The Phantom Super Shadow Friends

test

2006-02-12T14:54:00.000-08:00

this is a test

a little strange

2005-12-06T19:10:00.000-08:00

a little strange
the moonlight
strung up
in the back room
singing now
the hair
in our
silent
restaurant
an older
couple
knowing every booth
I don't want to know
I am
for iceland
eyesight
in holes across
the frozen prarie
bring the blankets now
there is never
a curdling season
as long
as my arms
are around your back
and under your breasts
awake to the snow
outside
before
the cold light
my love
is
restless

"Fin"

2005-12-05T23:26:00.000-08:00

"Trouble-Making"

2005-12-04T22:42:00.000-08:00

"Sleep Addiction"

2005-12-04T20:49:00.000-08:00

I'm sorry that it has been so long this is out of nowhere

2005-12-04T07:41:00.000-08:00

Howl
the light flickered
beneath the snow
the road
it's roar.

Bent to the paper,
brush the morning off
and fit your fingers
to the blacktype
for involvement here

we go into cupboards.

Into cupboards I
child bang pots and I
child my life
in cupboards
in Maine
in cupboards there
was no death and bang
just sound drums, me.

Burn the newspaper
see the smell fill the house
and ring beep through the house
ring beep through
the dark smoke
the paper fills
smell the house sounds
of settling ashes
and forget about tomorrow
you are losing it all today.

"Even with Enough"

2005-12-01T17:50:00.000-08:00

Not too long ago I lost myself pretty bad. The good people in this photo, without knowing a thing about me, took me in; helped me find my footing. Many of us have gone our separate ways in the short time it's been since it was taken. This doesn't change the fact that for one short weekend, we were the only people left alive on this stupid little planet.

So I painted them green and dropped in some yellow rays.

Clipboard

2005-11-29T10:55:00.000-08:00

Here is a demonstration of my elite photoshop skills...yeah that's right, there's not one but TWO layers here. Two. It's deep I know. What with the hardly legible, half-assed story that's really just a screen cap from an ancient blog of mine. I probably should have just posted the picture as it was, minus the cutting and pasting and whatever. Why did I do this? Because I'm determined to keep providing fodder for a peer of mine who claims that "text should not be on photo." Someday I'll get it right and prove the critics wrong. Someday.

In the meantime, this is what you get. More bad art. And for anyone who happens to give two shits, here's a link to the original.

thoughts. . .

2005-11-28T15:45:00.000-08:00

I've just realized I never posted anything last week. Mostly this was due to the fact that I didnt have internet over Thanksgiving break, but also partly due to the fact that I completely forgot about it. I can't really think of anything thing too exciting to write about, my holiday was pretty low key. I'm so ready for this semester to be over, and for next semester too, so I can graduate and get out of here already. I'm done, I'm ready to move on, I don't want to go to school any more.

And on that note, I leave you with this:

I should point out that this was taken with a cellphone camera, thus the bad quality and fuzziness of the image.

Bad Art

2005-11-27T12:03:00.000-08:00

...

This is what happens when you force yourself.

Dear Civilization,

2005-11-22T15:30:00.000-08:00

Here.

library books....

2005-11-20T22:21:00.000-08:00

Well, I just got back from the library. I got an email today telling me that I had two books that were so overdue they would be charging me fines on both of them. Very interesting, since I had returned them to the reserve desk the same day I took them out. . . .two weeks ago.

So I went down there, and talked to some workstudy girl at the circulation desk as the email had instructed me to do. Explained the situation and was told, "Oh, that happens all the time! Hold on a minute let me go check to see if the books are over there." A few minutes later she returns. . ."both of the books were over there, they just never got checked back in. . .but its ok, it happens all the time."

WHAT?! The library regularly charges fines with out actually looking for the books first? And why were they not checked back in when I handed them to the workstudy guy at the reserve desk to begin with? How is it that the library has been operating so poorly and no one's done anything about it?

Oh, and remember when we were supposed to watch the powerpoint thing earlier this semester, but due to the fact it somehow never actually got put on reserve (despite the fact the catalog online claimed it was) someone checked it out and the entire class never got to see it.

I think the library has a few things they need to work out.

P.S. They did end up erasing the fines on my account. . .

2005-11-20T17:33:00.000-08:00

The monolith has been replaced by the Procotor Silex Easy Morning.

And yes, my mornings did just get easier.

Flying

2005-11-13T19:19:00.000-08:00

So I went to South Carolina for the weekend to see my fiance. It was the first time we saw each other since July. Long term relationships suck, I don't recommend it. Especially when one of the people is in the military. But thats not what this post is about. . . .

To get down there I had to fly from Burlington to Philadelphia and then change planes and continue on to Charleston. The Charleston airport is actually an Air Force Base, so the civilian flights in and out are severely limited. Anyways. . .the plane I was to take to PA was 30minutes late arriving in Burlington, thus making us about an hour late in getting to PA - so obviously I missed my flight. Grrr....

Finally found another flight to SC two hours later. Ate dinner and got to the gate way early only to discover the plane had been overbooked. But I had a seat, so it didnt matter. They needed four people to get off the plane, and offered - dinner, night in a hotel , breakfast, and two free round trip tickets anywhere in the US or Canada good for a year - just to fly the next afternoon. Nice deal, but I couldn't do it, I needed to get to SC asap, I'd already missed my first flight after all. About 40 minutes later, they finally get the people they need, and they finally let us board the plane, which sits on the runway for at least another 30 minutes.

I got into SC just before midnight. I was supposed to be there by 7:30. The weekend was great, totally worth all of the frustration, but way too short and it was time to come back to VT.

Wouldn't you know it, both of my flights back to Burlington (changing in DC) were early? Just my luck.

P.S. I arrived home to a package of home made cookies from my aunt! Mmmmm.......

Coffeemaker Fiasco Part 2

2005-11-13T09:21:00.000-08:00

So, I can't live without caffeine...it's a daily necessity, and much more a part of my survival than the natural elements air and water. I just can't imagine functioning without it. I mean, right now I'm a mess. I went grocery shopping this morning just to drink coffee while I browsed for food. But that was only one measly [watered-down] cup. I need another. So I get home, and I'm jonesing really bad...and I turn to my coffeemaker...which I know isn't going to work. I've played with all the nasty program and clock buttons. This bitch just isn't going to brew. But still, I persist. I got online and decided to look for a manual. My coffee maker is pretty straight-forward, but I was hoping I could come up with *something*. Perhaps it's been recalled. But I go through all the logistics and directions for coffee making, step by step...I've got it all down. I've got No. 4 paper cone-shaped paper filters, I've closed the brew chamber, the carafe is all the way in under the coffeemaker. The ON light is illuminated [green for go]. But, there's no coffee brewing going on here. I can't even exploit the built in Sneak-A-Cup feature [highlighted in the manual]. I'm just fucked. I've got Mountain Dew on hand...some Chilled Espresso Lattes...but, it's just not what I want right now.

I've never experienced such focused desire.

Its a girl!

2005-11-06T19:30:00.000-08:00

My fiance called on Friday to tell me he was going to get a pet this weeked. I thought it was nice of him to ask, seeing as he is in the military so I will be the one taking care of the pet while he is out at sea.

Early the next morning he calls again to report that he is now the proud owner of a four month old, female, albino hedgehog. She lives in a big glass fish tank, under a small carved out piece of log, and eats cat food and mealworms. Interesting little nocturnal creatures.

Anyway, on her first day home, she met the springy door stopper. Like she does when anything frightens her, she rolled up into a ball and stuck all of her spines straight up at it. Only when it is safe does she dare unroll herself to try to meet the door stopper again. (It took eight times before she gave up and climbed over it.)

In any case, if you hadn't noticed, I have been referring to her as "she" because she still does not have a name. Any ideas? (please dont say spike, spiny, prickles, or velco....they're way over used)

Ramble, Ramble, Ramble

2005-11-02T08:06:00.000-08:00

[an ode to multi-tasking!]

I am without a doubt developing internet ADD. At this moment I actually feel completely incapable of devoting myself to a full, lengthy post because I just (re)discovered both C-SPAN (Richard Nixon!!!) radio streams and scintillating Art Bell archives (click for a link to a recorded phone call of an at-times frantic ex-Rosewell Base employee). Of course, that's not the only thing that's distracting me right now...I'm also trying to churn out a power point presentation (so far, I have a series of some 25 pictures with some ...provocative captions). I also stumbled upon this gem of a website:

http://www.grahamhancock.com/gallery/supernatural/
[I suppose I've found a new reason to visit Peru!]

As soon as I wrap this entry up I'm also going to read Iraq's new consitution: (translation of Iraqi Constituion)

And read up to Chapter 4 in Dostoevsky's Demons

(oh! and everyone should take up "lollerskating" on account of Johnny sending me this link).

Johnny is a way better Blogger than me. He knows how to get people involved.

::gurgle::

And just to give you something to look at :

I call it the [black] monolith.
Unfortunately, it crapped itself.
And now I don't have coffee.

Screw you Monolith!

( @ Muddy Waters)

what makes you

2005-11-01T06:39:00.000-08:00

the summer inevitably makes you older
there is a kettle now rusting fields
satellite of the local country memories
wounding the present and scurrying home
for sleep or something worse I wake
asleep at night knowing that there is
a hole there and fresh red smoke

she is here at the door we had sex today
and laughed the whole time wide smiling
kisses on the teeth, she knows me now
as I once was, but won’t be like before
the drunk confined students – only
innocence can manage, just enough
for a small room alone. I know it is her

last breath secrets I do not know that sink
my glass blue veins blacker – to say that it is
coming back from New York and wants
to see you and wake up on the porch in
your arms after only my tears in yours
now the tired morning gold, good to see you
I want to see you as much as I can

this is all we have... I know it is her last
breaths after the restaurant business let me
know, closing down the dishes round twelve
and thinking sarcasm is starvation; it is so awfully
quiet in a kitchen, but your love that knew
I always did run away waited for their lips
to leave mine – you are my night-time sky

Haunted House

2005-10-30T23:30:00.000-08:00

So I just finished my last tour of the haunted house and I am exhausted and very sore. We had an awesome turnout and its not a haunted house that will soon be forgotten.

We started the night off with a visit from the police, fire department, and ambulance crew when some of the guys got a little over zealous with the fog machine and set off the fire alarms. Fortunately the fire fighters and police were pretty nice about it and let us continue the haunted house, sans fog machine. And we all got a good laugh when one of the firefighters tried to walk back to a truck that wasn't there, and had to be corrected in front of all of us.

"Uh...the trucks this way!" "Oh. right" (I think you kinda had to be there.) Anyways. . . . .

And this was just the dress rehearsal.

The night continued on a similiar note. Due to a strobe light, one of the actors in the haunted house, got disoriented and when head first into a door frame. A trip to the hospital, and five stitches later he was back, and due to the pain meds they'd given him, ready to continue. While he was gone, we'd found a temporary replacement . . .who also had an incident with the same door frame, only not so serious.

Other wise, everything went well, there were lots of screams and lots of people scared shitless. Tomorrow we have to clean it all up and put it away til next year. . .

. . . at least we can be thankful that there were no live bats involved.

A new day

2005-10-24T11:41:00.000-07:00

"Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could; some blunders and absurdities have crept in, forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day, you shall begin it serenly and with too high a spirit to be encumbered with your old nonsense."
- Ralph Waldo Emerson

Jolly Elf

2005-10-20T17:45:00.000-07:00

In response to concerns that Chris isn't a happy person.

In fact, he's the happiest elf I know.

sound peace

2005-10-20T07:25:00.000-07:00

What invisible horror are these sun-rise days. What eyes do inquire this morning and enamor towards conversation some far-lost to eyes. What blood fills our ears of birds arising from smokestack swoosh trees so far away, lady please do say what puddles sog your dry path. In such eyes surrounded I see of inward mansions built. In such round denial, such sure black holes. Confusion, confusion, what violence to behold. And so are they who reach for their phone or say how sorry it is to be for you to eat alone-wonder at what prison necessitates such constant escape clones. So are they on most paths do meet. In May’s water as it rises between hydraulic talk that we the world could power; but what water evaporates and leaves eyes for me so tired. What could we paint to the air in ones twos threes.
If we were to paint, what colors that drip from your eyes and ears? But then how to find real and how to judge when they are so smart, what solutions don’t they solve for Us? (Is it one so right or is it all just us?) Darling take note of the mountain-tree-bird-swing, and how each takes fullness from each other and gives thus to receive. But not now, no not now, don’t want to get busted, not them all around. Not cops curing us, our inherent sound. Anger? Oh anger be, this natural reaction, this well fuck you too. And yeah my razor blade anus I so wish I had for when they bend you over they so will wish they hadn’t had. But please to digress in cure for zero (us lay down) it’s time for you all to accept your President, your Nation, this everybody conservative town. It is time for you to accept them your breakfast, to your eggs and coffee, perhaps a bagel for the secretary. It is time to accept your President. And so it is time to let it all in, and not keep the rest cold. So yes, in you may come, I’ve got a couch that can unfold. I suppose you all could stay, but get along please. In first the lobbyists, they so mighty. Wake them up quick, to bring them in bare, wearing what so lovely they know not wear. And so greet them pleasant and be blind, disregard what on their faces is so disgusting in mind. Then bring in the limbless and bring in the orphans. In the dirt-faced angels who play the factory floors. How about the women who our corporates whore in nice little towns. Maquillos. Juarez for tourists. And now we’d better get the drug dealers and the peddlers high, call up the congress the senate, the FBI. Better get them police too, and make sure they don’t forget sticks and guns, there might be some black Man or drunk for fun. But spread out, spread out, make room for the middle-minded, Ashcroft too. For them with the churches I think we’d better leave the top floor, how else to satisfy their insatiable moral gore? Then the army the planes the rockets too, secrets expanded for NASA and that science-politic-money glue. And cute bring in the junkies and bring the poor. The single Mother stereo, boom blessed chord. Then the skins, to line them up quick; bring in the sheets for all the clipped dicks. Bring in the Mafia and have them their buddies call, but maybe not all of them (the CIA might scare us all.) Then bring in the middle-class and get them all liquored up, it’s so hard to stand those square square squares. Then how bout the college kids, yes them too, they can riot in the backyard and talk about whose team’s who. Or no reason at all, no they don’t need, just that they got no place, but maybe nobody does nobody got no more. And so bring in the teens and dress them all up, so they may teach the adults how to finger-fuck. Then we’d better get all those distant relations we don’t really want, but get it all together, call down to South America. Say waste no time, take the channel brothers, we dug it deep for your ships. We dug it deep for our come, our guns, our united funds. And then our friends in the Philippines sure to come, and why not the ghosts of those Japanese we dropped white hum. Why not all the lives then we supposedly saved, the bomb to bring them back, under concrete to be paved. And then we could fuck in the bushes and play in the yard, now such good friends we all are. No no think not of all those relatives slaughtered abroad, there’s plenty right here, right here in the yard. See what is good for them takes time and patience, lay back lay back this is complacence. And oh and oh this seems so nice, they all together and everything everything everything (peace.) Oh peace! Dare we say peace invisible or not a word to the contrary? No I don’t suppose that peace would look like this. And no I don’t suppose peace would utter such sound. Although no sound seems the order, the day, and no sound sounds the better for all of us out of the way. It is now time to accept our Nation just as it is, love it so livable as we the disease made it so terminal. Peace! Peace! Peace! And to what invisible horror in the air is found, what peace, when peace doth make no sound.

2005-10-19T20:21:00.000-07:00

Could you
tell me
about
your problems?

or are they too much
damp snow?

And need a long
drive
alone to
Nova Scotia.

I need a day
and a couple
weeks back
to be happy

back cause
I was sure,
and was
is a general condition.

My soul
is only
an expression.

2005-10-19T20:02:00.000-07:00

we come out of the darkness
thrown
like cans into
a shopping cart
at five
in the morning
as night comes back
from the country
roving
it's myths slowly
from the trees
amidst thick motors
short conversations
the looping sidewalks
'I used to know what it said'
what it told us before
the night itself
is white morning
and blonde streams
the cracked pavement
a muted voice

Underpinnings

2005-10-19T16:22:00.000-07:00

It's...

...All...

...Here

It Always Starts Bad

2005-10-18T19:42:00.000-07:00

DISCLAIMER: This is non fiction; that's me in those words. Originally posted on another blog, the recent posts of our resident Interface Dominatrix led me to bring this back to the surface. I know that place her hurt comes from. As I shall illustrate coming posts, I also know that things do get better - much, much, better.

And so it begins. Tired, eyes swollen from insomnia. The circles around my eyes are so pronounced I could be wearing a mask. The masquerade ball type. Pangs of hunger consume my mid-section. Digesting food is a luxury my depression won't grant.

I'm sitting in the passenger seat of an ancient plymouth on my way to Albany International Airport. The radio is playing The Cure.

It's Friday, I'm in love with you.

My best friend is driving. His name is Joe and he's a good kid. A lanky guy, the way he grips the wheel makes the whole car feel miniature. Some kind of big toy. Except for his congested head, he's feeling like a million dollars. Passing the time by joking around about airport security, we slice through the empty road.

It's early on Saturday morning. Overcast, dark, and foggy. Dirty snow blankets the ground, bordering the road on each side of us. The trees are dusted white. They look spray-painted that way. We get off exit 4. The airport is huge.

In the terminal, waiting in line for our boarding pass, we spot an old high school friend amongst a crowd of people. Turns out he's on his way to Disney for a baseball game. His name is Ben. The last time I saw him he had an Abercrombie model hanging on his arm. We used to party at his vacation home on Lake George. He still looks like the model American.

Joe and I lurch our way to the gate, and get in line for the mandatory security check. I'm taken aside because I didn't remove my laptop from my backpack. A short bulky woman motions me towards a table off to the side and I set my coat on it.

"Please do not touch this table, the backpack, or your laptop sir. Stand back." I suddenly find myself much more awake now. As I take two large steps back I notice that she never made eye contact.

Joe gathers his effects and puts his belt back on. We march off to the gate with a sense of accomplishment. While standing on line at the gate my stomach starts to inform me that it hates me. I find a bathroom and vomit the two sips of juice I had just before the car ride. Back on line I fall asleep standing up.

All I can think about is my ex-girlfriend. Together for four years and she up and quits on me out of the blue a week ago. At present, I'm the embodiment of self pity. It's really a terrible sight. Nothing worse than an emotional cripple without his walker.

This trip was planned in a hurry; help me get my mind off the girl. Las Vegas. Couldn't think of a better place.

Liftoff.

2005-10-17T16:12:00.000-07:00

my blog is lazy
I taunt it
and say "oh blog!" you are so lazy

you always dressed so well

what more can I do!
the parts are for the opera

I assemble

the sneering

disembodied throats
to this

what more can I do! accustomed to the gray light

I'll wait until moonlight
pours from the trees

don't
worry

"blog!"

I said
not to
worry

celebrating

2005-10-16T18:47:00.000-07:00

I just got back from a meeting regarding Halloween plans. So that's what my post is going to be about tonight.

To tie in to both my previous post, and the most recent post by Interface Dominatrix, why is it that college students celebrate every holiday, or important event by getting drunk? Especially Halloween? Is there some law out there that I don't know about that says college students must get drunk at every moment possible, especially on Halloween? I just don't get it. Why would you want to spend such occasions in a such a state that you won't even remember any of it the next morning?

I can totally understand a couple of drinks with dinner, or going out every once in a while for a drink with some friends. But I just don't get this constant drunkeness thing. I mean we pay a lot of money to go to college to get our degrees. So why would you waste it by being drunk all the time?

As a child on Halloween you probably got all dressed up in a costume and went door to door trick-or-treating until your bag was full of candy. Now, as a supposedly more mature adult, you may spend it, still in costume, but this time completely trashed. When you wake up on November 1, you probably won't remember what you did the night before, nor will you bother going to your classes the next day because you are either still drunk or have a terrible hangover.

But why does alcohol always have to be involved? My plans for Halloween this year are also the same as what I did last year. My dorm will be having a haunted house. Lots of fun, lots of costumes, lots of scares, lots of candy. Probably even a party to celebrate afterwards. But no alcohol. I encourage all of you to come for the tour, look for the posters around campus. They should be going up soon.

So to close, I understand that everyone has the right to whatever they want, and I am not trying to say that you are a bad person if what I have written about above is your chosen lifestyle, I am only saying that I do not understand it.

In any case, I wish you all a fun and safe Halloween, regardless of how you choose to celebrate.

Thursday Night Fever

2005-10-13T16:28:00.000-07:00

I'm moderately queasy with a fever - I can already tell it's going to be a great weekend. Excuse me while I stray away from my usual topic of love and heartache to discuss some minor details about my life.

For one, I'm really sick of college.

I'm sick of beer and bongs. Girls whining about herpes and frizzy hair. The campus Socialists. Freshmen. Uggs. Lackadaisical professors. Photocopies, upon photocopies, upon photocopies. Stupid students. Popped collars. Familiar faces. Newt Fucking Gingrich. Text-books. My low self-esteem. Idle group discussions. The Roots. Drunken sex. Outlines. Not learning a damn thing of any significance. Hang-overs and my continuous lack of sense of purpose. My consumption. Plastic waste. Student consumption. Their plastic waste. Beautiful, fake, plastic, people and their steady stream in and out of classes day to day ( like trains on time). The New England rain. Lost love.

I need comfort in me otherwise this relationship is never going to work out.

Salem, MA

2005-10-09T21:28:00.000-07:00

Salem, Massachusetts is a town I'm sure most of you have heard of at some time or another in reference to the Salem Witch Trials of 1692. It also happens to be about five minutes from my home town. Over the summer a statue of Samatha from "Bewitched" was installed in a small park there, causing a great deal of conflict, due to the history of Salem.

But now there is a new kind of witch in Salem, Massachusetts. According to Yahoo news, Harry Potter and company have descended upon the historical little town. The reason? Its the only real place in the United States that was actually mentioned in one of the books. Don't ask me which one, I have no idea. In any case, for this reason it was decided that it would be the perfect place to hold the Harry Potter Convention, called "The Witching Hour."

So now there are hundreds of people dressed like witches and wizards, attending classes like those attended by Harry Potter in the books and taught by actual college professors, playing quidditch on Salem Green, and doing magic spells, in addition to many, many other events. Apparently even some of the actors from the movies are in attendance.

What is this world comming to?

And all of this on top of the normal insanity that is Salem in October? Remind me not to go any where near there the next time I am home. It might be dangerous.

For those interested, here's a link to the article: Harry Potter on Yahoo news

#4

2005-10-09T13:11:00.000-07:00

Blue answers the whispers of a flower
I knew,
why, when ridding its dark veins in me,
why
it's thin pink petals wet morning, my love!

See the silly colors against the sky,
silent balloons
beneath your lungs,
and the sweet stench
holding our noses.
A tragedy of human life
is that we keep too long.
Our muscles do not
unclench our hollowed hearts.

2005-10-07T20:47:00.000-07:00

But you only meant well,
To you, for you,
And here we are,
Happy, can't you tell?

Used to being one,
Now that you care,
Look what you've done.

People just stare.

When I tell them how,
I took that vow,
To show you how, `

we feel.

It's just that feeling we share.
It's just that weight we bare.
It's the tear,
in my heart,
that will always be there.

And it will never be fair.

Because heartbreak,
Heartbreak doesn't care.

Re: Love (continued)

2005-10-03T15:35:00.000-07:00

I don't think I did a sufficient job of articulating my thoughts or feelings about love in my last post, so I think I'm going to take another shot at it. Please bare with me.

The definition of love (according to Dictionary.com) is as follows -

love
n.

A deep, tender, ineffable feeling of affection and solicitude toward a person, such as that arising from kinship, recognition of attractive qualities, or a sense of underlying oneness.
A feeling of intense desire and attraction toward a person with whom one is disposed to make a pair; the emotion of sex and romance.
1. Sexual passion.
2. Sexual intercourse.
3. A love affair.
An intense emotional attachment, as for a pet or treasured object.
A person who is the object of deep or intense affection or attraction; beloved. Often used as a term of endearment.
An expression of one's affection: Send him my love.
1. A strong predilection or enthusiasm: a love of language.
2. The object of such an enthusiasm: The outdoors is her greatest love.
Love Mythology. Eros or Cupid.
often Love Christianity. Charity.
Sports. A zero score in tennis. (heh)

v. loved, lov·ing, loves
v. tr.

To have a deep, tender, ineffable feeling of affection and solicitude toward (a person): We love our parents. I love my friends.
To have a feeling of intense desire and attraction toward (a person).
To have an intense emotional attachment to: loves his house.
1. To embrace or caress.
2. To have sexual intercourse with.
To like or desire enthusiastically: loves swimming.
Theology. To have charity for.
To thrive on; need: The cactus loves hot, dry air.
v. intr.

To experience deep affection or intense desire for another.

Also see: Dux.

I also think it's interesting to note that LOVE is an acronym for "League of Villanious Entities" and
"Loss of Valuable Energy".

What I'm really interested in understanding though is " [recognition of] a sense of underlying oneness.". I was trying to get at this sensation with my firefly metaphor. That feeling of contentedness and completion -- that satisfaction that only arises when you've found 'the half' to complete 'your whole' (I'm in the process of working through another theory based on the premise that one should not be in a relationship if one is only half a person...which is a continuation of the theory that one should not be in a relationship if one is 'in need'). However, that satisfaction that results from finding the 'perfect' mate is fatally flawed. Another person can never complete you because no relationship is perfect. The perfect relationship is an ideal...a standard that serves as an aspiration, or a target to move to. It's not real. Not tangible. It's a bit like standing on your toes in order to touch the moon.

I'm not trying to deny love. But I will deny its endurance. By its very nature love destroys itself. So much pressure, so much emphasis is placed on being fulfilled by a romance that no one can ever completely be satiated by it. There's still always that little bit of lingering doubt (is this the best possible pair?). Another thing about love is that the more intense it is, the harder you fall. So much is invested in the idea of finally being completed by a person that when the (fated) relationship-suffocating-syndrome gnomes show up you are forced into a panic ( we don't make eachother laugh anymore ::whimper::...). And if anymore evidence is needed to prove that love is fleeting, just look at all the great music and art lost love inspires:

Bright Eyes - Falling Out of Love At This Volume [lyrics]
the.last.time.i.miss.you
El amor esta en el aire

...Also check out The Mountain Goats, The Shins ...The Postal Service, specifically the song "Nothing Better"...

Boy: "Tell me am I right to think that there could be nothing better
Than making you my bride and slowly growing old together?"

Girl: "I feel must I interject here you're getting carried away feeling sorry for yourself
With these revisions and gaps in history
So let me help you remember.
I've made charts and graphs that should finally make it clear.
I've prepared a lecture on why I have to leave
So please back away and let me go

Boy: "I can't my darling I love you so..."
Boy and Girl: "But oh, oh..."

Far away from here

2005-10-02T21:16:00.000-07:00

She went out to the harbor to find her boat. She needed to get away for awhile.

With the sails flown, her little boat took of on a strong gust of wind.

Out of the harbor it raced. . .

Until finally she reached the open ocean. She was free.

Re: Love.

2005-09-26T17:33:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking a lot about love lately. It's one of those things that leaves me perpetually stumped. Like a firefly, it blinks in and out of (observable) existence (at least, given that the firefly has a black and starry backdrop, and you're out in the country -- removed from the intrusive glow of city lights, and it's a dark moon, rather than a full one, or it's cloudy...for that matter). And what I mean by this is NOT that love comes and goes (which I don't refute), or the human heart is naturally led astray (ditto here), but rather, that it's impossible to perfectly 'synthesize' if you will, with another soul...or seperate, conscious, entity.

Okay... so the firefly was a not only a bad metaphor, but it doesn't work. At all.

Well, maybe a little.

You see, sometimes you get moments of exteme GLEE -- PINK, FLUFFY, OUTRAGEOUS glee.
This is from chasing that goddamn firefly.

The light of the firefly represents the mutual feeling that you are made for eachother.

But then. The firefly goes dark. AND YOU START TAKING IT OUT ON EACHOTHER.

"Is something wrong?"
"No, I just have a headache."
"You miss the ::light::, don't you?"
"I don't want to talk about it..."

But seriously. Don't most people just settle at or by the age of 30 for fear that they're going to be old and lonely some day? I mean, we all have to get old...but we can trick people into marrying us when we're beautiful and energetic so some day we don't have to wake up lonesome.

I honestly really think only boring, facet-less people can have enduring relationships.

The rest of us burn out far too quickly. And I know I'm not alone on this. Behold the following evidence:

"Of all the things I've pondered, love leaves me the most fruitless." - Christopher J. Lewis; a.k.a JiveTurkey

Love...I think, is simply nature's brutal way of reinforcing reproduction. We're just suppose to keep chasing that retarded firefly.

I call this one "Broken Camera"

2005-09-26T07:57:00.000-07:00

Life Is Good

2005-09-25T19:37:00.000-07:00

You should all be thankful for everyday that you are alive on this planet. Some days may be shitty, others may be good, but just be glad that you are still here to live another day.

I just got the news from one of my highschool classmates over the weekend. Yet another car accident involving people that I went to high school with. Fortunately, these two girls are still alive, albeit one is still in a coma. They weren't even drinking, some idiot had tried unsuccessfully to cut them off.

It always amazes me how quickly the news travels to all of the alumni of my high school no matter where they are in the county, or even the world.

In the past five years, there have been four students killed in car accidents. One accident actually occurred in the front yard of one of the previous victims. It shouldn't happen, but it does. It all happens so quickly, so easily. With out any warning your whole world can come crashing down.

When I first got my learner's permit, my mom always said that it wasn't that she was worried about me driving, it was the other drivers she was worried about. This latest incident made her words reverberate very loudly in my ears.

Soon after the first of the tragic accidents, the child's mother teamed up with a local teddy bear company to create "Hunter Bears" named after her son. They were small teddy bears wearing yellow sweaters and buttons printed with the words "Life is Good," just like the hat that Hunter always wore. Every student at my high school that gets their license recieves one of these bears to put in their car window as a reminder to drive safely.

Never Drive Faster Than Your Angels Can Fly! Life Is Good!

2005-09-22T18:37:00.000-07:00

On the other side of the world...

The Neverending Search

2005-09-22T18:13:00.000-07:00

I'll never know his name. He'll never know mine. As I strode by, he knew I had something to say by the way I looked at his cart.

"Hey," from behind me. The voice was as soft and high as it was harmless. We were both cutting through an apartment complex. I spun around and looked at him, then at his cart.

"That's a cool cart you got there man," I said, half smiling and genuinely interested. Putting my hands in my pockets, I walked backwards up the sidewalk. Bits of broken glass crunched under my feet.

"I knew you were going to say that," the man responded. The smile on his face was having a conversation all its own. In whatever language pride speaks, it was trying to tell me he was pleased with my interest. He was proud of this cart. Staring at it, the tilt of my head said I would be too. It consisted of two refuse bins, one square and blue, the other thin and gray. They were attached to some fresh planks of wood and bolted together professionally. Two large wheels protruded on each side, giving it the look of a chariot. A wooden nub stuck out from the front, allowing it to stand up on its own.

"Are those wheels..." I hesitated and took another good look, "...are those from a wheelchair?" He nodded excitedly and pushed his cart with a new fervor. We continued to walk up the sidewalked hill together while he explained to me where all the parts came from.

"I found these on the corner of orchard," he explained. "And this, you see this here?" he pointed at the gray bin, "this I found behind the liquor store!" I nodded enviously. He called this his "stuff cart," designed specifically to carry any miscellany he might come across. I glanced into one of the bins. The tarnished base of a broken lamp caught the sunlight and tossed it back in my eyes.

The cart rolled over some broken cement with ease. It could have been pushing itself. This was not his only cart, he reminded me, there were others. And other creations entirely. All sorts of things made from all sorts of things. This man was an inventor.

We eventually came to a point where he had to go one way, and I the other. He stopped for a moment. The sun was sinking into his sweaty brow like it had no where else to go.

"Well, good luck finding stuff man," I said, wishing it sounded less dry and more friendly. I gave a slight wave and turned around, heading back up the path.

From behind me, "You too."

Yar.

2005-09-20T18:15:00.000-07:00

I made a comment on the prof's blog in regards to his iTunes randomized playlist (by 'made a comment' I mean I posted my own random playlist). Today, I trekked out to FYE and dropped $30 on cds (so, I got 2). Since the file sharing explosion of the late 90s, I haven't really gone out and bought many cds, so spending money in order to ::own:: music was a momentous move for me. I felt strangely good about it. I felt so good actually, that I also bought two movies -- Ghostbusters (1+2) and the new Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy (I was on some kind of spiritual shopping spree). This in no way means however that I've somehow atoned for all of my piratical acts. I estimate that in my lifetime I've probably acquired over 10,000 mp3s (illegally) and countless movies -- and I'm a better person for it. I've been exposed to so much more media than I would've been otherwise. I've explored every cognizant sub-genre of Electronica and Metal (there are tons) and my taste is wonderfully varied. I like Schubert and Anal Cunt. And this was all made possible with p2p file-sharing!

::put a caption on this::

Oh, and I remember what else I wanted to say. People aren't making the best use of the internet! One of my favorite quotes is from a hacker who writes for teh CDC (cult of the dead cow). It reads as follows:

"The Google Pyramid is more "masturbatory paean to the supremacy of modern technological society" than it is something motivated by a love of learning. A sort of Tower of Babel in the sense that it is a big monument to how wonderful and enlightened we collectively are (while at the same time, a good chunk of everyday communication has become so unintelligible that it seems to be a half step from chirps and grunts).

*Sigh*

There's time left to combat our flagrant ignorance.

#3

2005-09-20T18:04:00.000-07:00

Unless you are hearing
on this hill up
the rubber tire slowly
on the sidewalk
each click of chain
he is the teeth
or both, is life
that mundane?

Leaning on the bike as a crutch.

The round sign
at his face
on the cobbled wall
a white arrow
pointing towards his ears.

That may be the way we
are going, he thinks
but that is not the way home.

#2

2005-09-19T19:19:00.000-07:00

The rain is no longer a blessing
to the grime around the red
sewer that dances from the rooftops.

As two friends watched me fuck
an aeration hole in the park,
coming in the dirt.
Two friends wading
somewhere
now.

Five to thirty percent
will suffer
mental disorder,
the rest will have
to worry (as they carry
four stories of artificial hearts
down a darkened stairwell)

silence
silence
silence

Incorporation encourages
the thread unwinding

he listens
he listens

To the faint screams
from underneath the wood floor

and does nothing

But the news
the
NEWS
they say
a little bleach
in your bath is better
than the sun on your face
now.

So I race my hand to the
come of this poem, to that
swollen instant above the red flesh.

To that word,
that meaningless indoctrination
into nothing.

The rain is no longer a blessing.

On top of the world. . .the saga continues

2005-09-18T12:33:00.000-07:00

As he sat on the edge of the cliff looking out over the emptiness in front of him, he suddenly got an odd feeling. He realized that he was not alone; that there was someone else there with him, on top of the world.

He stood and looked all around him, and finally found what he was looking for. There, a bit further up the cliff was the figure of a man. He called out to the man, but got no response; so he began to climb. He called out again as he approached, and this time got a response. The man reached out and helped him up the last section of cliff face to the peak where he had been sitting.

The two men settled down and began to talk. They soon realized that neither man knew who he was or how they had arrived at the top of the world, or from where they had come. But they did know that they were on top of the world, and that they were stuck for ever, so together they decided to make the best of it.

They came up with names for themselves, Cliff and Sky. Cliff being the second man, as that was where Sky had descovered him. The two men then set out to establish those things needed for survival; shelter, food, and water. Cliff had been there slightly longer than Sky, and had since discovered a forest full of plants and animals. So Cliff and Sky ventured into these woods to see what they could find.

'And why must you define the seat of my pain?'

2005-09-17T12:02:00.000-07:00

In my first post I started a thought that I have since managed to not finish (I was eerily distracted by some sanitary napkin musings). I think I was trying to 're-dorkify my core' or something asinine like that. Honestly, I'm having a hard time locating where my head was at when I wrote that. I think in an overwhelmingly round-about and tortuous way I was attempting to write a declaration for myself.

You see, I'm really lost.

The truth is, I reached the cusp of my adolescent-hate binge years ago, and now I'm dazing out in a blanched ether. I want to be angry about things, but more or less, I've resigned myself to passivity and less ambitiously, chin-ups.

Shouldn't we all be angry about this?
And this?
And THIS?

During my classes last Thursday I had this thought - no one's coming up with any new ideas to save the world. In my Problems of Political Thought class we were discussing Plato's Apology alongside Hegel and Marx. Some concerns about the distribution of justice were raised...we talked moral relativism and "truth". Marx believed that the job of philosophy is to change the world whereas Hegel held that observation is all that the philosopher can ever do. Reality to the Hegelian mind contains immanence ...or things in the process of becoming. The essence of these things in themselves is life's purpose ...and cannot be generated or altered by humans (it seems to kinda reek of divine intent, right?)

This reminds me of one of my favorite quotes (attributable to philosopher Alfred North Whitehead):

"The essence of dramatic tragedy is not unhappiness;
it resides in the solemnity of the remorseless working
of things."

And that's just how I feel about life. It's possible that I'm so apt to believe Hegel because his mode of philosophy seems to explain away my frustrations. It tells me, "Hey -- it is the case that there's not a damn thing I can do! Life's essence is working against me!"

Unfortunately, this just leaves me with the residual worry that everything academic I do is just mental masturbation. We're all fallible, hapless creatures wandering and conquering the Earth until we die out. It's only going to take 4 to 5 billion years for the sun to enter its red giant Earth-eating phase (recent research actually suggests that the Earth will be pushed rather than engulfed by the sun when this happens).

But why am I whining? I probably won't be here in 2070, let alone 4,000,002,005. And there are still plenty of things to look forward to in the meantime -- like Cyborgs and the seventh Harry Potter book.

I don't mean to come off sounding so misanthropic. Or SAD. I just wish good things didn't have to end ...and I could sleep through September.

T Minus 8 Rain Drops

2005-09-12T17:24:00.000-07:00

"Ah come on, give it one more try," the old man croaks. He was frail and withered like some kind of rotting tree. His honest voice wove circles around my head, leaving me dizzy with obedience. With a superficial sincerity he waved a smudged red ring. His eyes kept traversing me, head to toe, stopping at inappropriate intervals.

I grudgingly reach into my purse and pull out a crunchy and torn dollar bill. His hand slides over mine as I hand it to him. The hand feels a lot like the bill. I glance up and he winks reassuringly. Smiling back, my mind drifts to the butterfly knife buried in the recesses of my bag. He sets three rings down on the counter separating him from me and me from a worthless prize.

Ring in hand, I shift my focus on hurting this man back to the game. The first toss is way off and nearly hits the old bastard right in the face. Unfortunately, he managed to swat it out of the way before it hit him. Screw it. Maybe I should just aim the next one at him. I sized him up and fantasize throwing the ring around his old neck instead of those stupid rigged bottles.

The next ring somehow finds it's mark, landing awkwardly around one of the few painted bottles.

"Nice toss" the old man blurted, sounding almost hurt. He arched his back and stretched for a moment before asking, "Would you like a penguin or a tiger?" Naturally, I chose the tiger. Standing on his toes, he is just barely able to reach the beast hanging on the wall. He hands it over to me and I realize the damn thing is covered in dust. A dirty prize from a dirty game in a dirty place. Walking away from the stand, I turn and wink at him with my good eye.

A few yards away and I feel something wet land on my head. Praying it was not a passing seagull relieving itself, I stop and look up. Must have been rain. Great. Getting stood up at a shitty fair is one thing, being rained on in the process is just depressing. Before I'm able to beat my own misfortune to death, something bumps into me from behind, knocking the tiger out of my hand. Startled, I whip around, half expecting to see some gangly carnie grinning after unsuccessfully trying to grope me. Instead, I look down to see a little girl probably five years old sitting squarely on the ground, freshly fallen. She's clutching a cone of cotton candy half the size she is, and looks more worried about the fallen animal than the stranger she just bum-rushed.

Just Before I Sleep

2005-09-11T16:37:00.000-07:00

At least thats what the t-shirts said. But really the play was called "Just Before Sleep,"and it was written by James Still. It was back when I was in high school, and it was the first show I ever stagemanaged. We rehearsed it what felt like a million times, and I guess it paid off because we had somehow made it to the Finals of The Massachusetts High School Drama Festival. It was awesome, we got to spend the weekend in Boston and see a dozen really cool shows.

But lets back up a bit. This show was about homelessness. It was about the struggle that homeless people face every day, just to survive. Its a heart wrenching story, the first time we read through it as a company, we were all in tears.

But after that it didn't bother me anymore. It didnt matter anymore. It stopped being a story about a homeless family, and became a series of cues. Numbers and letters that told me when to change the lights and when to execute a sound effect or music. That was all. That was what i was concentrated on, hitting all the cues at the right time, getting the scaffolding set up correctly. . .not screwing up.

I was told that it was because I had been desensitized to the plight of the homeless. But that wasn't it, it wasnt that I didnt care. It was because after hearing the story so many times, to the point you can almost recite the entire hour and a half of it by heart, it loses its meaning.

But still to this day I am affected by this story. Everytime I see a homeless person it brings me back to this show. Back to the memory of sitting backstage on the edge of my seat, calling cues, ignoring the story, and wondering why.

No Strings Attached

2005-09-10T09:10:00.000-07:00

The other day I was pondering the absence of sanitary napkins on the infamous Sanitary Napkin blog -- and I thought to myself, "Why don't I post a picture of a sanitary napkin?" I know I have more experience with them then at least 4 of S & N's 5 members.

Now... originally I was going to scout out the UVM Campus for freshly disposed napkins. You may or may not be familiar with those little, indiscreet metal containers that sit between stall divides in ladies' bathrooms. Women were gifted with the ability to menstruate in a timely, moon-dictated fashion, so often when one girl gets her period -- so does everyone else. This typically results in the combustion/overflowing of many sanitary napkin containers. It's a beautiful, cooperative effort.

Okay, now this would be the point when any self-respecting 'Digital Composing' Professor would chastise me for not proceeding to post a picture of what I just described. That description was gripping literary foreplay, and I just discarded a great idea, but by doing that I hope to have (in some way) besmirched Sanitary Napkin. How might you ask? By elimintating one of their possible posts and insulting their method.

Besides, it wouldn't be my style, and I also absolutely refuse to debase my own journal by adopting their approach. I hate people for being engrossed by Sanitary Napkin (I love the group Sanitary Napkin, I hate that using curt and abrasive language is the best way to improve readership). They're exploiting a detestable human quality - the preference for potent smut. But, congrats to Sanitary Napkin for using that to their advantage.

I did come up with another picture, however. Early this morning I was hiking back up Pearl Street with an acute hangover, and I chanced upon a yard sale. I bought a few paperback novels (Paradise Lost, Martian Chronicles, Velvet Monkey Wrench, Even Cowgirls Get The Blues...) along with a small bookcase, and the following (tampon string not included):

m4d sk1llz

2005-09-06T17:44:00.000-07:00

I’m a nerd. Or at least I was. I think in recent years my nerdy qualities have receded considerably (in favor of what, I can’t say) but I still have a few muscular strands of dork-dom holding my personality together. For instance, I casually use the word “w00t” in conversation – a throwback to my days of constant and sometimes habitual “l337” (elite) speak. I remember thinking Kevin Mitnick was God, (I don't suppose anyone else remembers the coder-celebrated "chelle cam"?) I remember spending hours, upon hours, in front of my computer…to the point where I would have to leave because my neck was too stiff and my eyes should’ve been bleeding.

When I was eleven, I frequented a chat room called “The Grassy Knoll”…every Thursday night the discussions were themed – we would pour over evidence for the existence of extraterrestrials, poltergeists, flesh-eating zombies – you name it. It was a forum for claims of the paranormal. I would immerse myself in files located at garish places like Parascope and CSICOP. I placed orders for declassified CIA files through the Freedom of Information Act. Once received, they would be filed into a carefully organized portfolio under my bed – next to my box of bottled insects and (suspected) dinosaur bones that I had dug up in my backyard.

My first “online journal” was located in the tasteless heap of garbage that is Yahoo!’s Geocities. I called myself “Barbital Dreamer” and most of what I wrote was sinfully adolescent and angst-ridden. I wrote my scathing words over a stolen and slightly modified piece of surreal artwork by David Ho – a naked and amply bosomed angel ascending a ladder out of the flames of Hell. By this time, I had replaced my love for the occult with an asinine obsession with myself. My hate, coupled with my infinite and unyielding grief.

This was when I was really captured by the gravity of the internet. I had aliases like “E-SS4SSIN”, “Agent Orange,” “QuadModeSx4” and probably the most infamous amongst my (sole and equally disturbed) high school friend, the handle “I Have Wet Shoes”. I was a chat-whore, and I couldn’t help myself. I was trapped in, what was to my mind, the latrine of the Northeast and I didn’t have a single like-minded person to talk to. My identity more or less materialized in cyberspace, and that was where my voice was most well-received. At least so I thought.

I’ve still got a few “blog” type entities kicking around. The most frequently updated one is my account on Deviant Art, which is more picture gallery than journal. I’ve also got a blogger-blog, which details my journey to the countries of Oman, the UAE, and Thailand.

Yea, I wore an ibia for two weeks.

Somebody once told me that I made a good melancholic. Now I genuinely wonder what I’ve become, given that I’ve been chipper for two years straight now. Some of the greatest literary works of mankind were crafted by despairing alcoholics and drug addicts (William Faulkner and Ernest Hemmingway come to mind).

I’m not saying I need to develop a substance addiction in order to create (although I don’t think it would hurt…). What I am saying is that I want to rediscover the impetus for my discontented youth. I want to hate people again – because when I did, I tried so much harder to set myself apart.

I was productive.

What I’m going to try to do is dedicate the next semester to the re-dorkification of my very core, and I’m going to display my progress here. I’m going to log AIM conversations, eschew social settings, and generally lose myself in the net.

There’s a lot of secondhand knowledge out there just waiting for discovery.

The Top Of The World

2005-09-05T19:07:00.000-07:00

After years of searching he had finally arrived. He had made it all the way to the top of the world.

Many years ago when he was a boy, his father had told him stories of the top of the world, stories that his father had told him, but he had never believed them. How could there be anything at the top of the world? It was all snow and ice and penguins, right?

Yet somehow, after all those years of doubt, here he was, on top of the world. All alone, on top of the world. He had decided at some point to try and find this place his father had described. And now he had finally found it. He knew his father would have been proud, he had always wanted to go, but had never been able to.

He looked out over the edge and saw nothing. Clouds, sun, sky, water as far as the eye could see. It was so peaceful. So quiet. So empty. No people, no animals, no plants, nothing.

He was determined never to forget this place, but at the same time there was not much to remember. So he sat and thought. He thought about his father, and about is father's stories of this place. He thought about the journey that had taken him through over one hundred countries and almost three decades, and somehow brought him here. But still he had no idea how he had gotten to the top of the world, nor did he know how to get back home. But after all of this time, where was home? He was lost physically, emotionally, in space and in time. He had no idea where he was. Soon he didn't even know who he was, or even what he was. The longer he sat there on the top of the world, and looked out over the edge, more of his memories seemed to be erased. Until he realized he could not leave this place, on top of the world, he was here forever. No one else would ever know of this place on top of the world.

T Minus 9 Rain Drops

2005-09-05T16:50:00.000-07:00

It's a quarter past nine and my heart is in my throat. Walking down the street leaves scrape by me haphazardly, wind carrying them to god knows where. In the distance ahead of me a multicolor glowing orb sits in a clearing. The fairgrounds are in full effect this evening. A block later and I can make out the smell of fried dough and an occasional scream can be heard. I pause under a street light and attempt to light a clove cigarette. My lighter refuses to give me anything more than a few weak sparks. The smokes find themselves back in my jacket pocket. Letting out a sigh of defeat I look up at the sky and a single raindrop lands in my eye. I blink and the drop rolls slowly down my cheek.

Across the street a woman begins to approach me from the other direction. She looks familiar. Something about her stride and the shadow her slender body casts on the cement, beneath the amber street light. Her hands grasp a bouquet of blue and red cotton candy.

"Are you in need of light?" she casually asks, leaping from street to curb. I nod and unsheath another cigarette. Her head tilts slightly and like a half moon to full, I'm able to see her entire face. An eyepatch covers her left eye. Regardless, she's clearly gorgeous. Stunning even. She smiles at me with a ferocious energy and I swear I can feel the heat of her glare on my face. Her eye shifts its attention to my cheek, and her beaming disposition fades into concern.

"Are you crying?" she asks, holding a flame in her hand.