Tuesday, December 25, 2007
It also seems really . . . proud, to make an entire website devoted to me and my problems.
and public. I seem to forget that.. . . .
drat. I feel i have to post this, just to explain those troubling, odd posts. I was definitely depressed during those three days, to dwell on such things. And I pretty much wrote what came though my head at that time, just put through a filter of prose. It's not attempting to be mean, cruel, or harsh on any sort of clique, group or person, It is just the way I used to view the world . . . while I was depressed, so that pretty much explains a lot.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
i have met a few,for a lack of a better word,"gifted" people, while they might be brilliant at math or English, they have really horrible social skills. But that's just in my experience, while i might be a lot smarter than the average person, I, myself am not "G/T" worthy (at least according to FCPS).
Maybe having a well-rounded life is what does it. All those books and reality avoidance is not a good basis for your life, i think. How can you function in the world when you don't really live in it? And while you can make all the excuses you want about the benefits of it, no one, near the end of their life, is going to regret that they didn't study enough, or read enough books, or didn't put in enough hours at work(with the exception of religion), but most people will regret that they didn't have enough close friends, or separated themselves from their family, or didn't help enough people.But why wait till the end of your life to regret?
maybe this all comes from my 6 month withdrawal from school, or life rather, at my age. I've come to appreciate these things, friends, family, the requirement of having money to survive. I have been slacking on my artistic work, which i can almost regret, but everything else I have become, i just can't bring myself to do it. Also, it might be the fact that i hate regrets, they mostly serve no useful purpose, because who can change the past? Regret is just there so you don't make the same mistake in the future, but a mental memo does the same thing and is much less painful. . . .but is a lot less memorable. . . but i just don't like pain.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
When arid toil and liquid river time
Fall below the smell of blue
Construct an incident carnival
Where stormy post night
Through solitary rhythm and stalking music
A sterile paridise
That creates dream desire against
the grey canvas
Those taunt muscles expand and retract
Clawing to create new idea
But a labor-filled year passes and no progress is evident
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
Monday, December 3, 2007
Sunday, December 2, 2007
me to distinguish leaves on a tree, ripples in a stream-
a green frog in the tall, green weeds but it did not fix
my major problem-the reason why I had to get them.
The yuppies, the indie, the emos, the goth, the anime freaks, the wanna-be blacks with their lack of melanin-and more
all with degrees of sight loss-with only a few
pieces of the giant replica of big ben, the pieces that hardly even make a curve of an arch
Putting everyone's togeather won't help though, because they're all the same pieces-copies of the same construction
but no two exactly different.
Half-thoughts,daydreaming lives, so real I want to leave this one and go to the next.
Spider-children, coma adventures-wolves that act like wolves in a manner you expect. Seconds before the alarm sounds (before the drama) for school warnings, I am filled with longing for what I cannot be, cannot find.
Frighening me into insomnia by such depth of emotion
My lives but not me-laid bare and hidden for my terrified perusual and desire.
Saturday, December 1, 2007
than the size of the sum total of all knowledge, more than the number or dreams dreamed by dreamers.
the immense size of the grave that ressurection doesn't cover-like an
insurance plan that you boss pays for, thinking more about profit than good.
profit is nothing-symbols and numbers that equate to little, flapping paper bits and tiddlywink coins that you lose in the couch and drop on the ground that no one bothers to pick up-like the government's trust in the people.
the flip side of that card is the old maid-the woman who
few know of and no one believes in enough to love
The few and mighty against the the ostrich-like masses-
the cockroach-like masses who scurry and and hide their minds
from the sun-the shining son-The few who attempt
to discover the shiny, shiny light are ridiculed-tossed aside like 2nd tier presidential canidates.
who was aware that we put those people on a pedestal?
they are no examples to my people-the people of amnesiac bats, falling onto the truth by predestined luck and fated chance
but unable to see it-just able to listen to the ultrasonic waves.
the ultrasonic waves of change-bouncing back from the problems that no one can see because we will not use our eyes, weak things that they are.. . ..
audio is "listen to the silence". this is a short video i took last year in Febuary. it's not exciting, no, but i think it has a quiet charm. also, since no snow yet in NoVa, this is what i can look at to pretend a snowfall... . oops, i lie, the night after i posted this, it snowed. only a little bit, but i was still excited.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
it is ignored, mostly, for what is the reaction to such?
sobs, laughter, they sound the same from a distance, a distance
that people desire
distance that i desire
a distance from raw emotion-emotion that is seen as weak, disturbing
you feel that this could be a problem?
not could, is.
. . . life is hard, and everyone knows it is hard, so why is it then, that no one works to make it easier, for themselves or others? well, that statement wasn't true, because many people do try to help others, lifting their spirits and weightening their bellies, raising children, and just being kind. but those seem to be few and far between, and now we reach the dilemma. . . . .
Friday, November 23, 2007
more quickly-a rollercoater of soul-
degradation at the
peak-swaying between the two ways open to me,
one-already passed and no undoing of life allowed
two-an illuminated parkway to a sure death
The option that i wish for, society will not let me choose.
To float away from the carnival of
forever selling this, that and themselves-sold
on the idea that fame equates the fulfillment of all desires
"I have learned that the swiftest traveller is he that goes afoot. . . . If a
man should work all day for a train fare-than I shall always be before him-
travelling to my destination on my own two feet-and I shall be the better for it."
Fame is a facade, sham, hollow like the chocolate rabbits we used to eat
at easter, hollow like the commercialized holidays we celebrate now-
that are focused on the getting/the posession of all things,ideas and people.
This "love" promoted from all stories,plays and films-
from the x-rated,
to the television that is marketed to the 0-3 month olds-
that is another possession of the soul.
The soul is free-hindred only by the belief of hinderment.
Rules, laws, commandments, wings to your soul.
Sex, "true love", isolation of the soul, weights to the spiritual.
That grave is more than six-feet under, more than six-feet long and three-feet
wide, much much more than the 108 cubic feet .
. . . . . .
Thursday, November 15, 2007
- Learn to govern yourself and to be gentle and patient.
- Never speak or act in anger.
- Remember that, valuable as is the gift of speech, silence is often more valuable.
- Learn to speak in a gentle tone of voice.
- Learn to say kind and pleasant things when opportunity offers.
- Do not neglect little things if they can affect the comfort of others.Learn to deny yourself and prefer others
- A real gentility never swears or talks uproariously. He should never fail to raise his hat politely to an acquaintance of either sex. If he should bump into someone or step upon a lady’s dress he must "beg their pardon", and at no time should he lose his temper nor attract attention by excited conversation.
- A lady walks quietly through the streets, seeing and hearing nothing that she ought not to, recognizing acquaintances with a courteous bow, and friends with words of greeting. She is always unobtrusive, never talks loudly, or laughs boisterously, or does anything to attract the attention of the passers-by. She walks along in her own quiet, lady-like way, and by her preoccupation is secure from any annoyance. A true lady in the street, as in the parlor is modest, discreet, kind and obliging.
. . . . . none, it seems
Who is the more civilized?
Suggestions, Comments of this, creates an almost sentient, self-perpetuating novel of the human mind, an organ in which i am fascinated with.
Caution! Hard Hat area
Ah, those standard Thoreau quotations, how you have explained so many of the questions i have had about life and the society of man, or rather the modern idea of a society.( And now this tanget curves back upon itself, making a two-leaved clover of thought.)
Ah, music. Not so strangely, though, the evolution of music has piggybacked on technology. The formative thousand years, where things were thought progressive, but comparitively, the common modern person usually cannot distinguish between those centennials, but can distingish between the relitavely recent ideas of genres, and even subgenres.
but this thought really isn't a good basis for scientific theories of society, the arts, and technology. Much more so would be a timeline comparision of the accepted ideas of society and class, thecnology and the impact of society and a flow chart of the genres of music and what they represent in societial rebellion.(which sounds like a paper i would not know how to start) despite what you may be thinking, science and music are almost co-partners in progressiveness, and have progressed because of the bastardization of the ideas of politeness in society. (Here is the third leaf stemming out from the center) Music is all about the society that produced the mind creating it, though, some exceptions do tend to be universal in their message. http://www.ubu.com/outsiders/365/2003/087.shtml
though, tumbledryers may not be that universal.
regardless, society and music, that requires thought and application to the society of self. What does your music say about you? What does the mind-warping array of genres say about society as a whole? What does the (nearly useless) extreme usage of the phrase "selling out" mean to about childish cliques whose attraction and repulsion of various artists depend on such a label? Why do you like the music you do? I find that pondering such things makes me rather thankful for my life, and for the wonderul artists whose ideas and dreams and been snarled in mine. (and now we have a lucky four leaf clover.)
(and now it's been devoured by a plague of locusts, locusts that you invite into your house for a cup of tea. insects don't make polite guests.)