One of the most romantic songs I've heard in a long time. Perfect for use in a movie. But I found it first, so dibs. Back off, movie-making song-stealing whores.
By shadowing/all the darkened fields/of forgotten words/and civilian lives/through violence/through the changing guards/through the grinding away/and the furious marching/by gathering/the holy light/and weathering/a cast away life/and the rising fear--/The hollowness/of the flags and gods/that are raised in the air/in the wake of their raging-/Your skinny arms/hold a lantern up/on the brightest array/of the stars in their moorings/and summoning/the holy light/on their citadels/the blackening sky/the collapsing sun, the burning wall/that approaches our eyes-/you live again/in the shuddering light/of these images/this valediction:/you are running from a rising tide/you are castaways
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Viral 1
And now for a rundown of a few of my favorite videos of the past month or so:
Mos Def shows his supernatural side with a blistering, unparalleled freestyle:
Who is the true leader: the child, or Mommy asking how big Will is?
Good song, great graphics:
If you haven't seen all of the Auto-Tune the News segments, you're missing out:
The worst song to ever play on television:
This video won't embed, but it's worth a view anyway:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UJKythlXAIY
Mos Def shows his supernatural side with a blistering, unparalleled freestyle:
Who is the true leader: the child, or Mommy asking how big Will is?
Good song, great graphics:
If you haven't seen all of the Auto-Tune the News segments, you're missing out:
The worst song to ever play on television:
This video won't embed, but it's worth a view anyway:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UJKythlXAIY
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Potential for Change
The funny thing is, I like rollercoasters.
Potential for change is often more scary than the change itself. The sheer possibility of what could happen or not happen is enormous. Anything could happen. There is no way to know whether you are in over your head or if it's just another little bump in the road. It's a free-fall. It's terrifying. Often, it's life changing.
I'm prepared for the worst for tomorrow. I do not like preparing for the worst. I'm selfishly tired of it. And I'm not even the one in the hot seat. Not the hot hot seat, anyway. My seat is pretty warm.
I know that I'm going to have to deal with the fallout again. It's so exhausting.
Last time I was in this situation, I read Camus' "The Stranger." I knew that I would associate it with the new location, situation, and feelings. And I do.
What should I read tomorrow?
Situations that require a lot of emotional stability inevitably reveal weaknesses in yourself and others. It takes a lot of wherewithal to know when and when not to maintain composure.
Stoicism doesn't help anyone who needs someone to cry with. I have learned this the hard way.
In the end, change should be expected. It will find you, whether you are content or not; whether you are aware or not. To be prepared for the worst -- mentally, emotionally, and otherwise -- is just prep work... the slow, tired, heavy, dirty, annoying, frustrating, redundant tread of walking the long path is the actual journey. It's the process.
Keep your head up, your eyes open. Don't be surprised when the bottom drops out. There wasn't much of a bottom there to begin with.
I write this today knowing that tomorrow I probably won't feel much like writing.
Please pray for my family. And me. And especially Miles.
Potential for change is often more scary than the change itself. The sheer possibility of what could happen or not happen is enormous. Anything could happen. There is no way to know whether you are in over your head or if it's just another little bump in the road. It's a free-fall. It's terrifying. Often, it's life changing.
I'm prepared for the worst for tomorrow. I do not like preparing for the worst. I'm selfishly tired of it. And I'm not even the one in the hot seat. Not the hot hot seat, anyway. My seat is pretty warm.
I know that I'm going to have to deal with the fallout again. It's so exhausting.
Last time I was in this situation, I read Camus' "The Stranger." I knew that I would associate it with the new location, situation, and feelings. And I do.
What should I read tomorrow?
Situations that require a lot of emotional stability inevitably reveal weaknesses in yourself and others. It takes a lot of wherewithal to know when and when not to maintain composure.
Stoicism doesn't help anyone who needs someone to cry with. I have learned this the hard way.
In the end, change should be expected. It will find you, whether you are content or not; whether you are aware or not. To be prepared for the worst -- mentally, emotionally, and otherwise -- is just prep work... the slow, tired, heavy, dirty, annoying, frustrating, redundant tread of walking the long path is the actual journey. It's the process.
Keep your head up, your eyes open. Don't be surprised when the bottom drops out. There wasn't much of a bottom there to begin with.
I write this today knowing that tomorrow I probably won't feel much like writing.
Please pray for my family. And me. And especially Miles.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
I'll be 25 years old soon.
I feel sad because I am closing in on 25 years old, so nothing that I do, no matter how good, can be special. Not REALLY special.
In college, if you could string two words together to describe the emotional turmoil that sprang from your fecund loins of academia, then it was something special. Something to be shared. A commonality between you and the fifteen other budding souls that were quickly becoming the best thing that has ever happened to you, ever, I totally swear.
But i am out of college now.
I can no longer be a child prodigy.
I can no longer surprise you with hidden talents; I've had enough time to develop synthetic ones.
It's creepy to have a crush on someone now. It's marrying time.
I hate it.
I feel like walking around repeating "I could-a been a contendah." And I don't know where my hope for a better life has disappeared to...
I'm pretty sure that I feel that life after a vibrant community (in this case, college) is about as close to that moment immediately preceding death as you can get. The light at the end of the tunnel is the receding one through which I can see what I used to be. In college. How pathetic. Have I really peaked so soon?
In many ways I feel that in college I attained every dream that had crossed through my adolescent brain at some point or another... and now all that is left is to try and recreate that same experience in "real life." And that is really depressing to me.
I need to be surprised again. I need to take stupid risks with no idea as to why I'm taking them. I need to find my worth again. I need to be open to new dreams. I need to be able to abandon the mediocre now for a better one. How's that for being Zen?
Not that I really have that much of a choice. My life is going to change completely in the next year. I have no idea what that means yet. After the year's completed, I'm hopefully going to re-read this posting and laugh at how wasteful all the worry was, that if I only knew how much better the future was going to be than I wouldn't be concerned at all, only very excited. But there's no way of knowing. Next year I might be dead. That'd be a pretty big life change.
Of course, the idea that I might be dead within a year is quite motivating. Theoretically that means that I can take all the risks that I want, without thought as to the repercussions. But I've already learned that it doesn't quite work that way. Especially with women. A woman doesn't seem to be flattered when they become your "if I die tomorrow, I don't want to have never told you how much I love the idea of possibly being with you" girl. It tends to work against the "I'm a valid long-term partner" vibe. Because, remember, crushes are now creepy. It's marrying time. I'm so very much out of my depth.
I feel sad because I'm closing in on 25 years old, and I can no longer become more successful than someone else my age has already been. My angle of "he's successful and he doesn't even try" is no longer valid. If it were the case, I would have been successful.
But as it is, I'm closing in on 25 years old and have nothing to show for it.
I knew I should have taken that right turn at Albuquerque.
In college, if you could string two words together to describe the emotional turmoil that sprang from your fecund loins of academia, then it was something special. Something to be shared. A commonality between you and the fifteen other budding souls that were quickly becoming the best thing that has ever happened to you, ever, I totally swear.
But i am out of college now.
I can no longer be a child prodigy.
I can no longer surprise you with hidden talents; I've had enough time to develop synthetic ones.
It's creepy to have a crush on someone now. It's marrying time.
I hate it.
I feel like walking around repeating "I could-a been a contendah." And I don't know where my hope for a better life has disappeared to...
I'm pretty sure that I feel that life after a vibrant community (in this case, college) is about as close to that moment immediately preceding death as you can get. The light at the end of the tunnel is the receding one through which I can see what I used to be. In college. How pathetic. Have I really peaked so soon?
In many ways I feel that in college I attained every dream that had crossed through my adolescent brain at some point or another... and now all that is left is to try and recreate that same experience in "real life." And that is really depressing to me.
I need to be surprised again. I need to take stupid risks with no idea as to why I'm taking them. I need to find my worth again. I need to be open to new dreams. I need to be able to abandon the mediocre now for a better one. How's that for being Zen?
Not that I really have that much of a choice. My life is going to change completely in the next year. I have no idea what that means yet. After the year's completed, I'm hopefully going to re-read this posting and laugh at how wasteful all the worry was, that if I only knew how much better the future was going to be than I wouldn't be concerned at all, only very excited. But there's no way of knowing. Next year I might be dead. That'd be a pretty big life change.
Of course, the idea that I might be dead within a year is quite motivating. Theoretically that means that I can take all the risks that I want, without thought as to the repercussions. But I've already learned that it doesn't quite work that way. Especially with women. A woman doesn't seem to be flattered when they become your "if I die tomorrow, I don't want to have never told you how much I love the idea of possibly being with you" girl. It tends to work against the "I'm a valid long-term partner" vibe. Because, remember, crushes are now creepy. It's marrying time. I'm so very much out of my depth.
I feel sad because I'm closing in on 25 years old, and I can no longer become more successful than someone else my age has already been. My angle of "he's successful and he doesn't even try" is no longer valid. If it were the case, I would have been successful.
But as it is, I'm closing in on 25 years old and have nothing to show for it.
I knew I should have taken that right turn at Albuquerque.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Wordie
I think that perhaps one reason that a web log exists is to get a sort of insight into the mind of that particular blogger. Well, perhaps that exact reason is a bit too creepy for the average person, but whether you like it or not, that is at least one of the side affects of reading blogs. Get over it. You're a stalker. And that's ok.
Perhaps that is a reason that I don't really blog on this blog as much as keep a gallery of the silly little nothings that I fritter away on and then do nothing with. Makes me feel better about not pursuing writing as a career, which I have oft thought of but know I couldn't hack. No discipline, after all.
Perhaps I don't want the reader to get bored in reading my mundane observations on a life much less interesting than his is. Or hers. Whatevs.
I'd much rather you think I was simply a creative entity that thinks in pithy little one-liners and poems and youtube-esque galleries.
But I think that every now and again I will force myself to just write... maybe in an abundance of words you can see real parts of me despite my efforts to conceal them. Like when you run past a fence and can see through it, even though as you stood still in front of it a moment ago it afforded just a stop-gap glimpse into the yard inside. Like a movie, the sequential placement of similar images to convey the movement of an object in a believable way. I'll run you a wordie. See me waving?
Perhaps that is a reason that I don't really blog on this blog as much as keep a gallery of the silly little nothings that I fritter away on and then do nothing with. Makes me feel better about not pursuing writing as a career, which I have oft thought of but know I couldn't hack. No discipline, after all.
Perhaps I don't want the reader to get bored in reading my mundane observations on a life much less interesting than his is. Or hers. Whatevs.
I'd much rather you think I was simply a creative entity that thinks in pithy little one-liners and poems and youtube-esque galleries.
But I think that every now and again I will force myself to just write... maybe in an abundance of words you can see real parts of me despite my efforts to conceal them. Like when you run past a fence and can see through it, even though as you stood still in front of it a moment ago it afforded just a stop-gap glimpse into the yard inside. Like a movie, the sequential placement of similar images to convey the movement of an object in a believable way. I'll run you a wordie. See me waving?
finish me out
lost soul
i think we met before
while we were old
just in passing
watching a sun set
we didnt' speak
but old eyes never
need words to love
finish me out
lost soul
i love you
the way a child
loves a playground
in the distance
as a reader
loves a blank sheet
in an author's hand
like a farmer
loves a steady rain
on his fields
finish me out
lost soul
in your tears
i see the reason
for art
i think we met before
while we were old
just in passing
watching a sun set
we didnt' speak
but old eyes never
need words to love
finish me out
lost soul
i love you
the way a child
loves a playground
in the distance
as a reader
loves a blank sheet
in an author's hand
like a farmer
loves a steady rain
on his fields
finish me out
lost soul
in your tears
i see the reason
for art
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