How do you say goodbye to legends?
How do you say goodbye to legends?
the greatest of men,
who came with greatness branded on their chests,
and dust caked on their shoes and cleats,
and hands and minds,

people who walked
and changed the world
making deserts bloom in a verdant delta,
and turning ice to fire, N

people like: Jim Morrison John Bonham John George Harrison
Johnny Cash, John Lennon Bob Dylan Den Joey Ramone
Bob Marley Jerry Garcia Syd Barrett Ve Janis
Jimi Hendrix Frank Sinatra Jimmy Page R Joplin
Kurt Cobain Bob Dylan Keith Moon James
My Friends My Family Robert Plant Brown

My Paper Crane
I built my crane out of the finest sattiny paper,
from the local shop that the old smoking, gray haired, bespectacled man,
works at - next to the long bar
dimly lit with the orange and amber muffled halos of paper lanterns - right next to your head
so you can feel the warmth slowly permeating your chi,
it fills you up
inside

and then I folded my immaculate,
my true
my one,
my
and
the wings
began to flutter,
sheets of ivory slicing a flat canvas,
and into the air it went, so high, so far, so fast
into the halcyon -- through -- the black -- and -- it was white.

It's Been Awhile

God, It's been awhile since I've last blogged. So much has happened. Everyone's gone away: Greg, Danny, Kathleen, Jerome, Nathan, Zupan, etc. Tamara and I, along with Nick, Jesse, Donner, Holly Lisa, Emily, Meghan, etc. have all moved in at UW Madison. My new address is 272 Fish Ogg East. I've been doing a good deal of eating and today I slept a lot - skipped lunch. The internet connection's been flaky at best. Today I went and had breakfast and bought some posters for the room. One is of Johnny Cash, the other is more inspirational and is titled: "The Power of One." Uh... I'm gonna be watching the VMA's at Tamara's dorm, that's about it for now.

Today's Music
Staind - It's Been Awhile

Today's Update (#3)

This morning, I went to Best Buy, Circuit City and Eastgate. Respectively, I purchased: Bowling for Columbine, 3 cd's: by the Starting Line, Poison the Well, and Brand New. At Circuit City, I got Madden 2004, which is tough, but fun. At Eastgate, I got my debit card back. We watched Bowling for Columbine, then ate lunch / Dinner at the Hong Kong Cafe (Josh, Myself, Greg, Marcus), then we went to Gregs, I went home shortly after, did some cleaning, some ripping of cd's, played some Madden, practiced guitar, sent off a quick e-mail, and wrote a lot of poetry. I also managed to yell at Taryn, which was not very cool of me. In hindsight, it seems pretty stupid. I try and do my best, but it's a good reminder that I fuck up a helluva lot. Hopefully, I'm going waterskiing tomorrow, in addition to my two music lessons (guitar, voice). So, we'll see how that goes. I really wanna go skiing.

Today's Music
Alien Ant Farm - These Days

Today's Mood
Prolific, Tired, bleary-eyed with swollen allergy eyes, listless, but not too angry, I don't think

Empathy

Shields of tusks,
hearts of rust,
in no one else can I trust.

as I sit in my room, feeling inadequate,
it's oppressively hot,
like wearing a sweaty sheet of celophane,
and my fan blows hot air
slowly moving the delicately soft strands of my hair,
I just wish there were someone that would understand,
instead of getting angry, they'd get empathetic,
not someone who's my clone, but not someone that's a diuretic.
How pathetic.

A little empathy would go a long way,
the hybrid philosophy of a year and a day,
bring it into play, and let it fly.

The American Knight
The American Knight still lives,
still rides a stallion,
but its color has now browned,
into the muddy hues of the quarterhorse,
along with the rider,
whose raiment is no longer an immaculate white,
an adornment of dust and dirt.

the gauntlets turned to leather,
the sword now a lasso and a revolver,
the greaves now boot and spur,

and when that last American Knight rides off into the sunset,
like the knights to Avalon,
chivalry will breathe its last breath.

Why my Grandfather's Hands Shake

My Grandfather's hands shake.
they shake because my Grandfather was the son of a military man,
who never had a sick day in his life,

My Grandfather's hands shake,
because he fought in World War II,
with a rusty tommy gun as a radio operator,
and watched his friends fall like flies to a cruel god's stroke,
because he watched men collapse in 100% humidity after months of nothing but rain,
good men dying because they were doped up on drugs that were supposed to fight the malaria,
but made them all insane instead,

My grandfather's hands shake,
because his money was too thin,
his house too small,
his children too many,
his temper too severe,

And now his children walk with with scars so deep,
their blood seeps into the water supply,
and they can't forget or forgive,
only remember, how he lost his temper, and now they lose theirs,
even though they don't want too,
and lock their pain away in a bottomless vault,
a vault whose key they are still searching for,

My grandfather's hands shake,
because he sent my father away to a sanitorium for a summer,
because my father won't call his parents,
because I have never seen so much as a warm embrace,
or the words 'dad' out of his mouth.

My grandfather's hands shake,
because pain runs like a river,
a river so sanguine,
a river so wild,
it tears apart open hearts.

50,000 Words

Fifty thousand words,
a rough guestimate,
of how much gossamer and dream
I have locked in the attic of myself,

running for little bits and pieces,
never able to see the big picture
a clerk inside a vast store,
of catalysts and enzymes that react,
combining like fibers of muscle in the most fantastic shapes,
building like blocks and bricks and mortar,
building an ivory tower in the sea of words,
the sea of names, the mer de noms,
la mar de nombres,
erecting my cathedral, piece by piece,
the words form structures:
graceful parapets, flying buttresses,
bending arches, climbing high over the sea,
aching to support the weight of the creation,

the tower longs to cling to the heavens,
reaching upward and outward,
like a mendicant,
whose pleading, upturned hands,
clutch nothing but the starving air,

few cathedrals stand the test of time,
most crumble like castles of sand,
or lie derelict and dilapidated,
rusted away by the caustic sea waves,
but the monuments that stand the test of time,
bridge the heavens and the earth,
a pillar of light against the dark agitated blues and purples of the churning sea.

Cottage Weekend

I'm going to be at my grandparents cottage this weekend. It's one big party w/ boating, skiing, etc. If anyone wants to come, they're more than welcome. If you need directions, or help, call me 345-4935.

Directions:
Take 90-94 North (to the dells) then exit on the Lodi Exist (hwy 60). Go past the a+w + gas station and turn right onto Kohn Road. Then turn left onto Richard, which become Hwy V. Continue taking V past the Okee bridge and onto Rapp Rd. The cottage says "creeron" on the mailbox. It's got a green and white garage with a yellow (I think) door. gimme a call if you get lost (345-4935)

deviantART: Suit Of Armor by ~alwa:
Feelings shoved so deep inside
Buried by bitter lies and hate
She wore a suit of armor
Behind that; her only place to hide

Years went by, as armor rusted
Indented with painful reminders
She lived with the face of a ghost
Her shadow; she no longer trusted

Then he came and offered something more
With tales of no more pain and tears
She began to peel off layers of corrupted steel
And cautiously opened the once locked door

Words spoken with such tender intensity
Brought to life what had been long since dead
She was told it was alright to feel this way
Never thinking it was wishful security

A heart began to breath once again
Pumpimg pure blood through soft veins
She ignored all of the unpleasant stirrings
Refusing to see how it might end

Blades suddenly came with force her way
Piercing the pale, sun-deprived skin
She knew he would slay her fragile heart
The ends came undone, and finally began to fray

Eyes were opened as darkness fell
Blinking through heavy, blood-drenched tears
She sought to find some kind of valid reason
But knowing she would never live to tell

The suit of armor was brought back out
Welded firmly into place for one last time
She sealed it with burning tears
Walking on, saturated by doubt

Her bloody heart in the palm of her hand
Wandering, never able to completely understand

Catharsis

Can't you see the catharsis within me?
that I run and I purge to escape my reality?
Shooting glances like lances at the people I see,
everyone is nothing - no one like me,
it's all filled with an inherent stupidity,
can't you see?

But as you 'stand round gazing through the crowd
of stone statues, bathed in a river of time,
you realize that they're all moving at the discretion,
of time, some unseen force, that pushes the pieces,
around the gigantic chess board, and who knows,
when your move is next,
so you gotta make your move: take the rook then the pawn,
play it all out before the new day dawns,
because 'fore too long, we're all the king and the stars align,
and then, we hit the long decline, forever

regrets are regression,
payback for admission,
that you did something wrong,
that you can't control, you're not strong,
though you can't change the past, we all look back,
and forever wish we'd changed the way we act,
that's what separate the weak from the strong,
those who can't carry the weight of their actions,
will soon fall face down,
and bury themselves with the ashes.

Protekt should have a 'k'

Protekt should have a k.
That's the key, don't you see?
K's are for kings, sitting on their ivory throne's majesty,
K's are for kangaroos, that have pouches, for carrying their young
K's are for knights, riding on horseback with shining armor that glints in the sun.
K's are for Kerry,
whose heart's come undone.

Resonance

A literary resonance,
infused with lyrical confidence,
unfoldiong a story like a paper crane,
inside your head, it fills your brain,

it's all about strength through wounding,
like the golden rule were true,
than we'd all be nothing,
no strenth, no laughter, no pain no tears,
a mute society built on the years,
of oppressoin, digression mute and solemn procession,
constructing a tower of Babel built of our nothingness,
a gray slate, humans are the inebriate.

only through emotion do we show our being.

Scared Shitless

I'm scared shitless. My friends are all leaving me for other parts of the country, with a few exceptions.
It's like the ground is crumbling from beneath my feet,
and I'm desperately clutching at thin air,
and down I tumble,
boy could I use a hand,
but it hurts too much to ask,
and then there's nothing,

Alone, I am the grifter.

Now, back to the real world: I worked today from 8:30 until 4:15. Afterwords, Taryn and I went to my house, where we were joined by Jerome. We played DDR for a couple of hours. Jerome had to go to Tae Kwan Do, and then Taryn and I watched downloaded movies. I burned a CD for Taryn, and then I played some DDR, took a shower, fixed my Muvo, watched one of Jesse's replays, and that was that. Then I blogged.

I can't breathe.

Today's Mood
Right now: really fucking depressed.

In Between Days


Today was another long day spent at the Target. I worked from 10am until 5pm cart attending, with a good deal of help from Justin, I might add. My breaks were, as usual occupied by putting calories into my body, and by discussing operation "Hidden Panda" with Taryn. After work, I went to the Avenue Bar with my mom to see my Grandfather and his Lady Friend, Joan (don't ask why that's capitalized). The music was sub par, in my opinion; it was also too loud. There were so many old people, but I did my best to put on a good show. Joan made me dance, which I figured was coming. I had a Heineken - didn't like it. I really don't care too much for beer. Now I'm gonna try a Mike's Hard Lemonade.

Side Note
Ben Folds is coming out with three new EP's, which can be purchased from his website: www.attackedbyplastic.com. it's a good read, while you're at it.

Today's Music
Alice in Chains - Them Bones

Today's Poetry
the pasT grows

What is it like to be growing old?
Do you stop being bold?
Does the spigot of knowledge,
slowly plug, like a clogged drain?
and where can I purchase some Liquid Plumr,
to unplug my brain?
What is it like to be growing old?

Do you stair out the window all day?
longing to be a young kid at play?
old friends lost, new ones too,
everything's getting farther - away from you.
Trifocals bifoals, rhematoid arthritis,
forgetting the things that you once knew.
What is it like to be growing old?

Exhausted

well, I haven't been updating recently, as you may have noticed. Dunno why, but I've been writing poetry almost exclusively. So here's a quick recap. I've worked every day but today and Wednesday. We lanned on thursday at Marcus's. I went to bed at 4:30AM, woke up at 8:00 for work at 10am. Just threw everything in my car and staggered through a difficult day of work. When I got home, I took a nap, went to La Paella w/ Tamara and Jerome, and then to S.W.A.T. at the Point Ultra Screen, which I found to be just mediocre. I also picked up a Jane's addiction CD, Strays. Today I woke up around 11, went to the bank, did some laundry, played some guitar. Now I need a nap becxause my body is tired out.

Today's Music
Jane's Addiction - Just Because

Today's Mood
Worn Out

Windcarrier

I know exactly what the wind carries?
pieces of time that were once so vivid,
ripped apart in the times so despairing?
pages of life now torn, wrought and rifted,

Ev'ry day, I forget, nigh, ev'ry hour,
the thread of the mind slowly unravels,
old mem'ries untie like a with'ring flow'r,
sentenced to die by the arbiter's gav'l,

the breath of time, its pow'r unleashing,
its sickle swings hard, slicing and cutting,
kills off mind's essence, memr'ys deceasing
breaks the new ground for memory's budding,

Though my memory hath more room to grow,
I cannot remember what the winds blows.

Pop Psych 101

Tearing at the mask of reality
cutting sinuous strands and veils of untruth and true lies,
there I - you - we stand, coldly quickly calculating,
the calculus of life, it is you know.

Insert a joke here,
If not too embarassing, a tender moment,
maybe a smile? Or a shoulder pat, or a hug,
or even more difficult, SYMPATHY.
OOH That IS a toughy!!

For me, I like to induce a simple smile -
a chuckle a moment of hiarity that keeps 'em guessin.
I'm quick on my feet like Ali 'fore he got Parkinsons
Fighters: I say, don't get pugilists dementia,
Foreman, don't attempt another comeback. Grill is enough...

But back to the integrals,
the unwinding of life,
mostly it is calculated to produce and effect,
but sometimes, the masks are rended asunder,
the veil torn away, and the tender insides exposed,
wounds open anew,
careless fighters frequently, without explanation,
landing the 1-2 punch,
a potent jab-UPPERCUT combination,
tearing out chunks of each other's hearts,
and they watch the skin part.
And oh, oh, how it bleeds,
sanguine rivers that flow,
to your eyes and your throat.
And the salty river streams down your face,
a river carving a canyon of lace,
screaming until it swallows:
maybe a tissue, maybe your hand, maybe it tears up the ground,
or maybe it carves up someone else just like it does you.
Maybe I want to be the canyon, torn by your tears.
maybe then the fighters will unlace their gloves, and slowly sit down,
and realize the damage they've done over the years.
to each other.

show me what your scars look like.
And I'll unearth mine to you.
And then the bitter rock will become diamonds... on the inside.

Transform_->Poetry


Today's Poetryies
I htate profreeding (note: the title was engineered, but the rest of the poem will include all my typing mistakes)

from here on

I hate proofreading,
it fails to capture the essence
the benediction of crescent emotion that
streaks from the pen so mfast and marvelous that
it blinds reader and writer in a dizzy doldudrum of durunken
emotion - even though it might not be perfect
it's like having someone tocuh up a DaVinci
Mona's not hot by today's standards, you know)
we need to make her into a britney, a Liz Hurley, or the hot security guard at Target
Bu t don't think I'm too preoccupied with her, but she did talk to me for the first time at lenght,
and didn't seem so dull.
doesn't matter she's got a aboyfriend. And besides' my heart's yearning for something esle
and I don't mean antacid.

The TvegAgieM poem

rawr
I'm a badger
but I don't eat 'em
you should eat veggies,
'cuz nothin' can beat 'em
everything's copasetic,
as long as you're vegetetic.

Tough Time Cart Attending

lots and lots of fucking carts
gets me thinkin' people aren't too smart
buying all kinds of obscence crap
makes me want to step-out-of-line and slap,
someone. But then I think about fuzzy things
like pandas, manatees and puppies
and I feel better.
But then a cart with an icky diaper.
I glance over, the security guard's hot like Michelle Pfeiffer
all this just to pay the pied piper...

Everything

Today's Poetry
Raining Black Roses


Lay into the separated dreams,
Sinking into a secret soul,
Daring to think of the sadness,
Of every different way to die,
Stick to what garbage we have learned,
In rooms where we fall into love,
Going where we can’t see our way,
Hear the songs that we sing,
In a black rose ring,
That screams for lovers,
To breath child-like kisses,
Struggling to find all our secrets,
Sounding sleepy eyes of crying lies,
To where we hear in our bleeding ears,
Leave what pieces that can’t fit,
Wanting pale skinned tears,
Miracles behind the broken mirrors,
Waiting for something to place,
Comets streaking through falling stars,
Listening to find where that is,
Dancing in singled filed hearts,
Signals of naked lovers,
Speaking of madness they find,
As they lay in there floating clouds,
No reason to greave,
In Christmas trees wrapped in gold,
Over lips of cold skin,
With the only words to show,
Wilted roses in her eyes,
Watching to rain fall for the flames,
Waiting for my dream to come.
-Deviantart.com by foreverandher

http://www.deviantart.com/deviation/2592478

Today's Mood
Who knows? Agitated, Tired, A little depressed? Maybe Zen.

I Want a Woman

I want a woman who wears a black hat,
A woman who has eyes like an opal.
I want a woman who makes an impact,
A woman whose intentions are noble.

I want a woman with hair full of fallen autumn leaves,
a woman whose curves hug like the road.
I want a woman who fights, her sword unsheathed,
a woman capable of bearing my cathartic load.

But most of all, I want a woman...
who can laugh- at our mortality,
and, most importantly,
appreciate my painful poetry.

Books, English, Philosphy, Ahh Who the Hell Am I?...

I awoke up at seven this morning to the pull of sleepiness that drags on me for so many hours of my life. I drifted off into slumber somewhere in the third to forth hours of the morning, after reading A Brave New World. I had to be at work at 8am to open (cashiering). I didn't see anyone from Monona, and I felt pretty awful most of the day, though I did managed to complete a good chunk of the Jumble and the crossword on my lunch and break. I worked a total of seven hours, which felt more like ten. My stomach ached with a queasiness, possibly from too much dairy... honey roasted peanuts... who knows? I did manage to whore off 2 Target Visas, thus earning myself a little Maglite with the Target insignia emblazened on its small red stainless steel casing. I clipped it onto my keychain, now growing exponentially in size. After work, I went home, read some more, fell asleep, ate the bagel my mother had bought for me, finished up A Brave New World, which although not as good as 1984, was still a masterpiece. Then I played Dance Dance Revolution with my new mats for a couple of hours, had to take a shower from all the glistening sweat on my chest, and proceeded to download some bit torrents. I got BT's new cd, Emotional Technology, an exquisite piece of technological mastery. I went to see Sea Biscuit, which was also very good.

Today's Music
BT - Dark Heart Drowning

Today's Image