Thursday, November 29, 2007

Wednesday, November 28, 2007

Fractured. . .. again

drops of water fall onto the steamy flatware
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
natural emotion
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

thoughts-page 1 of 8

In retrospect, I saw my mind go mad-slowly at first, than
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


Some Victorian Manners:
  1. Learn to govern yourself and to be gentle and patient.
  2. Never speak or act in anger.
  3. Remember that, valuable as is the gift of speech, silence is often more valuable.
  4. Learn to speak in a gentle tone of voice.
  5. Learn to say kind and pleasant things when opportunity offers.
  6. Do not neglect little things if they can affect the comfort of others.Learn to deny yourself and prefer others
  7. 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.
  8. 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.

Modern manners

. . . . . none, it seems

Who is the more civilized?


It usually starts with an anonymous phone call or a chance meeting of an anachronistic knife-shapening vendor. But, my story evidently isn't cool enough for that. I like the truth-possibly because my life is to alter that truth, so i will tell you what really happened, even though it will sound really uninteresting and "commonplace" compared to the fast-flying rumors. But i have a few things to clear up, before it starts.
First: Love spells are pure fiction, and zombies are immune to pretty much all spells anyway.
Second: He wasn't really a zombie, it was more like his metabolism worked differently than a humanoid's does. He's a belief-based lifeform.
. . . . . .

Caution! Hard Hat area

I have been thinking about making an odd sort of thing, where words, ideas, dreams, and images all collide in a spew of inspiration, splattering all over the screens of computers everywhere, dribbling through the comforting blue glow that i grow towards now. but this is not that blog, this is a pitiful attempt at trying to make that blog exist in the harsh, cruel world of the "internets", where everything must be put to the flame and watch! as the framework cringes inward, crumpling the interior like a disposable soda can is thrown into the trash can that sits patiently beside the recycling bin that feels it lacks a purpose, which is a strange comparison to those thoughtless arsonists and myself. I do not wish to bring everything back to myself, as that sort of blogging is uninteresting and repetitive, but the reality of it is "I would not talk so much about myself if there was another person i knew as well."
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

This thing which we call music

Music is the soul-catcher. When we have nightmares or pretty fantasies, music calls it up and snarls it in the thread-count of our heart and mind. The nubbles on a well-worn sweater are nothing compared to the reaction of a concert crowd. I used to cut those nubbles off when i found them out, but now i wear them, not with pride, no, but with a certain self-satisfied awareness. plus, it can make holes in the garment, and while it doesn't make it unwearable, "It would be easier for them to hobble to town with a broken leg than with a broken pantaloon. Often if an accident happens to a gentleman's legs, they can be mended; but if a similar accident happens to the legs of his pantaloons, there is no help for it; for he considers, not what is truly respectable, but what is respected."

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.
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.)