where the very air I breathe is Infected and Moldy;
stealing its way into my lungs, ever closer to my heart.
This place where slavery once held sway.
This place where Indians wept,
this place where the very soil you stand upon
was confiscated and turned red with blood.
Where the sun beats down on, intensifying, malevolence.

Where the clouds do nothing but shroud
the misery in depressing, absolute darkness.
Where the sky is draped over harsh cities:
miles of hard black paths, sticky with tar
melted by the beating of unfamiliar feet.
Cities full of malice, and cruelty, and spite.
This land of my forefathers.
Where freedom rings.

Where death looms out of the shadow,
growing ever nearer, ever closer.
Forests once grand and sprawling,
exchanged for graves and mires of infestation.
Asphalt tearing across the wilderness,
leading to everything and nothing
but desolation and throbbing guilt.
The acrid smoke of burning flesh and ideas,

smoldering under an oppressive System.
In this place where once was greatness,
now lie the fumes of eternal stagnation.
Where the multitudes of festering wounds,
inflicted by searing racism, its father prejudice,
will forever disfigure the landscape.
This land of my forefathers,
Where freedom rings?

Drunken Proverbs

2005-09-18T02:22:00.000-07:00

I feel that a tribute is necessary. A tribute to what you might ask? A tribute to life. To love. To fire and all that it entails. But perhaps more importantly, a tribute drunken proverbs - whispered or shouted, mumbled or slurred. A tribute to those hilarious things you say as you view life from a totally changed perspective - life viewed from the floor.

And in tribute, I raise my broken acrylic glass that still holds mixed beverages poured over little freezer tray ice cubes, and proclaim "I love you" (of course referring to my comrades around me and those two famed people called Guinness and Baileys).

As one wise, wise person once told me "Untie the shoe, pull the lace, and pull the shoe off." I still don't know if he was espousing a life creed, a way to live your life - to do one thing at a time; or if he was simply saying how to take off his shoe the proper way.