In the morning,
when the sun shows its head and the dew glows like gold,
I will love you,
In the daylight,
whether I am there or not, with body and mind
I will love you,
By the darkness,
where ghouls and demons run amok,
wherever my mind can carry me,
I will love you,
When you turn away,
when all hope is lost and twilight lingers,
I will find you,
I will love you,
When you are here,
when my hands caress yours and we smile and laugh,
I will love you,
When you murder,
and the world looks upon you as a monster,
I will love you,
When you resurrect a man,
and the world calls you savior,
I will love you, just the same,
When you do not love me,
I will know that you lie, but you are free,
and I will love you,
When you do not love yourself,
you must let my love for you pour into you,
for the more love given, the more there is to give,
and no matter what trials I must endure,
I will love you,
When you think I am angry,
remember my passion burns brighter still,
come to me, and I will love you,
When we disagree,
I will see that right and wrong are irrelevant next to love,
I will find the truth with you,
and if it be a matter of opinion, I will respect and love yours,
because I love you,
And when you love me,
my world is filled with joy and comfort,
hope and excitement linger on my breath,
and, as always,
I will love you,
I will love you.
-written October 23rd, 2008, in a facebook message.
I was out of Context.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Monday, February 21, 2011
NEDAwareness week
This is National Eating Disorder Awareness week. Eating disorders are truly terrible and terrifying, are among the more complex both to understand and to treat in terms of psychological disorders, and are found in places you might not expect. Beyond being about food and its consequences, or even body image, they shape and all too frequently define people's actions, thoughts, social interactions, relationships... lives of otherwise good and happy people are consumed from the inside.
To everyone, please- take a look at this website-
http://www.nationaleatingdisorders.org/programs-events/nedawareness-week.php
Liberation from dysfunction is a journey of discovery, and understanding yourself, and your self worth, is a constant and lifelong experience. To those suffering, please know that there are people who love you and believe in you, that help is never far, and that you are worth a great deal to those who care about you. Starting the journey is your choice, but once you are on it you never have to walk it truly alone.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Pain cannot be thought but it obliges us to think
"
What experience was worst for you?
What is the deepest loss that you have suffered?
If drinking is bitter, change yourself to wine.
In this immeasurable darkness, be the power
that rounds your senses in their magic ring,
the sense of their magic encounter.
And if the earthly no longer knows your name,
whisper to the silent earth: I'm flowing.
To the flashing water say: I am.
"
-Rilke, Sonnet to Orpheus
What experience was worst for you?
What is the deepest loss that you have suffered?
If drinking is bitter, change yourself to wine.
In this immeasurable darkness, be the power
that rounds your senses in their magic ring,
the sense of their magic encounter.
And if the earthly no longer knows your name,
whisper to the silent earth: I'm flowing.
To the flashing water say: I am.
"
-Rilke, Sonnet to Orpheus
Thursday, January 27, 2011
2 poems
These are drafts. I aim to improve.
-The Experiment-
I am a murderer
Once, I tried this experiment:
There had been a birthday party down the street,
there had been balloons, I had taken one,
I set the balloon in the ground with a stake
so that it floated maybe 3, 4 feet off the ground,
I chose the location carefully, the stake
lay in the center of a large ant colony.
I went inside and came back with a half gallon of juice
which I poured gently over the balloon,
down the line, and onto the ground.
Then, I waited.
It did not take long.
Ants, in droves, climbed the sweet line,
covered the small balloon.
I almost thought my plan would be ruined
there were so many, but I held out,
and when I thought no more would fit,
I dashed out and cut the line.
Later, when I told my father,
he did not jump for joy as I had,
but he was not angry.
He warned me, told me that without their queen
those worker ants would likely die.
Then he said something curious:
that people behave in much the same way,
that what truly makes life good, once you find it,
is not away on a balloon.
I heard, but I was young.
Father, we may start in one nest
but we live long and hard,
if we are carried far from ourselves, we learn.
What I understand now is
we have all taken such a balloon ride,
and though we always walk towards home
the winds will carry us onward,
'til we find it.
It is then I will remember,
then I will understand.
I am a murderer
- There is a Hole Inside Me -
-The Experiment-
I am a murderer
Once, I tried this experiment:
There had been a birthday party down the street,
there had been balloons, I had taken one,
I set the balloon in the ground with a stake
so that it floated maybe 3, 4 feet off the ground,
I chose the location carefully, the stake
lay in the center of a large ant colony.
I went inside and came back with a half gallon of juice
which I poured gently over the balloon,
down the line, and onto the ground.
Then, I waited.
It did not take long.
Ants, in droves, climbed the sweet line,
covered the small balloon.
I almost thought my plan would be ruined
there were so many, but I held out,
and when I thought no more would fit,
I dashed out and cut the line.
Later, when I told my father,
he did not jump for joy as I had,
but he was not angry.
He warned me, told me that without their queen
those worker ants would likely die.
Then he said something curious:
that people behave in much the same way,
that what truly makes life good, once you find it,
is not away on a balloon.
I heard, but I was young.
Father, we may start in one nest
but we live long and hard,
if we are carried far from ourselves, we learn.
What I understand now is
we have all taken such a balloon ride,
and though we always walk towards home
the winds will carry us onward,
'til we find it.
It is then I will remember,
then I will understand.
I am a murderer
- There is a Hole Inside Me -
if you could cut a line through me
as a knife circumscribes an orange,
split me, to peer into my depths,
lay out my halves to pry off the
skin and hungrily devour,
you would see the hole.
sticky with the juice and so
lost,
there is no somatic syntax for this,
hands run down through veins,
organs, memories, fire,
there is so much fire
in my life,
in my body,
in my heart,
snaking around which, the thorns
and brambles of my defenses,
your fingers have always known
the way through
the taste still on your lips
lingering, peering,
this is where you shall find it.
for love begins in loneliness, if fills
the very same.
for love knows the loneliness it meets,
it follows a familiar shape.
Look deep enough through your own skin,
and you know.
as a knife circumscribes an orange,
split me, to peer into my depths,
lay out my halves to pry off the
skin and hungrily devour,
you would see the hole.
sticky with the juice and so
lost,
there is no somatic syntax for this,
hands run down through veins,
organs, memories, fire,
there is so much fire
in my life,
in my body,
in my heart,
snaking around which, the thorns
and brambles of my defenses,
your fingers have always known
the way through
the taste still on your lips
lingering, peering,
this is where you shall find it.
for love begins in loneliness, if fills
the very same.
for love knows the loneliness it meets,
it follows a familiar shape.
Look deep enough through your own skin,
and you know.
Monday, March 1, 2010
I don't have room in my head for all the mess I have made, I don't have room in my body for all the feeling.
The ancient Chinese believed that ghosts could only travel in straight lines. They built large gates, spirit gates, with one large opening, and then a large wall, with U shaped halls on either side to let people through. They believed that if the ghosts tried to come through, they would be unable to turn the corner and thus unable to enter.
I wonder though, what they did about the ghosts that came from within the walls.
The ancient Chinese believed that ghosts could only travel in straight lines. They built large gates, spirit gates, with one large opening, and then a large wall, with U shaped halls on either side to let people through. They believed that if the ghosts tried to come through, they would be unable to turn the corner and thus unable to enter.
I wonder though, what they did about the ghosts that came from within the walls.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Choreographed Dance Music
I spilled Coca Cola on my expensive keyboard. It doesn't work any more. When I press down certain keys, every other key also presses down simultaneously. I miss it. It lit up in the dark, and also had a display which told me things but was never actually critically useful.
Just goes to show how technology all needs to be food proof- or simply made of food.
Recently my mother also managed to spill coffee on my old powerbook G4 laptop.
Being a laptop, it did not fare nearly as well as my expensive ex-keyboard. It simply fried and now can not even be eaten. I have since disassembled it, which was both enjoyable and educational.
In a dream I invented a food computer. The computer box was a hollowed out coconut, and the interior was pomegranate and lime. The mouse was a pear and the desk was an extremely large watermelon, sliced in half and set on its tip so that the top was flat. The monitor was thinly sliced grapes placed in a lattice made of the vines, and it actually displayed images just like a real monitor. If only I could paint.
At a party last Friday my friend Andrew bestowed upon me a 70 something year old banjo with a real abalone fretboard. The head is most likely the original and is peeling and browned like an old manuscript left in the sun, and the neck has had repair at some point, but it looks to be in somewhat decent shape, otherwise. I am going to re-head it, string it, and then most likely play it.
Speaking of music, everyone who likes a bit of folk should listen to The Tallest Man on Earth. He isn't very famous, but he probably should be and he needs your support, and also his music is fantastic.
Also this past weekend, my girlfriend came home and we had a delightful free concert during our visit to the Wadsworth Atheneum in Hartford, CT. We only paid standard admission, but the musicians who were to be giving a chamber music performance later in the day were warming up and practicing while we viewed an exhibit called the Allure of Lace. Slaughter Pens drooled (although I think she is quite lovely when drooling, 'raved' is probably a more accurate word) over the late 19th and early 20th century dresses, commented on how she would wear some, and not others, and I imagined her wearing some, and not others, and not wearing anything at all.
We sat on a window sill directly across from the practicing musicians, and in sight of a 3000 year old statue of Bastet.
I adore museums.
Just goes to show how technology all needs to be food proof- or simply made of food.
Recently my mother also managed to spill coffee on my old powerbook G4 laptop.
Being a laptop, it did not fare nearly as well as my expensive ex-keyboard. It simply fried and now can not even be eaten. I have since disassembled it, which was both enjoyable and educational.
In a dream I invented a food computer. The computer box was a hollowed out coconut, and the interior was pomegranate and lime. The mouse was a pear and the desk was an extremely large watermelon, sliced in half and set on its tip so that the top was flat. The monitor was thinly sliced grapes placed in a lattice made of the vines, and it actually displayed images just like a real monitor. If only I could paint.
At a party last Friday my friend Andrew bestowed upon me a 70 something year old banjo with a real abalone fretboard. The head is most likely the original and is peeling and browned like an old manuscript left in the sun, and the neck has had repair at some point, but it looks to be in somewhat decent shape, otherwise. I am going to re-head it, string it, and then most likely play it.
Speaking of music, everyone who likes a bit of folk should listen to The Tallest Man on Earth. He isn't very famous, but he probably should be and he needs your support, and also his music is fantastic.
Also this past weekend, my girlfriend came home and we had a delightful free concert during our visit to the Wadsworth Atheneum in Hartford, CT. We only paid standard admission, but the musicians who were to be giving a chamber music performance later in the day were warming up and practicing while we viewed an exhibit called the Allure of Lace. Slaughter Pens drooled (although I think she is quite lovely when drooling, 'raved' is probably a more accurate word) over the late 19th and early 20th century dresses, commented on how she would wear some, and not others, and I imagined her wearing some, and not others, and not wearing anything at all.
We sat on a window sill directly across from the practicing musicians, and in sight of a 3000 year old statue of Bastet.
I adore museums.
Friday, February 19, 2010
Cox Internet
So, my apartment complex was built some time in the mid to late 1980's (I'm pretty sure). The rise of the internet sparked a retrofitting craze, where hubs and signal amplifiers were built into these old complexes to make normal people capable of high-powered internet speeds.
I pay for the "Premium" internet around here, marketed as being 30 mbps download, up to 10 mbps upload. Due to something being wrong here, I average between 1 and 10 mbps. Cox, my service provider, has been trying to fix this problem for about 3 weeks now, though it has been going on for probably much longer than that. I have had four technicians out here, including one who told me to clear out my "cookies and temporary internet files," even though it was plain as day that my computer has no problems with some temporary internet files. Then he broke my thermostat.
This prompted a call to my local landlady, who, after hearing the story, was UP IN ARMS about this guy, wanted his name, his station, his home address... She was on a warpath and Cox was the destination.
To give you an idea of why this is so funny, my land lady is about 5'1" with crazy curly hair and encyclopedia glasses. She tells me stories about her friends who died in motorcycle accidents, probably with the hope that I will some day put my bike away, or at least ride with a bit more sanity. Never fear, Candy (Yes, that's her real name). A saner rider you will rarely find than I. She was also extraordinarily snobbish towards us until we moved in, but after she realized we were neither poor nor delinquent we found her to be quite nice, and very capable of ripping Cox employees' balls off- a welcome twist.
It is almost March, the month wherein my motorcycle returns to its regular road rampages, snow melts and spring dreams of cascading flowers on rolling hills, ad nauseum. I enjoy March for its productivity and proclivity to warmer temperatures, and yet my girlfriend is still an hour away in college.
My girlfriend's blog is much more eloquent than mine. It also includes more naked pictures, historical facts, portents of a greater good/evil, and other such ephemera. She is here.
My apartment has been rearranged quite extensively in the past two days, mostly due to Slaughter Pens' imminent visit, but also due to my rather large dislike of the previous layout. Beds were moved, couches were moved, bookcases were moved, desks were moved, tv stands were moved, speakers were moved, the hippopotamus shaped mass of guitars was moved and organized. Somehow out of all this one-man-made chaos came order, and I now have a functional living room, clean and organized bedroom, and even a dedicated music space here next to my computer, where guitars are actually set up ready to play on stands, amplifiers are plugged in and humming in anticipatory glee, and a large firewire enabled mixing board interfaces with my computer. The hope is that I will eventually record music here, for better or worse, to the tempo of a nigh-humdrum folk-singing college almost-bound 20 something.
I'm seeking peace, though I'm afraid that everywhere I've looked for it, all I have found is anger.
Anger is a usable energy source, it is forgiving and malleable and easily extends to new targets or forgets old ones. Anger is not a blind rage or a senseless feeling of hatred, and it does not burn the soul or degrade the person, but it can lead to these things. Anger can also raise mountains and raze cities of inadequacy and weakness and all sorts of other things that begin with the letter R. I am never expecting to have to replace my anger (at life, at society, at people), but I always expect some day that it will lead me to a better place. Rather, that I will lead myself in anger out of darkness.
Perhaps by writing, or singing. Perhaps by mathematics or luthiery. Perhaps just by lending myself to another, or others, or some thing found wanting or in need.
Peace can be made in our own microcosms, happiness can be earned, and we are all one step in every direction at any time.
It's okay to be confused.
I pay for the "Premium" internet around here, marketed as being 30 mbps download, up to 10 mbps upload. Due to something being wrong here, I average between 1 and 10 mbps. Cox, my service provider, has been trying to fix this problem for about 3 weeks now, though it has been going on for probably much longer than that. I have had four technicians out here, including one who told me to clear out my "cookies and temporary internet files," even though it was plain as day that my computer has no problems with some temporary internet files. Then he broke my thermostat.
This prompted a call to my local landlady, who, after hearing the story, was UP IN ARMS about this guy, wanted his name, his station, his home address... She was on a warpath and Cox was the destination.
To give you an idea of why this is so funny, my land lady is about 5'1" with crazy curly hair and encyclopedia glasses. She tells me stories about her friends who died in motorcycle accidents, probably with the hope that I will some day put my bike away, or at least ride with a bit more sanity. Never fear, Candy (Yes, that's her real name). A saner rider you will rarely find than I. She was also extraordinarily snobbish towards us until we moved in, but after she realized we were neither poor nor delinquent we found her to be quite nice, and very capable of ripping Cox employees' balls off- a welcome twist.
It is almost March, the month wherein my motorcycle returns to its regular road rampages, snow melts and spring dreams of cascading flowers on rolling hills, ad nauseum. I enjoy March for its productivity and proclivity to warmer temperatures, and yet my girlfriend is still an hour away in college.
My girlfriend's blog is much more eloquent than mine. It also includes more naked pictures, historical facts, portents of a greater good/evil, and other such ephemera. She is here.
My apartment has been rearranged quite extensively in the past two days, mostly due to Slaughter Pens' imminent visit, but also due to my rather large dislike of the previous layout. Beds were moved, couches were moved, bookcases were moved, desks were moved, tv stands were moved, speakers were moved, the hippopotamus shaped mass of guitars was moved and organized. Somehow out of all this one-man-made chaos came order, and I now have a functional living room, clean and organized bedroom, and even a dedicated music space here next to my computer, where guitars are actually set up ready to play on stands, amplifiers are plugged in and humming in anticipatory glee, and a large firewire enabled mixing board interfaces with my computer. The hope is that I will eventually record music here, for better or worse, to the tempo of a nigh-humdrum folk-singing college almost-bound 20 something.
I'm seeking peace, though I'm afraid that everywhere I've looked for it, all I have found is anger.
Anger is a usable energy source, it is forgiving and malleable and easily extends to new targets or forgets old ones. Anger is not a blind rage or a senseless feeling of hatred, and it does not burn the soul or degrade the person, but it can lead to these things. Anger can also raise mountains and raze cities of inadequacy and weakness and all sorts of other things that begin with the letter R. I am never expecting to have to replace my anger (at life, at society, at people), but I always expect some day that it will lead me to a better place. Rather, that I will lead myself in anger out of darkness.
Perhaps by writing, or singing. Perhaps by mathematics or luthiery. Perhaps just by lending myself to another, or others, or some thing found wanting or in need.
Peace can be made in our own microcosms, happiness can be earned, and we are all one step in every direction at any time.
It's okay to be confused.
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