greetings all, so sorry that i have neglected you all in recent months. there is not time enough, and until my bill for 28-hour days goes through, i fear so it shall remain. however, i am indeed incensed and wish for you all to feel my uncontrollable rage. as most of you do not know, i am in a blood feud with rolling stone magazine (and the rolling stones as well, but that is a topic for another time). my reasons are many and they only grow with even the slightest glance that i accidentally give to this cursed periodical. however, for reasons unbeknownst to me, presumably some cruel trick of one of my alleged "friends," i have begun to receive current issues which defile and befoul my poor, unsuspecting mailbox every few weeks or so. i have not paid for this punishment to my knowledge, and as they are addressed to me, i assume that i have fallen victim to a most cruel and dastardly hoax.
yet month after month they come, and they are banished to the coffee table, where they pile an ever-mounting graveyard of unwanted refuse, like an island of misfit toys, but without any endearing qualities whatsoever. and there they fester, manifestation of my contempt and loathe for all that has become "pop culture." for whatever reason, rs (as they affectionately refer to themselves) have crowned themselves voice and torchbearer of all that is music. their reach touches all and leaves no stone (...resist the temptation!) unturned (yes!) in their constant striving for discovery and exploration of all forms of musical creation. they speak the truth, and one can most certainly take theirs for the final word. and even better, they are not squeamish when it comes to social issues, such as shamelessly plugging a particular candidate while irresponsibly neglecting a fair and critical-minded argument of both sides, given that they have proclaimed themselves such influential voices of their readership. wouldn't want the readers to have to decide for themselves, would we? too much responsibility, so much uncertainty, they might hurt their think-bones...
anyway, it is not difficult to overlook this music magazine's unasked-for opinions and proselytizing as the wasted lives of trees continue to roll in. but what truly gets my dander up is when they alight from their soap-boxes and actually discuss music, and their all-encompassing knowledge of it. which is all of it, of course. i only wait to cancel my subscription until i can devise an appropriate method of doing so in such a way that truly expresses the disdain and hatred that i hold deep in my heart for this infernal publication. it looks as though i must also await some laws to fortunately change...
this month, the stone promises us a list of "THE 100 GREATEST SINGERS OF ALL TIME!!!!!!!!!!" pretty bold statement, but as i have a particular love of singing and singers, i bite. needless to say, i am not proud of all of my decisions in life. and so my short trip to enragement begins...
the opening of this list is a short article written on the prompt, "what makes a great singer?" thank bog that finally we have someone to tell us what we can and cannot like about a singer. and certainly, the author is some sort of expert on singers or singing, and will give us invaluable insights into this world of which the rest of us know nothing about. sadly, to quote him the "...only measure [he] could care about..." in a singer is "expressivity, surprise, soul, grain, interpretive wit, angle of vision."
i'm sorry, come again? what about tone? what of technical ability? are you saying that someone can be one of the greatest singers of all time, and not even sing at all?
this is why i hate rolling stone and the pretentious writers that lurk about its pages. they take music and deprive it of all of its actual musical qualities, and the masses eat it right up like its some royal feast. i understand what you're saying, man, and its all really groovy and stuff, but like, do you actually know anything at all, or do you just like to speak in undefinable terms and hope to fool people into thinking you're really smart? i mean, really, "interpretive wit, angle of vision," what the hell is that?! anyone who knows anything about arguing knows that one must first define the terms he is going to use to measure something, or else it becomes nothing but pointless pilpul. well, perhaps this is one man's interpretation, and perhaps it is just as valid as anyone else's, so let's move to the list...
it seems it is my unfortunate lot to listen to a genre of music that is much maligned and marginalized. and ironically, it harbors some of the greatest musicians and experimentations of any, and its breadth is as wide as the general concept of rock itself. in other areas of the world, metal is beloved and appreciated for its true merits, which are enormous. and yet here, referring to one's band as "metal" is musically tantamount to being labeled a communist or terrorist. metalheads become personae non gratae in a community of music listeners who almost certainly have far-less knowledge of and willingness to accept any styles of music which fall outside the safe and inflatable world of the billboard charts. and so, rolling stone, as do so many other "music experts" simply glide over and ignore this world, as they similarly do for the worlds of jazz, classical, etc. instead they opt for old and comfortable, that which might make the editors feel young and in touch again, or the sad trendiness of the put-on and deliberately counter-culture dilettantes who have infiltrated the "indie scene." and so, it should go without saying that this list will ignore metal and their incredibly talented vocalists as they did when they highlighted the greatest guitarists of all time, a list in which metal could do nothing but dominate.
let us please move right to the most inflammatory placeholders on this list of greatest singers ever. there were names i agree with, freddie mercury, marvin gaye, bb king. but as always, so many more nonsensical yet predictable "old-boys" if you will. when will people give up the notion that robert plant was some great vocalist? and for that matter, how long must we operate under this insane delusion that led zeppelin was the greatest band ever? i mean, if we consider a guy who can just sing fairly high notes all the time over a bunch of blatantly-stolen riffs played by an at-best-average blues guitarist that once or twice coalesced into a song that seemed somewhat meaningful while really just blathered on about some obscure fantasy reference as being monumental and true musicianship, then i am right with the rest of the world. they are the best. but as usual, metal does it better. listen to blind guardian if you want all that but with talent. and hansi kursch blows away most of the singers on this quaint little list.
bono is on there, (of course). and his eulogizer is simply another rock-star who has begun to take himself too seriously and realized that the world really cares about his opinions on things other than rocking and rolling, billie joe armstrong. i can't even talk about how much i hate bono, and instead reference you all to maddox's website (the best page in the universe).
as i neared the front, i knew what was coming. but like passing a horrific car-wreck or those idiots in horror movies, i had to look...
and there it was, number 7, ahead of stevie wonder, ahead of otis redding, bob freaking dylan!!! are you serious!!! i always thought that was the joke. dylan, through his drugged mumblings and clutching madly at the very precipice of tonality, this guy is one of the greatest? ever?!!! most would sound better with their jaws wired shut. let's forget about his social impact for just a second (and of course thats why he was voted so high), this is supposed to be a list of the "GREATEST SINGERS OF ALL TIME!!!" and vocally, bob dylan is a joke. true, he may have inspired all that has become rock and roll and whatever else brown nose sycophant scripted nonsense that everyone is required by law to say about him, but lets not forget, he could not hold a tune. when i hear him, i truly understand what GWAR meant by their name.
if you want true feeling, what about bb king? why is he so far down on the list? bb inspired just as many within the music scene as dylan im sure, not to mention he did it as a black man in the 50s, a feat the likes of which dylan could only dream of. and what of freddie mercury? as his blurb mentions, the man could barely walk when he recorded the final Queen songs. how's "who wants to live forever?" or "show must go on" for expressivity? he was freaking dying!!!! that is emotion that most of these untouchable "giants" can speak nothing of. and not to mention that both of these guys actually not only knew how to sing, but how to wail. they made me believe.
...but, i see that i have aroused my ire sufficiently, and shall abruptly stop before my angry twitchings become the death of me, and a bore to you, my beloved reader. but i hope that you can understand my outrage at this sort of thing. if nothing else, i urge you all to open your minds and free your playlists from top 10 lists and anything related to mtv. seek out music as it really is, discover and try new things and leave no door unopened. and for bog's sake, don't believe everything you've heard...
Monday, November 17, 2008
Sunday, September 14, 2008
run to the hills...
recently, my girlfriend and i took a "vacation," and this is the sad tale. it is long, and i apologize in advance for wasting your precious time with my inanity...
we all hate where we are. we hate the daily repetition, the diurnal cycle of habits and obligations that make up the sad and often pointless drivel that constitutes our lives. and if some of you out there in space don’t, don’t despise every second of wasted existence, don’t curse the chains that bind, then count yourselves among the very fortunate. or a liar.
whichever one, it doesn’t matter. for me, i keep myself going by believing that i am working toward something, that someday i will achieve my “goal.” (the fact that i am not quite sure as to what this goal may be is only slightly unnerving and of minor concern.)
occasionally, when we feel that we can take no more, when the white matter inside our skulls begins to uprise in sulcical revolt, we are forced to seek refuge for a spell. we dress up our distress in flamboyant and unconscionable tackiness and we run screaming hysterical into unknown lands. this is commonly referred to as a “vacation.” we plan our escape for months, meticulous as a jailbird, and wait only to recieve a nailfile from the “powers that be,” or at least a spoon so we may begin to dig our ways out of the...mess that our lives have become. once outside, we parade ostentatiously, high-strung, ready for a nervous breakdown at the slightest hitch, so intoxicated with feigned freedom that we become fools for other’s profits. and we return exhausted; inevitably, we find we need a vacation from our vacation.
unfortunately, i was not so lucky, as i found myself in this particular moment. here we were, prepared for a few days “away from it all.” and yet, instead of relief, we found ourselves thrust headfirst into the very den of suffering and confusion. a land where nothing makes sense, and even those who live here are lost. we headed to the capital...
our first bad sign came as we neared the tunnel, a source of constant delay and probable suicide for many. how people can consitently find this routine so difficult continues to escape me. in their wisdom, the lords of the tunnel have painted bright solid white lines, guiding the traveler onward, and most importantly, forbidding him to cross into another lane, lest he should bring himself or others to harm by his recklessness. and so, in this tunnel of tragedy, the only directive is clear and simple “DO NOT HIT THE CAR IN FRONT OF YOU!!!” And yet, without fail, this proves difficult for these drivers, drivers who have, in the eyes of their respective state officials, proven themselves worthy and capable of operating tons of hurtling metal amongst (and hopefully not against) their fellow man.
the rest of the way proved troublesome and wearying as well, as inexplicable traffic snailed its way across the vivid verdure of virginia’s eastern regions. at times, it seemed as though the trees might actually beat us there, but eventually and with much idling we arrived outside of the capital, at the first of three destinations upon our road to relaxation and sanity.
we spent a brief repose with a friend of ours and ate while we “caught up” and shot the proverbial “poo.” but this picture of normalcy and sense was to be interrupted much too soon as Cronos urged us on to later destinations. we parted our friend and headed forth.
the capital is an old city. in its day, it was designed as a model of regularity and order. as this land has aged, so has it, and it has grown. its architecture remains pure. unfortunately, it has not aged gracefully in all aspects. for yet again, we found ourselves plunged into the awful blind wanderings upon these cruel and heartless streets that all must suffer who do not either possess a madman’s logic or at least an aerial view. hours whittled away as several straightforward directions slowly morphed into ugly beasts of deception and lies. the more we strayed, the more a menacing spectre revealed itself to me: the city was prescient, and worse than that, it was out to get me! how else to explain that all roads i sought lacked proper and adequate, by which i mean visible, signs, or that all streets that would allow me to correct my mistakes became suddenly and arbitrarily impassable. (ive found that a favorite trick of so-called city-planners is to take an otherwise normal road and turn a block or two of it into a one-way street for apparently no reason other than just to “spice things up.”) after this small order of chaos, the entropy checked itself, but still it lurks, hanging behind cosmic clouds and in the umbra of stars. from lightyears these inconsistencies blink in and out of existence, and just enough time lapses to cause disturbances.
as time’s wing’d chariot hurried on, we abandoned our first attempts to discover the hiding place of our hotel, and decided to cut our losses and merely head to the venue of the concert that we had come to see. as we found the huge, imposing colloseum that would house the event, we searched for the most elusive beast of metropolitan travel: parking. after many laps to survey the situation, we headed unawares into a promising location.
we were robbed by bandits who, in their benevolence, and after our robbery, allowed us to at least leave the car and proceed without further abuse. parking garages may in fact be one of the seats of Lucifer’s generals, because the blatant and merciless greed upon which they stand cannot possibly be of this world. these are foundations of pure evil and outright malice to patrons, but as so often happens in this world, we find our hands tied.
exiting, and walking much lighter than we expected to have been, we entered the streets which were festering with people, disgusting carbon copies of each other: trendy young-types, girls in dresses with orange skin and sunglasses reminiscent of “The Fly” series, ridiculous and pretentious arrempts to scream out the self-importance which the wearer so desperately craves. as for the men, i saw the dreaded “pop-collar” on the corner and leave it at that. how i weep as i look out upon you poor and pathetic souls.
the concert itself was amazing, and proved to be one of the few bright spots amongst the tragedy from which this trip was wrought. fortunately, despite the masses’ best attempts, music still retains its power to inspire and shine a light into the human condition as few other things but art can. it reminds me that perhaps there is hope, maybe we can be saved, though it will still take a miracle. the staging proved to be a ready complement for the music itself and it deftly communicated the passion and intensity that lay within the chords and melodies. as these resoated throughout the venue, the lights and effects and vibrations all coalesced to let me know, at least for the moment, it might be okay. for all of our shortcomings, for the ridiculous and nonsensical structure which we impose upon the world around us, i feel that if we can listen to our instincts, to this ancient and sacred muse which is music, that we can come to an understanding and realize those things which are truly important and may save us from the incredible mess we have created. they are not this love of power, which fades and rides upon the opinions of those who are easily swayed, nor upon the lust of precious materials, which are worthless and decay the second we are faced with our mortality. they are a matter of hearsay, of how wonderful they are, and not of real significance, they are stagnant, and perhaps we may be eternal. that which moves our emotions, the collective unconscious which may exist, these things connect us to our forebears and to our progeny, they translate to those who came before and who have yet to savor the sweet treasures life has to offer. all material things are merely that,and they cease the moment we do. perhaps the reader may believe only in this materialism, and that is fine. one’s philosophies are one’s own possessions, but this line of thinking leads to nothing but disappointment and usually doubt, in my opinion. if the possibility does still exist, as it seems it does, why not embrace the fact that it may bring happiness and significance to one’s own life? “you may say that im a dreamer,” but this makes life worth living to me.
art allows us to connect in a way that seems impossible by other means. even those who have used art to express their own belief in nihilism and meaninglessness seem to be crying out for that intanglible connection which they so desperately clamor against. the lights go up, and for the momennt, my affair with the unknown, the different, is forced to a rude end...
as the concert ended, we again were forced to the streets and found the going no less difficult. an hour passed, and besides the unwitting discovery of a delicious chinese restaurant, we had gained nothing besides more weariness. this hotel slowly became a source of all that i find wrong with this world. there are unjustifiable wrongs which we must suffer on a daily basis, and yet we have no recourse. what am i left to do, leave a nasty email to the mayor about the sad shape of his streets and the unspeakable inconvenience i experienced upon visiting his hamlet? no, i am no one, i have no voice and my complaints would be best met with polite acquiescence and insincere apology which would only further alienate me from those around me, and pass unnoticed by those whom i wish most to affect.
on, keep it bottled up, like the rest of the rage that each of us bear daily because we simply do not have the power and representation that our happy days in elementary school led us to believe. we are, each of us, powerless, and we feed daily into the system to preserve our status quo. we choose to fall in line rather than to do the right thing, lest we be percieved as, god forbid, different from everyone else around us who is so busy pleasuring those above for no particular reason that we have no time to actually realize (much less to voice) what we are. but we are the ants, and they are the grasshoppers...
when the gods had had their fill of comedy at our expense they led us to our hotel, and after several laps around the inconcievable block, our Odyssey was at an end. after much difficulty, we were directed through a back alley, and a most tight fit, and into the garage of our hotel. by means of ingress, we had to buzz ourselves in and give a password, as if entering the ink ‘n’paint club. once we had been allowed entrance to the parking facilities of the hotel which we had been privileged to pay merely $100 for the abbreviated night which we would weather in, we were directed to park in an illegal spot by the securty guard. apparently, the hotel had little faith in itself and had planned for far less parking spots than they actually had rooms, and so i parked against a wall. the fit was so tight in this sardine can, that the guard actually initially recommended we park in a spot so small it would have rendered several neighboring cars un-enterable save by means of hatch entry, and finally to park in our ultimate spot, my passenger had to exit the vehicle before i parked or else climb over the centre console. incidentally, this is not the way passengers generally exit my vehicle.
we finally entered our room well after midnight to attempt to salvage what sad excuse for rest our “vacation:” would offer us...
i was awakened at 8.30 by a knocking and shuffling of paper. after my best attempts to ignore the distrurbance, i apporached the door to find a piece of paper slid beneath the crack. it was, of course, a bill. a ridiculous bill which even exceeded the banditry of the night before, a thing which i previously had thought unimaginable. i lay awake for the next hours, not wishing to wake my companion with this newest insult, but ever formulating an articulate and irreproachable argment against such a travesty. what kind of ethical business pratice, i wondered, had led them to believe that it was acceptable to offer a usually free service to a customer, and then without warning charge a souless price for its rendering? and furthermore, what undehanded techniques had taught them to dole out these demands at a time when almost all of their quests would be sleeping? the same spineless strategem which had informed them that this practice woulo prove less confrontational, that the victims would have had time to “cool down” and accept the charges rather than make some sort of scene. we scramble to avoid conflict at all costs. my head ached with rage at this opportunism and insult to hospitality. the minutes ticked slowly by, but finally, the time for conflict arrived.
amazingly, the same clerk who had checked us in the night before, and had mumbled something vague about “incidentals” still manned the desk. however, we were served by another clerk, who immediately repealed the fees, indicating to me that such argumetns were not uncommon to this hotel. however, he assured me that, although he was unfamiliar with our particular situation, we had recieved “premium parking.” whether this “premium parking” constituted slinking into a back alley, parking against a wall which my passenger was forced to exit before i had actually parked, the12 point turn i had to execute to leave, or any other matter which may escape my curent memory was left to interpretation.
at this point, we made our grand escape, we fled from this seat of terrors, this body of pain. we crossed the verdure again, we hid our heads in our homes thankful to be safe and away from this throne where the fates of the masses are held by the whims of the few, and eagerly began to look forward to our next vacation...
we all hate where we are. we hate the daily repetition, the diurnal cycle of habits and obligations that make up the sad and often pointless drivel that constitutes our lives. and if some of you out there in space don’t, don’t despise every second of wasted existence, don’t curse the chains that bind, then count yourselves among the very fortunate. or a liar.
whichever one, it doesn’t matter. for me, i keep myself going by believing that i am working toward something, that someday i will achieve my “goal.” (the fact that i am not quite sure as to what this goal may be is only slightly unnerving and of minor concern.)
occasionally, when we feel that we can take no more, when the white matter inside our skulls begins to uprise in sulcical revolt, we are forced to seek refuge for a spell. we dress up our distress in flamboyant and unconscionable tackiness and we run screaming hysterical into unknown lands. this is commonly referred to as a “vacation.” we plan our escape for months, meticulous as a jailbird, and wait only to recieve a nailfile from the “powers that be,” or at least a spoon so we may begin to dig our ways out of the...mess that our lives have become. once outside, we parade ostentatiously, high-strung, ready for a nervous breakdown at the slightest hitch, so intoxicated with feigned freedom that we become fools for other’s profits. and we return exhausted; inevitably, we find we need a vacation from our vacation.
unfortunately, i was not so lucky, as i found myself in this particular moment. here we were, prepared for a few days “away from it all.” and yet, instead of relief, we found ourselves thrust headfirst into the very den of suffering and confusion. a land where nothing makes sense, and even those who live here are lost. we headed to the capital...
our first bad sign came as we neared the tunnel, a source of constant delay and probable suicide for many. how people can consitently find this routine so difficult continues to escape me. in their wisdom, the lords of the tunnel have painted bright solid white lines, guiding the traveler onward, and most importantly, forbidding him to cross into another lane, lest he should bring himself or others to harm by his recklessness. and so, in this tunnel of tragedy, the only directive is clear and simple “DO NOT HIT THE CAR IN FRONT OF YOU!!!” And yet, without fail, this proves difficult for these drivers, drivers who have, in the eyes of their respective state officials, proven themselves worthy and capable of operating tons of hurtling metal amongst (and hopefully not against) their fellow man.
the rest of the way proved troublesome and wearying as well, as inexplicable traffic snailed its way across the vivid verdure of virginia’s eastern regions. at times, it seemed as though the trees might actually beat us there, but eventually and with much idling we arrived outside of the capital, at the first of three destinations upon our road to relaxation and sanity.
we spent a brief repose with a friend of ours and ate while we “caught up” and shot the proverbial “poo.” but this picture of normalcy and sense was to be interrupted much too soon as Cronos urged us on to later destinations. we parted our friend and headed forth.
the capital is an old city. in its day, it was designed as a model of regularity and order. as this land has aged, so has it, and it has grown. its architecture remains pure. unfortunately, it has not aged gracefully in all aspects. for yet again, we found ourselves plunged into the awful blind wanderings upon these cruel and heartless streets that all must suffer who do not either possess a madman’s logic or at least an aerial view. hours whittled away as several straightforward directions slowly morphed into ugly beasts of deception and lies. the more we strayed, the more a menacing spectre revealed itself to me: the city was prescient, and worse than that, it was out to get me! how else to explain that all roads i sought lacked proper and adequate, by which i mean visible, signs, or that all streets that would allow me to correct my mistakes became suddenly and arbitrarily impassable. (ive found that a favorite trick of so-called city-planners is to take an otherwise normal road and turn a block or two of it into a one-way street for apparently no reason other than just to “spice things up.”) after this small order of chaos, the entropy checked itself, but still it lurks, hanging behind cosmic clouds and in the umbra of stars. from lightyears these inconsistencies blink in and out of existence, and just enough time lapses to cause disturbances.
as time’s wing’d chariot hurried on, we abandoned our first attempts to discover the hiding place of our hotel, and decided to cut our losses and merely head to the venue of the concert that we had come to see. as we found the huge, imposing colloseum that would house the event, we searched for the most elusive beast of metropolitan travel: parking. after many laps to survey the situation, we headed unawares into a promising location.
we were robbed by bandits who, in their benevolence, and after our robbery, allowed us to at least leave the car and proceed without further abuse. parking garages may in fact be one of the seats of Lucifer’s generals, because the blatant and merciless greed upon which they stand cannot possibly be of this world. these are foundations of pure evil and outright malice to patrons, but as so often happens in this world, we find our hands tied.
exiting, and walking much lighter than we expected to have been, we entered the streets which were festering with people, disgusting carbon copies of each other: trendy young-types, girls in dresses with orange skin and sunglasses reminiscent of “The Fly” series, ridiculous and pretentious arrempts to scream out the self-importance which the wearer so desperately craves. as for the men, i saw the dreaded “pop-collar” on the corner and leave it at that. how i weep as i look out upon you poor and pathetic souls.
the concert itself was amazing, and proved to be one of the few bright spots amongst the tragedy from which this trip was wrought. fortunately, despite the masses’ best attempts, music still retains its power to inspire and shine a light into the human condition as few other things but art can. it reminds me that perhaps there is hope, maybe we can be saved, though it will still take a miracle. the staging proved to be a ready complement for the music itself and it deftly communicated the passion and intensity that lay within the chords and melodies. as these resoated throughout the venue, the lights and effects and vibrations all coalesced to let me know, at least for the moment, it might be okay. for all of our shortcomings, for the ridiculous and nonsensical structure which we impose upon the world around us, i feel that if we can listen to our instincts, to this ancient and sacred muse which is music, that we can come to an understanding and realize those things which are truly important and may save us from the incredible mess we have created. they are not this love of power, which fades and rides upon the opinions of those who are easily swayed, nor upon the lust of precious materials, which are worthless and decay the second we are faced with our mortality. they are a matter of hearsay, of how wonderful they are, and not of real significance, they are stagnant, and perhaps we may be eternal. that which moves our emotions, the collective unconscious which may exist, these things connect us to our forebears and to our progeny, they translate to those who came before and who have yet to savor the sweet treasures life has to offer. all material things are merely that,and they cease the moment we do. perhaps the reader may believe only in this materialism, and that is fine. one’s philosophies are one’s own possessions, but this line of thinking leads to nothing but disappointment and usually doubt, in my opinion. if the possibility does still exist, as it seems it does, why not embrace the fact that it may bring happiness and significance to one’s own life? “you may say that im a dreamer,” but this makes life worth living to me.
art allows us to connect in a way that seems impossible by other means. even those who have used art to express their own belief in nihilism and meaninglessness seem to be crying out for that intanglible connection which they so desperately clamor against. the lights go up, and for the momennt, my affair with the unknown, the different, is forced to a rude end...
as the concert ended, we again were forced to the streets and found the going no less difficult. an hour passed, and besides the unwitting discovery of a delicious chinese restaurant, we had gained nothing besides more weariness. this hotel slowly became a source of all that i find wrong with this world. there are unjustifiable wrongs which we must suffer on a daily basis, and yet we have no recourse. what am i left to do, leave a nasty email to the mayor about the sad shape of his streets and the unspeakable inconvenience i experienced upon visiting his hamlet? no, i am no one, i have no voice and my complaints would be best met with polite acquiescence and insincere apology which would only further alienate me from those around me, and pass unnoticed by those whom i wish most to affect.
on, keep it bottled up, like the rest of the rage that each of us bear daily because we simply do not have the power and representation that our happy days in elementary school led us to believe. we are, each of us, powerless, and we feed daily into the system to preserve our status quo. we choose to fall in line rather than to do the right thing, lest we be percieved as, god forbid, different from everyone else around us who is so busy pleasuring those above for no particular reason that we have no time to actually realize (much less to voice) what we are. but we are the ants, and they are the grasshoppers...
when the gods had had their fill of comedy at our expense they led us to our hotel, and after several laps around the inconcievable block, our Odyssey was at an end. after much difficulty, we were directed through a back alley, and a most tight fit, and into the garage of our hotel. by means of ingress, we had to buzz ourselves in and give a password, as if entering the ink ‘n’paint club. once we had been allowed entrance to the parking facilities of the hotel which we had been privileged to pay merely $100 for the abbreviated night which we would weather in, we were directed to park in an illegal spot by the securty guard. apparently, the hotel had little faith in itself and had planned for far less parking spots than they actually had rooms, and so i parked against a wall. the fit was so tight in this sardine can, that the guard actually initially recommended we park in a spot so small it would have rendered several neighboring cars un-enterable save by means of hatch entry, and finally to park in our ultimate spot, my passenger had to exit the vehicle before i parked or else climb over the centre console. incidentally, this is not the way passengers generally exit my vehicle.
we finally entered our room well after midnight to attempt to salvage what sad excuse for rest our “vacation:” would offer us...
i was awakened at 8.30 by a knocking and shuffling of paper. after my best attempts to ignore the distrurbance, i apporached the door to find a piece of paper slid beneath the crack. it was, of course, a bill. a ridiculous bill which even exceeded the banditry of the night before, a thing which i previously had thought unimaginable. i lay awake for the next hours, not wishing to wake my companion with this newest insult, but ever formulating an articulate and irreproachable argment against such a travesty. what kind of ethical business pratice, i wondered, had led them to believe that it was acceptable to offer a usually free service to a customer, and then without warning charge a souless price for its rendering? and furthermore, what undehanded techniques had taught them to dole out these demands at a time when almost all of their quests would be sleeping? the same spineless strategem which had informed them that this practice woulo prove less confrontational, that the victims would have had time to “cool down” and accept the charges rather than make some sort of scene. we scramble to avoid conflict at all costs. my head ached with rage at this opportunism and insult to hospitality. the minutes ticked slowly by, but finally, the time for conflict arrived.
amazingly, the same clerk who had checked us in the night before, and had mumbled something vague about “incidentals” still manned the desk. however, we were served by another clerk, who immediately repealed the fees, indicating to me that such argumetns were not uncommon to this hotel. however, he assured me that, although he was unfamiliar with our particular situation, we had recieved “premium parking.” whether this “premium parking” constituted slinking into a back alley, parking against a wall which my passenger was forced to exit before i had actually parked, the12 point turn i had to execute to leave, or any other matter which may escape my curent memory was left to interpretation.
at this point, we made our grand escape, we fled from this seat of terrors, this body of pain. we crossed the verdure again, we hid our heads in our homes thankful to be safe and away from this throne where the fates of the masses are held by the whims of the few, and eagerly began to look forward to our next vacation...
Monday, September 1, 2008
inns of depravity
so a few weeks ago, i went to a bar with some of my friends. the experience was basically the same as whenever im surrounded by a large group of people, i am reminded of how much i cannot stand most everybody. we humans are disgusting to the point of hilarity and i think that though we take ourselves very seriously, if we could only step back for a moment and really look at ourselves, we would have almost die laughing. the things we place so much importance on and the things that aggravate and stress us are almost always ridiculous, once taken outside of the immediate context. i am not satisfied with what follows, and there is a great temptation for me to rewrite the entire thing, but i have decided not to. instead, ill call it my poor attempt to simulate what dr hunter s thompson called "gonzo journalism." of course, the only similarities this sad piece shares with that master's work is that it was scribbled through bleary eyes in the wee hours of the morning. but i am holding to the reactionary, active role playing, actually being there part of the formula as best i can. this has been edited only for spelling, god help you all...
there are times when i believe that things may not be as bad as i thought, that maybe there is some hope for us, as a species, after all. fortunately, all i need to remind myself of my revulsion at the creatures we are is suddenly to be plunged into the midst of these wild beasts. as we entered the bar, or club as some may prefer, i was almost instantly accosted on all sides by pimps and prostitues, shamelessly flaunting their wares. i noticed, as the nite wore on like any other, that the defining feature of a female of this particular species is to dress and appear to any unbiased passerby as to be “open for business,” so to speak, and yet, when an actual customer enters the shop, to violently and condescendingly shoo him out by the nearest means of egress, as if he were some damned fool for thinking one might actually sell tea in a tea shop. and in the meantime, one must always remember that the best means for achieving one’s goal is to act as if that would be the ultimate last thing one would ever want to do, in any way. this, counterintuitively, as best as i can guess, is the way in which this species has sustained its long-lasting success.
however, this does not take into consideration the supplemental benefits which go along with this cat-and-mouse. the females recieve a great deal of gifts and flattery from the males on all sides, and are in complete power to induce the males to act in foolish ways to no end in their desperate and futile attempts to secure a mate for the very near and immediate future.
it cannot be failed to be mentioned also that, unlike many other wild species, this particular primate breed chooses to mate not intentionally for the purposes of procreation. strange, but enough from the anthropological dias...
once we had overstayed our welcome, and left a vivid calling-card, my companions and i made our way out of this establishment and towards an unknown destination. as we traveled aimlessly thorugh the streets, we were lined by gawkers and lizards, mocking each step we took, mocking the very fact that we took steps, i believe, while they, of course, had had the foresight to have gained a place early and to while away their precious friday evening in standing against corners of various buildings and ogling passersby. their comments were indeciphirable and not even worth reprinting here, but one could glean the hints of sardonic cruelty in their guttural noises. they hated us for existing, i could tell, because somehow we were different. they reviled our very appearance, which i would regard as nothing of note and certainly nothing of danger. and yet, i felt a desperate love in their voices, i know that they needed us. because without us, they would have no reason to stand on the corner, and as far as im aware, considering that i will probably never see these indiviuals again, to me, they would have no reason to exist. unless of course it would be in sad and futile attempts to woo the female of their species (see above.)
finally our meandering led us to a sad hovel in the midst of some of the most desperate renditions of post-apocalyptica i have yet witnessed in my life. being of no surprise to me, i followed my crew and entered (abandoning all hope, of course.) there were many drones there, worker ants taking off the edge after another long week. the pulse was loud and monotonous and one could barely withstand a few steps into the place without lapsing into a trance. here the blood ran thick and swift, so i knew i would have to keep my wits about me. i would need some strong stuff to get me through this one. fortunately, i’ve learned that a strict diet of alcohol can make all the difference. it has the awesome power to make me see humour in such a place where there would otherwise be biting hatred. and so, having built up a forcefield of sorts, i felt strong enough to look around, to survey my surroundings, and most importantly, to formulate a plan of escape the second the necessity arose. i saw stretched before me a smorgasbord of near-sex and ultimate frustration, of lies and trumped-up braggings that really had only the most tenuous basis in reality. as i compared the world of the media and that of so-called “reality” i made a startling discovery: “NO ONE IS GETTING LAID TONITE!!!” You’re all so pathetic, so trying-what-i-saw-on-mtv that you fail to realize the way it plays out. if you had stuck around for the rest of the episode, you might have seen that joey didn’t hook up with mary, she blue-balled him and then he had to call her back a few times. then after several meaningless and unnececssarilly expensive dates, he finally made the move, only to find the lesson the conscientious reader already learned (above) now, joey is by himself, while mary is telling her friends about what an asshole that guy was, and how arent all men like that, when the whole time she’d been begging him to do it. and why? because were all too fucking scared to admit to ourselves and others what we really want. but then theres always the alternative, that joey did manage to weasel his way into mary, and now shes attatched, but hes not interested(see-arent all men like that?) or better yet, shes carrying a giant misnomer, a little bundle of joy, and again, hes not interested.
just as i thought i would lose the last shred of my sanity, two of my friends pulled me from the fire and into the still-seething though not as cramped sidewalk. after a short pause, i made my way home, reflecting on what i had seen.
i learned several things tonite. i learned that someone had been paid an obscene amount of money to write and record a song in which the only discernible lyrics i could guess were “she got a thong.” yes indeed, let it ring from the mountaintops, she got------a thong. i also learned that the world is still full of insane people, those who look at me as if im the freak. but yet again im sure, im not even here, im merely an observer, watching, noting, analyzing the crude and mostly predictable movements that this species makes. thats what i do, like those wallflowers from earlier, minus the nonsensically critical voice. they are my inspiration. yes the world is full of crazies. and thank god (or bog) that i live right in the middle of them.
there are times when i believe that things may not be as bad as i thought, that maybe there is some hope for us, as a species, after all. fortunately, all i need to remind myself of my revulsion at the creatures we are is suddenly to be plunged into the midst of these wild beasts. as we entered the bar, or club as some may prefer, i was almost instantly accosted on all sides by pimps and prostitues, shamelessly flaunting their wares. i noticed, as the nite wore on like any other, that the defining feature of a female of this particular species is to dress and appear to any unbiased passerby as to be “open for business,” so to speak, and yet, when an actual customer enters the shop, to violently and condescendingly shoo him out by the nearest means of egress, as if he were some damned fool for thinking one might actually sell tea in a tea shop. and in the meantime, one must always remember that the best means for achieving one’s goal is to act as if that would be the ultimate last thing one would ever want to do, in any way. this, counterintuitively, as best as i can guess, is the way in which this species has sustained its long-lasting success.
however, this does not take into consideration the supplemental benefits which go along with this cat-and-mouse. the females recieve a great deal of gifts and flattery from the males on all sides, and are in complete power to induce the males to act in foolish ways to no end in their desperate and futile attempts to secure a mate for the very near and immediate future.
it cannot be failed to be mentioned also that, unlike many other wild species, this particular primate breed chooses to mate not intentionally for the purposes of procreation. strange, but enough from the anthropological dias...
once we had overstayed our welcome, and left a vivid calling-card, my companions and i made our way out of this establishment and towards an unknown destination. as we traveled aimlessly thorugh the streets, we were lined by gawkers and lizards, mocking each step we took, mocking the very fact that we took steps, i believe, while they, of course, had had the foresight to have gained a place early and to while away their precious friday evening in standing against corners of various buildings and ogling passersby. their comments were indeciphirable and not even worth reprinting here, but one could glean the hints of sardonic cruelty in their guttural noises. they hated us for existing, i could tell, because somehow we were different. they reviled our very appearance, which i would regard as nothing of note and certainly nothing of danger. and yet, i felt a desperate love in their voices, i know that they needed us. because without us, they would have no reason to stand on the corner, and as far as im aware, considering that i will probably never see these indiviuals again, to me, they would have no reason to exist. unless of course it would be in sad and futile attempts to woo the female of their species (see above.)
finally our meandering led us to a sad hovel in the midst of some of the most desperate renditions of post-apocalyptica i have yet witnessed in my life. being of no surprise to me, i followed my crew and entered (abandoning all hope, of course.) there were many drones there, worker ants taking off the edge after another long week. the pulse was loud and monotonous and one could barely withstand a few steps into the place without lapsing into a trance. here the blood ran thick and swift, so i knew i would have to keep my wits about me. i would need some strong stuff to get me through this one. fortunately, i’ve learned that a strict diet of alcohol can make all the difference. it has the awesome power to make me see humour in such a place where there would otherwise be biting hatred. and so, having built up a forcefield of sorts, i felt strong enough to look around, to survey my surroundings, and most importantly, to formulate a plan of escape the second the necessity arose. i saw stretched before me a smorgasbord of near-sex and ultimate frustration, of lies and trumped-up braggings that really had only the most tenuous basis in reality. as i compared the world of the media and that of so-called “reality” i made a startling discovery: “NO ONE IS GETTING LAID TONITE!!!” You’re all so pathetic, so trying-what-i-saw-on-mtv that you fail to realize the way it plays out. if you had stuck around for the rest of the episode, you might have seen that joey didn’t hook up with mary, she blue-balled him and then he had to call her back a few times. then after several meaningless and unnececssarilly expensive dates, he finally made the move, only to find the lesson the conscientious reader already learned (above) now, joey is by himself, while mary is telling her friends about what an asshole that guy was, and how arent all men like that, when the whole time she’d been begging him to do it. and why? because were all too fucking scared to admit to ourselves and others what we really want. but then theres always the alternative, that joey did manage to weasel his way into mary, and now shes attatched, but hes not interested(see-arent all men like that?) or better yet, shes carrying a giant misnomer, a little bundle of joy, and again, hes not interested.
just as i thought i would lose the last shred of my sanity, two of my friends pulled me from the fire and into the still-seething though not as cramped sidewalk. after a short pause, i made my way home, reflecting on what i had seen.
i learned several things tonite. i learned that someone had been paid an obscene amount of money to write and record a song in which the only discernible lyrics i could guess were “she got a thong.” yes indeed, let it ring from the mountaintops, she got------a thong. i also learned that the world is still full of insane people, those who look at me as if im the freak. but yet again im sure, im not even here, im merely an observer, watching, noting, analyzing the crude and mostly predictable movements that this species makes. thats what i do, like those wallflowers from earlier, minus the nonsensically critical voice. they are my inspiration. yes the world is full of crazies. and thank god (or bog) that i live right in the middle of them.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
the story unfinished, part the first
greetings evil ones--
hopefully all is well with you. there was a rather ambitious project i thought to undertake a few years ago. i imagined that i would write a long story, possibly even a novel. but as always, i lost interest and focus within a brief time. now much time has passed, many things have happened, and i hardly resemble the person who began this story. as a result, and despite the urging of some others, i doubt if i shall ever finish it. nonetheless, i'd hate for these few pages to be wasted and lost to the lapping shores of lethe, and so i will post them on my small space here. who knows, perhaps some great interest will be stirred up, and i shall be persuaded to pick up these fraying strands...
..
hopefully all is well with you. there was a rather ambitious project i thought to undertake a few years ago. i imagined that i would write a long story, possibly even a novel. but as always, i lost interest and focus within a brief time. now much time has passed, many things have happened, and i hardly resemble the person who began this story. as a result, and despite the urging of some others, i doubt if i shall ever finish it. nonetheless, i'd hate for these few pages to be wasted and lost to the lapping shores of lethe, and so i will post them on my small space here. who knows, perhaps some great interest will be stirred up, and i shall be persuaded to pick up these fraying strands...
“Birds’ ample melody floats in the air, upon the wake of Apollo’s fiery steed. The sweet scent of honeydew hangs on every breath, crystallizing in the early morning chill. This is what I need. Slowly, sadly, awakening I turn to the nagging buzz behind me, now a dull roar. The sound of metal against metal, softened by oil, burning gas. Cigarette smoke wisps follow the machines. Out of the window, yesterday’s news. Today is a new day, and tomorrow is unborn, still a twinkle in The Maker’s eye. Each day falls to earth as a raindrop. They were once tears of joy, but now of great sorrow. The earth as it stood, now is shackled with roads and buildings, cold, hard, unfeeling. The ground is stiff, and as we fall it is not the soil’s tender embrace we feel, but the disdain of unnatural life, scornful of our mortal imperfections. Once great forests abounded with life, now dead, processes, changed to be the paper I write this on. I have seen the enemy, and it is me. It is all people. We grow too bold in our ways, our “needs” overwhelm the planet. It has stood so long before us, but I fear we shall see the dying days of the earth. I can only pray that there is a God, and He is vengeful. I pray He will send the waters to purge the evil that is humanity. And perhaps this time, he will find another form.”
“David?” The voice snapped him out of this train of thought.
“Huh?” “What are you doing?” she asked, a hint of exasperation painted the once-blue sky.
“Oh, nothing...”
“We have to go or we’ll be late. You can’t always keep the doctor waiting.” The doctor. Oh no, a sin to keep that quack waiting, he thought. He was paying enough that she should wait all night, and still have dinner hot and waiting for him.
Through the city they rode, surrounded on all side by hulking giants; they lurked out of the ground in hideous irreverence to all of the world, spitting, glaring in the face of nature. Steel monoliths leering menacingly, peeking into the lives of those that carried on their meager existences in the shadows. Inside, computers whirled, phones screamed to be answered, electric pulse careened hazardously through the walls.
People sat in their cells, driven on the whim of the executives but enslaved by the technology, Prometheus looking on laughs. Through the windows the canyons stretched beyond and below any capacity of sight. All converged on a giant signal emblazoned across the panorama of necropolis. Shining hatred...
“David?! Were you listening?”
“Sorry, I was daydreaming again.”
“Well, stop it. That's going to get you in trouble one of these days. That’s why we’re going to the doctor, so she can help you focus.” Why did she always have to talk down to him? I know she loves me, I know she wants to help, but why?
It is always frustrating for a child to be patronized by a mother, but this is worse. Perhaps because she wasn’t his mother; she was his wife for seven years, sometimes an eternity.
But he could still remember... radiant, shining, her feet barely touched the ground. He had had to hold on to her tightly so she wouldn’t float away beyond the horizon. The walked together. The snow crunched lightly underneath, and the branches danced as spirits sang of midnight love. He cradled her near, she kept him warm. He could feel her buzz. Her very soul was alight with passion. They shared the same light.
He stroked her hair, dark, black on the wind. Roses kissed her cheeks and her deep emerald eyes glistened with love and hope. The eyes, deeper and more wondrous than the forest in which they now stood. There is no point in even describing such beauty, as absolutes can never be done justice.
This goddess he held now, so close. He stopped, drew her even nearer. Her breath formed clouds that whispered “I love you” just a moment before they dispersed their heat upon his face.
“I love you from now until the world ends,” the words sang out like messengers from Heaven. If only that end could have come then, no happier soul could be found, he thought.
But alas, it did not. Now she was merely there, a frail skeleton of this splendor. Years of work and money and the evils of the world had drained her life. Still he loved her; nothing could change that. And he knew that beneath all of her nagging and bitterness, still she loved him. She could come back, only sleeping, never dead...
Thursday, August 21, 2008
A Cursed Lullaby
this one is pretty heavy i think, which is not a bad thing by any means. it is also rather old, and for the same creative writing class, though this was actually written during a legitimate time frame. my professor said that this piece shows two things. the first paragraphs show that i am an embarrassment as a scientific writer, and the second half shows that i can write prose, passably. also, for the sharp-eyed astronomer out there, you may have noticed that i reference nine planets. at the time of this piece, pluto was still part of the in-group. however, of late, it has fallen out of favor, and no longer gets to play at court to Sol. i, for one, feel sorry for pluto, as if it hasn't already had it bad enough, what with being left so alone and frozen out literally in nowhere, and i shall continue to recognize pluto for what my heart says it truly is.
A Cursed Lullaby
There are nine planets in this solar system. Each one cycles endlessly around the sun, each cycle making up what we call a year. Within these cycles are tiny revolutions. Each planet has its own pace at which to complete its cycle. On the planet we live, a revolution takes approximately 23 hours and 57 minutes. It revolves around the Sun every 365.25 days roughly. Circling this planet is a moon, and also countless other manmade satellites, designed to watch us as we go about our lives. A daily exhibition…constantly rushing about, frantic drones caring only for the what and never the why.
In the end, it all makes no sense anyway, and so we all continue spinning on the planet which spins around the Sun, which is incidentally in a galaxy which itself revolves about in the vast nothingness which is the Universe. Spinning spinning spinning, all of this spinning has made him sick. And he wants it to stop…forever.
The day broke through his window again, cold and unchanging, hinting no sparkle, no glimmer of something that might make this day or the next worth living. And so he waited, again in silence, waiting for something, something to come. Something, anything he has no idea, no one seems to know, nothing.
Finally, the sun retreats and darkness covers the land, but this will not be a usual night of insomnia and torture. What hope is there in going to sleep if you always wake to daylight? Tonight will be different.
Tonight, he will sleep.
For so long this has been creeping, growing, a sweet rich cancer mounting strong despite any effort. There is no other way. The weight of the world rests on me. Walking feels like dragging anchors behind, now it is time to push off, out to sea, and never to return. Out on one final Odyssey…
The house is silent, the clock draws ever nearer. The shadows call, they ring of ghosts in pained glass. Cries, shrieks, screams, never ceasing, no one can hear them, I am the only one, my ears are bleeding! Only one way to quiet them…
In the moonlight, it looked quite beautiful, glimmering. Like a nymph, it lured him; like a mother, it would hold his life. The light glinted off the edge so delicately, the romance of the blade painfully apparent. Turning, pictures on shelves, smiles, fake poses, everyone laughs to recall how this felt, everyone afraid to admit how we felt our insides torn apart, ripped beyond any semblance of life, love. No one knows, everyone cannot forget.
It is now.
For each memory, the edge slipped deeper, deeper to cleanse the skin by purging the soul. Out, out demons!! I have released you, forever fly from me, and suffer no more. He watched as the tears flowed down his arms, and waited, one by one, as they dripped onto the floor, vibrant and dark, one by one…
Suddenly, the walls begin to spin, there is no hope in regaining what has been lost. There is only to surrender, and watch as you drown, submerge, overcome by the fear of what has passed. They all fade away, and blur as you slip further from the surface, never to appear again. One last hope, all the things we had meant to do, all the good we may have done, our purpose, why we are here, all has vanished. And with one final cry, we are no more, and all is lost…
by the way, if you are expecting light and uplifting banter from my blog, i refer you to the disclaimer from my initial post. however, im sure hannah montana (or miley cyrus, or whatever that bubblegum hack refers to herself as) has some pictures or something from her life as a "rock star" which shouldn't be too hard to find.
ahh, but why don't we save the follies of pop culture for another time? "yes, yes," you say, "we're bored. come now, give us a little death and gore." you know the so-called "good stuff." a discerning crowd indeed. fine then, you savages, sate your bloodlust with this...
A Cursed Lullaby
There are nine planets in this solar system. Each one cycles endlessly around the sun, each cycle making up what we call a year. Within these cycles are tiny revolutions. Each planet has its own pace at which to complete its cycle. On the planet we live, a revolution takes approximately 23 hours and 57 minutes. It revolves around the Sun every 365.25 days roughly. Circling this planet is a moon, and also countless other manmade satellites, designed to watch us as we go about our lives. A daily exhibition…constantly rushing about, frantic drones caring only for the what and never the why.
In the end, it all makes no sense anyway, and so we all continue spinning on the planet which spins around the Sun, which is incidentally in a galaxy which itself revolves about in the vast nothingness which is the Universe. Spinning spinning spinning, all of this spinning has made him sick. And he wants it to stop…forever.
The day broke through his window again, cold and unchanging, hinting no sparkle, no glimmer of something that might make this day or the next worth living. And so he waited, again in silence, waiting for something, something to come. Something, anything he has no idea, no one seems to know, nothing.
Finally, the sun retreats and darkness covers the land, but this will not be a usual night of insomnia and torture. What hope is there in going to sleep if you always wake to daylight? Tonight will be different.
Tonight, he will sleep.
For so long this has been creeping, growing, a sweet rich cancer mounting strong despite any effort. There is no other way. The weight of the world rests on me. Walking feels like dragging anchors behind, now it is time to push off, out to sea, and never to return. Out on one final Odyssey…
The house is silent, the clock draws ever nearer. The shadows call, they ring of ghosts in pained glass. Cries, shrieks, screams, never ceasing, no one can hear them, I am the only one, my ears are bleeding! Only one way to quiet them…
In the moonlight, it looked quite beautiful, glimmering. Like a nymph, it lured him; like a mother, it would hold his life. The light glinted off the edge so delicately, the romance of the blade painfully apparent. Turning, pictures on shelves, smiles, fake poses, everyone laughs to recall how this felt, everyone afraid to admit how we felt our insides torn apart, ripped beyond any semblance of life, love. No one knows, everyone cannot forget.
It is now.
For each memory, the edge slipped deeper, deeper to cleanse the skin by purging the soul. Out, out demons!! I have released you, forever fly from me, and suffer no more. He watched as the tears flowed down his arms, and waited, one by one, as they dripped onto the floor, vibrant and dark, one by one…
Suddenly, the walls begin to spin, there is no hope in regaining what has been lost. There is only to surrender, and watch as you drown, submerge, overcome by the fear of what has passed. They all fade away, and blur as you slip further from the surface, never to appear again. One last hope, all the things we had meant to do, all the good we may have done, our purpose, why we are here, all has vanished. And with one final cry, we are no more, and all is lost…
Bé b‘lia
this is a short piece (my professor at the time referred to it as a prose-poem) which i used as an assignment in a creative writing class, but which i had, unethically, written several years prior. i am not proud of everything i have done, but i feel this is a minor transgression. i was pleasantly surprised to hear him delve into the complex symbolism which i had crafted, yet his interpretation of that symbolism ran much deeper than even i had intended. the class must have thought i was some sort of master. however, years later, i take full credit for all of this and say that i only needed him to find a communicable means to convey my genius to those at-large. enjoy...
Bé b‘lia
“All the rivers run into the sea, and yet the sea becomes not full”
-Eccl 1:7
In a way that I could never describe, in the dusk of a gathering storm, I met you, exactly where you said you would be. You looked, sparkling, lighting the darkness, and I followed your beacon. As I came ever closer, the enraged sea throttled the sides of the vessel and it heaved violently. It tipped so far that the mast seemed to kiss the waves and in their union, produce an offspring of misty uncertainty; but still the ship pressed on, sure of its course. Closer it approached your light, almost that I was certain you could make out my features as I was alternately plunged into darkness, then forced into light. But I know that you could not have seen my true character or else you would have never guided me ashore.
Suddenly, the rocks jutted up, cutting, biting through the hull of the boat, a hole opened up, and out spilled life like treasure, scattered by the relentless tide rushing onto the shore. Was another love to be swallowed by the swirling eddies of this life? In a great leap of faith, I abandoned ship and fought all uncertainty. My companion was old and abused; neglected for the most part, but in times of trouble, a trusted friend that delivered me into death.
Finally I reached the shore. Alone, beaten, naked I struggled onto the beach. I saw you standing above me, your silhouette traced by the moon like an angel. You motioned to me silently, and I took your hand. I had nothing to offer but tried my best to assume an assured dignity in hopes that you would not cast me off. We walked together to a point of the beach that rose up in a hill and we could see the wilderness stretched out below, bathed in a cool luminescence, peaceful and alone. To the right, we turned and saw the sleeping village, secure and warmed by their own lights. With a knowing smile, we kissed one last time, and parted. I headed into the sanctuary of the wild, alone and uncertain…
Bé b‘lia
“All the rivers run into the sea, and yet the sea becomes not full”
-Eccl 1:7
In a way that I could never describe, in the dusk of a gathering storm, I met you, exactly where you said you would be. You looked, sparkling, lighting the darkness, and I followed your beacon. As I came ever closer, the enraged sea throttled the sides of the vessel and it heaved violently. It tipped so far that the mast seemed to kiss the waves and in their union, produce an offspring of misty uncertainty; but still the ship pressed on, sure of its course. Closer it approached your light, almost that I was certain you could make out my features as I was alternately plunged into darkness, then forced into light. But I know that you could not have seen my true character or else you would have never guided me ashore.
Suddenly, the rocks jutted up, cutting, biting through the hull of the boat, a hole opened up, and out spilled life like treasure, scattered by the relentless tide rushing onto the shore. Was another love to be swallowed by the swirling eddies of this life? In a great leap of faith, I abandoned ship and fought all uncertainty. My companion was old and abused; neglected for the most part, but in times of trouble, a trusted friend that delivered me into death.
Finally I reached the shore. Alone, beaten, naked I struggled onto the beach. I saw you standing above me, your silhouette traced by the moon like an angel. You motioned to me silently, and I took your hand. I had nothing to offer but tried my best to assume an assured dignity in hopes that you would not cast me off. We walked together to a point of the beach that rose up in a hill and we could see the wilderness stretched out below, bathed in a cool luminescence, peaceful and alone. To the right, we turned and saw the sleeping village, secure and warmed by their own lights. With a knowing smile, we kissed one last time, and parted. I headed into the sanctuary of the wild, alone and uncertain…
Inception- Welcome to my world...
greetings and salutations--
sad and unfortunate souls who have unwittingly stumbled into my realm of strangeness, please make yourself comfortable. after much--"urging" from my other (better?) half, i have been finally beaten down beyond resistance and am establishing this blog to share some of my meagre literary exercises.
in the future, once my fame spreads, there will be masses clamoring to know me. "who is that shadowy figure?" they will ask, and they will conjecture and all the while add to my legend and mystique. for now, i choose to remain obscured, "in shadows growing wings," and frankly, i don't even know you. i promise to drop hints and small clues to my personality from time to time, and those who choose to make the effort (and have an irresponsible amount of free time) may indeed begin to "know me." as often as reasonable i do nothing without reason. for now, i will say this: i am an occasional writer and wishful musician clinging hard to the dreams that that soulless endeavour facades. i have sufficient education to "make something of myself," yet i am situated like so many others my age in the dilemma of figuring out just what it is i possibly want to do for the rest of my life. (by the way, nothing comes to mind.)
i am generally a misanthropist, which is interesting because i am also one of the kindest and most considerate people that i know. i am easily frustrated by people refusing to use their heads and simply thinking things through before they act. it only takes a second, but it will save worlds of trouble. socially, i would rather be alone or with a small
group of people, and large herds of humans make me nervous. they can be erratic and stampede without warning. charging wildebeest, thundering down sheer rockface, hurtling towards the ground and then to bog-knows-where, running through a blind cloud of panic and gossip, slobbering mad with fear for some unseen, rumoured threat...
as will be painfully apparent, i also have a penchant for rambling, and my final promise will be to attempt to keep these digressions to a minimum.
for my first few posts, i will be uploading several old writings of mine to get a feel for this blog thing, as well as to share these works which, though they are unseasoned and sometimes embarrassing, i still enjoy...
this is the beginning, and there is still much time for you to get out. what follows will not be pleasant, and the reader will probably hate me for having him read it, and will be entirely within his right to. i will avoid the easy dante reference, but you all know what i mean. read on, if you dare...
r----
sad and unfortunate souls who have unwittingly stumbled into my realm of strangeness, please make yourself comfortable. after much--"urging" from my other (better?) half, i have been finally beaten down beyond resistance and am establishing this blog to share some of my meagre literary exercises.
in the future, once my fame spreads, there will be masses clamoring to know me. "who is that shadowy figure?" they will ask, and they will conjecture and all the while add to my legend and mystique. for now, i choose to remain obscured, "in shadows growing wings," and frankly, i don't even know you. i promise to drop hints and small clues to my personality from time to time, and those who choose to make the effort (and have an irresponsible amount of free time) may indeed begin to "know me." as often as reasonable i do nothing without reason. for now, i will say this: i am an occasional writer and wishful musician clinging hard to the dreams that that soulless endeavour facades. i have sufficient education to "make something of myself," yet i am situated like so many others my age in the dilemma of figuring out just what it is i possibly want to do for the rest of my life. (by the way, nothing comes to mind.)
i am generally a misanthropist, which is interesting because i am also one of the kindest and most considerate people that i know. i am easily frustrated by people refusing to use their heads and simply thinking things through before they act. it only takes a second, but it will save worlds of trouble. socially, i would rather be alone or with a small
group of people, and large herds of humans make me nervous. they can be erratic and stampede without warning. charging wildebeest, thundering down sheer rockface, hurtling towards the ground and then to bog-knows-where, running through a blind cloud of panic and gossip, slobbering mad with fear for some unseen, rumoured threat...
as will be painfully apparent, i also have a penchant for rambling, and my final promise will be to attempt to keep these digressions to a minimum.
for my first few posts, i will be uploading several old writings of mine to get a feel for this blog thing, as well as to share these works which, though they are unseasoned and sometimes embarrassing, i still enjoy...
this is the beginning, and there is still much time for you to get out. what follows will not be pleasant, and the reader will probably hate me for having him read it, and will be entirely within his right to. i will avoid the easy dante reference, but you all know what i mean. read on, if you dare...
r----
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