"The biggest lie you were ever told was that you had nothing to say..."
If I am an admirable man,
if I function, if I breathe,
then we can accept my social quirks
and establish a model wherein patience
rules the day.
But if I am flawed,
if I am broken, if I break,
speak it aloud. Say it to my face,
or condemn me to condemn myself
over and again and
again and
once more for good measure.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Wings
The Roosevelt Bridge spans across
the hook of Lake Union, where
boats pass lazily below and crew captains
shout out from megaphones; and
from the sidewalk as cars race by
I see two birds, small and dark,
dive off of a streetlight--bodies like bullets
racing to black waters, disappearing from sight.
They threw their wings wide, I think
(not knowing for sure as they danced below my view)
catching the air and locking wings in a partnership
untouched by time.
We could be those birds, if you would
touch your wing to mine--I offer
nothing more than my everything.
My bones, my feathers, my small bird heart.
the hook of Lake Union, where
boats pass lazily below and crew captains
shout out from megaphones; and
from the sidewalk as cars race by
I see two birds, small and dark,
dive off of a streetlight--bodies like bullets
racing to black waters, disappearing from sight.
They threw their wings wide, I think
(not knowing for sure as they danced below my view)
catching the air and locking wings in a partnership
untouched by time.
We could be those birds, if you would
touch your wing to mine--I offer
nothing more than my everything.
My bones, my feathers, my small bird heart.
Fault Lines
sidewalk cracks divide
us like continents
and fault lines your fault
not mine at least I
tried is this how things
are meant to be no
I hope not stay for
God's sake stay on your
side of the street and
I'll stay on mine don't
step on the cracks or
you'll fall and break my
heart really yes my
heart again at least
whats left of it now
us like continents
and fault lines your fault
not mine at least I
tried is this how things
are meant to be no
I hope not stay for
God's sake stay on your
side of the street and
I'll stay on mine don't
step on the cracks or
you'll fall and break my
heart really yes my
heart again at least
whats left of it now
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Thank You: Danny Elfman
The beauty of art is not inherent in the art itself. For me, the beauty of art is how it takes on new life in the eyes or ears of the viewers, the listeners, the readers. The way it touches people, the way it acts as a communicative tool of shared experience. The way it gives voice to those feelings we might not so easily express through more standard means of speech and thought.
Art is the link that transcends our mediocrity.
And for all this, I am indebted to artists of all sorts; men and women of all races and identites across the globe. Today I want to give my thanks in particular to Danny Elfman, hollywood composer and music director for many various works (in my case, I'm referring to the Terminator Salvation soundtrack).
If Mr. Elfman is master of nothing else, it is his pention for stirring string intervals layered over a solidly mounting low brass key change. There is a presence in his work that I cannot deny, and one that I cannot quite put to words either, so I'll suffice to say thank you and leave it at that.
Art is the link that transcends our mediocrity.
And for all this, I am indebted to artists of all sorts; men and women of all races and identites across the globe. Today I want to give my thanks in particular to Danny Elfman, hollywood composer and music director for many various works (in my case, I'm referring to the Terminator Salvation soundtrack).
If Mr. Elfman is master of nothing else, it is his pention for stirring string intervals layered over a solidly mounting low brass key change. There is a presence in his work that I cannot deny, and one that I cannot quite put to words either, so I'll suffice to say thank you and leave it at that.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
An unfinished song I intend to finish...
This poem's
about another guy
who's been
left living on emotional streets
and
This poem
could tell you how it is
for him
no time to question what the system's throwing down
for him
And this poem's
about the things he says
and does
and asks the people why they never seem to hear
his cry
But this poem
is not a substi-
tution for
the way you treat him when you see him downtown
and yet
we're living
in
a world of fascinating sights and sounds...
about another guy
who's been
left living on emotional streets
and
This poem
could tell you how it is
for him
no time to question what the system's throwing down
for him
And this poem's
about the things he says
and does
and asks the people why they never seem to hear
his cry
But this poem
is not a substi-
tution for
the way you treat him when you see him downtown
and yet
we're living
in
a world of fascinating sights and sounds...
The Go Sign
Rolling through the streets of town
I hit the go sign at fifth and Pine
and did as it said; not questioning,
no time for questioning,
driving too fast to not obey.
Sped past the alleys dark with rot
those same the light of day forgets in winter
when the clouds convene; a sky of shale.
Too heavy for now, maybe, for me.
Skipped out-town with wheels on fire
sympathetic faces yet to be stared back
to see my taillights gleam in the gloom,
gone too soon.
Especially for the girl on twenty-first,
who bore a name I could not know
I could not stop; the sign said go.
I hit the go sign at fifth and Pine
and did as it said; not questioning,
no time for questioning,
driving too fast to not obey.
Sped past the alleys dark with rot
those same the light of day forgets in winter
when the clouds convene; a sky of shale.
Too heavy for now, maybe, for me.
Skipped out-town with wheels on fire
sympathetic faces yet to be stared back
to see my taillights gleam in the gloom,
gone too soon.
Especially for the girl on twenty-first,
who bore a name I could not know
I could not stop; the sign said go.
Deer Crossing - updated 10/18/17
driver, eyes
tired,
holds hands to
wheel opposing will
subverting slumber.
Spokane in five,
grandpa too, if
he's to last...
Moses Lake in three.
stop there, maybe, get some
gas--no rest--
save that for
deer crossing,
eyes awake, motion
stops
a hairs breadth from
taking life.
pulls over,
head to wheel.
doesn't make it in time.
tired,
holds hands to
wheel opposing will
subverting slumber.
Spokane in five,
grandpa too, if
he's to last...
Moses Lake in three.
stop there, maybe, get some
gas--no rest--
save that for
deer crossing,
eyes awake, motion
stops
a hairs breadth from
taking life.
pulls over,
head to wheel.
doesn't make it in time.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Various Unfinished Writings
Spin me round and make me weak
Draw me in close so I can't speak
Destroy the man I used to be
It's overrated to be free
Spin me round and make me weak
Draw me in close so I can't speak
Destroy the man I used to be
It's overrated to be free, oh yeah
Slavery's a different game
when you're slaving to a person you would die for
Gives slavery a different name
---
It's seven o'clock on a Friday night. Footsteps march up the stairs with a silent determination. You want to run, but don't. You don't want to seem so bold. But you can't stop the beating in your heart, the quickening in your pulse, and the feeling that all things are possible.
This is magic.
"This is my room," you say, flipping on the light. You launch yourself onto your bed and sit facing her. She stands with her hands in her back pockets, like a potential tenant, ready to move into that space. Her eyes, like blue candles, scan your life's assortment, illuminating everything they touch. She walks over to you, eyes upwards, looking at a poster of the Milky Way that is tacked to the ceiling. Your eyes follow hers and she sits next to you. A wave of scent washes over you and half of your reasoning centers are gone, just like that.
---
I have nothing to apologize for, in sight of the fact that I was merely speaking openly for once.
There are, I think, two remedies for this. Forget about what "this" is. Just close your eyes and read.
Draw me in close so I can't speak
Destroy the man I used to be
It's overrated to be free
Spin me round and make me weak
Draw me in close so I can't speak
Destroy the man I used to be
It's overrated to be free, oh yeah
Slavery's a different game
when you're slaving to a person you would die for
Gives slavery a different name
---
It's seven o'clock on a Friday night. Footsteps march up the stairs with a silent determination. You want to run, but don't. You don't want to seem so bold. But you can't stop the beating in your heart, the quickening in your pulse, and the feeling that all things are possible.
This is magic.
"This is my room," you say, flipping on the light. You launch yourself onto your bed and sit facing her. She stands with her hands in her back pockets, like a potential tenant, ready to move into that space. Her eyes, like blue candles, scan your life's assortment, illuminating everything they touch. She walks over to you, eyes upwards, looking at a poster of the Milky Way that is tacked to the ceiling. Your eyes follow hers and she sits next to you. A wave of scent washes over you and half of your reasoning centers are gone, just like that.
---
I have nothing to apologize for, in sight of the fact that I was merely speaking openly for once.
And if that created an uncomfortable realm of conversation, I cannot be continually blamed for your refusal to enter that sphere.
And this does not mean that I am a lost cause. It only means that you won't talk to me any more. It does mean that you have things to say but won't say them, which means whatever it is you think might help me to understand myself is less important than maintaining your own comfort. And it means that via your perception, there is help needed. Maybe there is; it would be unfair of me to say there wasn't.
But if I need help and you refuse to give it, where does that leave me? Is it something you're hoping I'll figure out for myself? And if/when I do, how will you know? How will we ever reach beyond this barrier that has been built (I say again) by openness?
---There are, I think, two remedies for this. Forget about what "this" is. Just close your eyes and read.
The first and most obvious is the relationship. Comfort. The quintessential coupling, the... the... whatever.
The other--and sometimes I swear to God more delicious--remedy, is the Badassery. You know, kicking down doors. Blowing up cars. Fighting evil. It's good for the soul, I swear. Just one hitch.
You can't go around doing that!
Well, you can, but you probably wouldn't cozy up to the consequences. I mean, the people that do go around doing this wind up in jail and stuff.
Those of us with greater self-control opt for the more reasonable (read: pansy) way. We watch movies or read books where "our" "heroes" do the things we always wish we could. While I hesitate to label that as pathetic, I most definitely want to resist this idea...
Relationships in an Hour
*The following data was taken from 05/22/09, and it has not been updated to our current time.
Really, my loneliness can be boiled down to one thing alone--my perceptions of time.
I'm twenty years old. Twenty years and a few months ago, I didn't even exist. I entered into my first relationship when I was seventeen. It lasted for three months.
17.5*12=210
3/210=1.43%
That first relationship comprised about one and a half percent of my entire life, and that's not even counting the time that passed afterwards.
My second relationship started shortly before my eighteenth birthday, and lasted until the summer before my twentieth (about 20 months).
19.5*12=234
20/234=8.55%
Now, 8.55 percent is a considerably larger chunk than 1.43, but 8.55 percent of my life is like 5 minutes of an hour. My first relationship was less than a minute.
1h=60min
60*0.0855=5.128
60*0.0143=0.858
Taking all months of relationship into question puts us at 23/234 or 9.83% (5.9 minutes). Taking all months of relationship into my entire life puts me at 23/243 or 9.47% (5.68 minutes). That's less time than there are commercials in an hour long TV show.
It doesn't take a rocket scientist to deduce that the majority of my life has been spent "alone" (quotes signify that I've never been literally alone but you get my point).
Looking at the numbers, I'd say the sense of loneliness or longing that I'm exhibiting is quite ludicrous and presumptuous. Of course, different definitions of time could yield different results. If we count only the years that I was interested in girls (excluding some of my childhood, of course) the minutes to the hour ratios are quite different. The first relationship comes in at 2% (1.2 min) and the second at 11.49% (6.9 min). Taking them together runs 12.568% or 7.54 minutes, still just under the commercial break line.
The next argument follows that I could only truly understand the lack of relationship after being in one. Okay, well that changes percentages drastically. Now we're talking about 23/38, which is a whopping 60.5%! That's a 36 minute timeslot!
I understand that this entire post is more than a little tedious, but the point I've been trying to make is that time is a flexible construct, depending on how we look at it. And, as time is our usual benchmark for life events, it only makes sense to explore our feelings as they change and develop through time.
And average world live expectancy is 70 years.
The thing is, my longings, my desires to have someone to hold or whatever, they're chemical. They're a part of me in order to propagate the survival of our species. So unless God has a plan for me to have a companion, I might just be better off living in a cave.
But love is more than a little bit insidious. It's wonderful, and addictive, and once you've had it you'll never ever feel it unnecessary. It's the sweetest poison around, and detoxing is as painful as it gets.
The experiences I've been through and my reasonings here have led me to believe firmly that it is not better to love and have lost than never to have loved at all.
FML
Really, my loneliness can be boiled down to one thing alone--my perceptions of time.
I'm twenty years old. Twenty years and a few months ago, I didn't even exist. I entered into my first relationship when I was seventeen. It lasted for three months.
17.5*12=210
3/210=1.43%
That first relationship comprised about one and a half percent of my entire life, and that's not even counting the time that passed afterwards.
My second relationship started shortly before my eighteenth birthday, and lasted until the summer before my twentieth (about 20 months).
19.5*12=234
20/234=8.55%
Now, 8.55 percent is a considerably larger chunk than 1.43, but 8.55 percent of my life is like 5 minutes of an hour. My first relationship was less than a minute.
1h=60min
60*0.0855=5.128
60*0.0143=0.858
Taking all months of relationship into question puts us at 23/234 or 9.83% (5.9 minutes). Taking all months of relationship into my entire life puts me at 23/243 or 9.47% (5.68 minutes). That's less time than there are commercials in an hour long TV show.
It doesn't take a rocket scientist to deduce that the majority of my life has been spent "alone" (quotes signify that I've never been literally alone but you get my point).
Looking at the numbers, I'd say the sense of loneliness or longing that I'm exhibiting is quite ludicrous and presumptuous. Of course, different definitions of time could yield different results. If we count only the years that I was interested in girls (excluding some of my childhood, of course) the minutes to the hour ratios are quite different. The first relationship comes in at 2% (1.2 min) and the second at 11.49% (6.9 min). Taking them together runs 12.568% or 7.54 minutes, still just under the commercial break line.
The next argument follows that I could only truly understand the lack of relationship after being in one. Okay, well that changes percentages drastically. Now we're talking about 23/38, which is a whopping 60.5%! That's a 36 minute timeslot!
I understand that this entire post is more than a little tedious, but the point I've been trying to make is that time is a flexible construct, depending on how we look at it. And, as time is our usual benchmark for life events, it only makes sense to explore our feelings as they change and develop through time.
And average world live expectancy is 70 years.
The thing is, my longings, my desires to have someone to hold or whatever, they're chemical. They're a part of me in order to propagate the survival of our species. So unless God has a plan for me to have a companion, I might just be better off living in a cave.
But love is more than a little bit insidious. It's wonderful, and addictive, and once you've had it you'll never ever feel it unnecessary. It's the sweetest poison around, and detoxing is as painful as it gets.
The experiences I've been through and my reasonings here have led me to believe firmly that it is not better to love and have lost than never to have loved at all.
FML
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