the rose man

What could you take from a man who gives nothing?

In hate and in selfish pride you withhold ransom denying those without the fat which they deserve. When Truth she asks, "Ain't I A Woman?" and you pass her by knowing that it's not her just deserve -- you speak without thinking, but what's worse, you think without speaking.
Your selfish, bleeding heart turns you into not just a swine -- an entire hoard. Constantly you slide by them, each time sending a chill up your spine. That's the fingers of sympathy, of compassion and kindness running and grasping for your attention. But instead you treat it as a stray dog with which you cannot find it within yourself to emote not one, NO, not even one ounce of pity despite your knowledge, your experience, your own personal self-worth.
Even if on the rare occasion you actually do notice the man in the wheelchair sitting outside the cafe selling long-stem roses of various colors, does it really cause you to become imbued? Or rather is it simply just scratching for a moment at a scab that can never quite seem to heal?


*Inspired by the documentary "Great Speeches From A Dying World"

google ten for grandpa

pretty pumped right now. like i said, after reading THE CATCHER IN THE RYE i've been wanting to write more. well i started yesterday (see post), and today, to my surprise, the writing has actually continued.

i usually get pretty discouraged when i write stories because generally i imagine one scene, get it on paper, and then that's it. the process stops. but this time i'm approaching it from a new angle. one similar to salinger in fact, including a bit of the autobiographical nature of some of his writings. i'm going to steer my focus away from plot and, instead, focus on the main character's mental state (man vs self). that's not to say things still won't happen -- because they will. but the main point of the story won't be the actual events; rather, how the character interprets them, how he interprets everyday life. and, yes, this has been partly shown in my previous writing, but getting it out there, saying it, or whatever helps me get in the correct mindset sometimes.

so here goes nothing.
let's hope it becomes a something.

“this is a people shooting hat,” i said. “i shoot people in this hat.”

today i finished THE CATCHER IN THE RYE, one of my all time favorite books. i've probably read this book nearly 15 times now. i never get tired of it. what's really amazing about it, and the reason why everyone likes this book anyway, is that Holden is such a relatable character. as i've gotten older i've noticed how different parts of the story appeal to me more than others, how those things shift in my head, how they are tossed and turned, and how they are always weighed differently. i think the same thing applies to the story INTO THE WILD. they both make you want to live in seclusion, blocking out the vanities of society and the poor wretchs' lives that get controled by some delusion or another. and just like Holden i've been on my toes for years trying to avoid becoming a phony --mostly this involves avoiding becoming the people in the churches i grew up in. i've always seen through them, those people of glass, those people Eliot called HOLLOW MEN. even as a child i saw through them. but now what's different is that i'm learning to distance myself without avoiding actuality like i've tried to do in the past. it's an impossible hoax anyway.

the novel is by far one of the most insightful books ever written.

Salinger always makes me want to start writing more too. fiction that is. i've been very happy this year as far as my motivation to write goes; although, it mostly has applied strictly to lyrics and poetry. if it weren't for finals at the end of this week (thank god the semester is finally ending), i would probably skip everyday, locking myself up in this old time restaurant that i frequent every week called Old College Inn and write. just write. nothing else.

god that sounds wonderful.

"Don't ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody."

our hell

sometimes you read things that affect you more than you would think one sentence could.

"Everyone that knew me before 9/11 thinks I'm dead."

This sentence is on the latest post secret video and it's really fucking with my head right now. Back and forth, back and forth. Social suicide. Right or wrong. Maybe it's just a personal choice to justify this kind of thing, but, God, some days wouldn't it just be nice to be able to wake up somewhere and . . .

why don't you finish that sentence.

you used to ride the chrome horse

The door opened to my deck and I stepped through. The wooden deck beneath my feet was damp, but not like the usual sticky and hot; instead it was cool against my skin. The air was cool as well, heavy with the smell of wheat and corn, but refreshing all the same. The door to my car was unlocked, as usual, the cigarettes were in the console, as usual, and I needed a smoke -- as usual. I sat on the second metallic step from the bottom, next to Grumpy, my black and white spotted cat. Camels. Fresh air. Thank God for cigarettes. When it was out, I stumped it, placed it in the empty carton, and put them in the green trashcan, not the blue one. From there I was awake and needed something to do. I went upstairs to pick up my guitar and continue to go through my new Dylan songbook. But a certain metal box with a certain green herb in it was calling my name. Perpetually. I had to. No other way around it. So I did. And now I'm sitting here in my orange chair listening to Bob instead of playing him, or at least his music. And maybe right now someone thinks I'm not myself, but maybe they just don't really know me.

-----
happy birthday dad.
(we went and saw iron man, again)
-----
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gonzo is amazing.
hst is amazing.
i know why you cried.
-----

not a digression

I'm tired of suicide.
This is a total of 4 in one year.
Give me a break.
And fucking quit praying already.
No one is there.

beating hearts blossom into walking bombs

as long as i can remember i've always had friends, usually closer friends, that are older than me and considerably so, not just by a few months. many of them have commented on how "old" i act. recently a friend said, "sometimes i forget that you are only 20" or something to that affect at least. anyway, this got me to thinking...what is going to happen when i'm older, as in 60 or so? how will i feel then? most of my life i've been acting older, generally due to the company that i keep. in high school i did everything i could to get past my teen years. i really didn't like them -- the amount of respect you get, etc. as a teen, socially, you only fit in with your peers -- too old to be with kids, but not yet mature enough to be with adults either. most of the time i thought many of my peers were stupid and i didn't want to be associated with them.

so now i feel like i'm living my life with growing older as a prominent goal, when really i shouldn't care so much about my future. i'm going to die, i know that. i'm not scared of it, and, quite frankly, i don't care when it happens. so why don't i live NOW, focus on the present, and figure out something WORTHY of doing?

zodiac

it's kinda weird when someone can read paragraph upon paragraph of some book that describes you nearly perfectly. it makes sure to hit all of the negative points too,
because what fun would it be otherwise?
then it started lying and the paranoia subsided.
and in case you missed the last post (and are too lazy to scroll down) ... radiohead. it's on.

like breathing air after having your head held under water until you almost collapse

"They knew they were being lied to, but if lies were consistent enough they defined themselves as a credible alternative to the truth. Emotion ruled almost everything, and lies were driven by emotions that were familiar and supportive, while the truth came with hard edges that cut and bruised. They preferred lies and mood music..."

J G Ballard
Kingdom Come

the fine art of falling apart

yesterday i worked from 8am - 12:30am.
that's 15.5hrs.
i overslept and completely missed my sociology class this morning.
and i didn't get my homework finished either,
not that i'm really complaining about that part.

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sometimes i have fantasies in which i'm involved in a car crash.
they vary;
sometimes they are fatal, while other times they severely injure me.
and it's not suicidal type thoughts.
not at all.
in a way i think they are beautiful.
i want to feel the rush i attempt to associate with them.
i want to know what it feels like to experience that kind of pain.
or its absence.
there are so many things in life i have never experienced,
levels of emotion never encountered.

i wish i felt more alive.

shanghi meets west coast

my boss told me this today:

there is something remarkable about you. you don't get worked up about anything. it's like nothing really matters. i just messed up a job you've been working for a couple of hours and you didn't say anything. just started it over.

my response:

is there really anything worth caring about?

i am an asshole

It's funny how things get misconstrued. How things aren't funny when they are about you. How a simple mistake, not looking before leaping, can lead to a downfall in anything, especially a relationship of any kind. It's funny how I tend to hurt those I've grown to love. Even in innocence. It's funny how regret and guilt can coil around a person like an anaconda, squeasing every last breathe from their body. I wish it would.

I believe I owe you an apology.

I sincerely hope you forgive me.

good night princes of maine, kings of new england

i just found out that i am a reason for a possible soon-to-be divorce. the husband thinks that something is going on between his wife and me. he is wrong. he has been told so. now he realizes that we "share a connection" that he is lacking with her. they are utterly unhappy, but are sticking it out for the kids. she told me she kind of wants to have an affair in spite of him. politely i told her no with the whole "don't bring yourself down to his level / make him right" speech.

and i just watched cider house rules again.

and i took the entire day off to study for finals tomorrow.

(i didn't study)

have you ever heard a death rattle before?

I got in a very strange mood this afternoon when I got home from work. Haven't felt that way in quite awhile. I was hit with a wave of anxiety and depression. My world flipped upside down. All I could think about was drinking. I wanted to drink until I couldn't move. Until I would fall asleep. I wanted to get higher than I've ever felt. Remember when I chunked those pills HKD? It was probably a good thing. I wanted to fix a lot of things. Felt like saying things I shouldn't. Made dozens of phone calls to people I haven't talked to in a long time. Some of them in years. I didn't talk to anyone. I would hang up the phone. If they called back I would ignore it.

============

I've been thinking of moving again. For college this time though. Seriously thinking about Virginia. I have family there and my cousin works at Radford College so I could get a discount to a very good school. Good writing program. Completely unlike the shit hole I am currently attending that has, unless I can figure something out, trapped me for an additional semester due to not scheduling enough classes. And only for 2 more classes -- physical science and world lit. II. I can't find a way to be able to take more than 13hrs.

The only thing I'm worried about is how it will affect me being able to travel.

===========

Someone cares.

idioteque

Maybe something is wrong with me.

Maybe not.

Some of you may remember Benoit, the French (actually Corsican) foreign exchange student my family "fell" into hosting. More specifically, how much the kid got on my nerves. Long story short, I was brother/dad while he was here. Maybe chaperon is a better word. You decide.

Anyway, a few days ago my dad mentioned that he had called, as he sometimes does. Today, whilst at work, I caught myself thinking about how I would like to go visit him. We had kinda poked around the idea while he was here, but I was never actually serious. Now I am. I'm kinda thinking "the island is beautiful, I'll get to see part of Europe, French girls, he'll be better in his home land, etc. to justify myself. Also, if such events occur, I would actually have to fly into London first. Thus, I would have to make a mandatory pit stop.

So tonight, after I got home from work at 8:00, end writing this post, study for my biology lab practical exam, study Spanish test, and finish writing two short stories I'm going to look for our Rosetta Stone stuff and start learning French. Well, maybe that will have to wait until tomorrow.

There have been a couple of signs pointing me in this direction lately too:

1) Fat girl in Spanish discovered that I sound French when I speak Spanish (very peculiar).

2) My fortune at the Chinese place said, "take any approaching opportunities to travel overseas because the opportunities may never resurface."

train go sorry

isn't it funny how your mood can change in nearly a blink of an eye, completely without warning? i don't even know what i'm thinking about, other than everything. it feels like everything is moving at warp speed and slow motion at the same time. i went driving to try and clear my head . . . didn't help any. so now i'm gonna go play guitar and fight my sleep until i finally kill over.

Tommy Sullivan

October 13, 1957

to

June 3, 2007

I hate that things ended the way they did.

You were a great friend.

You will be missed.

the accident

Westboro Baptist Church (WBC) is a controversial U.S. church headed by Fred Phelps and based in Topeka, Kansas. It runs the website GodHatesFags.com, and GodHatesAmerica.com, and other websites expressing condemnation of homosexuals, Roman Catholics, Muslims, Jews, Sweden, Canada, America, and other groups. The organization is monitored by the Anti-Defamation League, and classified as a hate group by the Southern Poverty Law Center. The group has achieved national notoriety in recent years due to its picketing of funeral processions for soldiers killed in combat, which functions as an extension of the Phelps' anti-United States beliefs.

While its members identify themselves as Baptists, the church is an independent Baptist church not affiliated with any known Baptist conventions or associations. The church describes itself as following Primitive Baptist and Calvinist principles.
The church bases its work around the belief expressed by its best known slogan and the address of its primary website, "God hates fags", and expresses the opinion, based on its Biblical eisegesis, that nearly every tragedy in the world is linked to homosexuality – specifically society's increasing tolerance and acceptance of gay, lesbian, and bisexual people. It maintains that God hates homosexuals above all other kinds of "sinners" and that homosexuality should be a capital crime.

Apparantly members of this "church" were suppose to be picketing at every funeral they could possibly attend from the VT shooting. They made a deal with some city officals though, that would be allowed 3 hours of radio air time instead.

This is also the same group of people that put on a HELL HOUSE every year at their church. When asked at the end if you believe in Jesus, if you say yes then you go to Heaven and everything is fine, but if you say no then you go to Hell. They beat people there with lumber, whips, etc. (legally -- you must sign a form before you enter) until they refute their answer.

What the fuck is wrong with these people?

dashing through the ... mush?

If the weather is a woman, then the snow we just got is a tease.

Yeah, it sucked that bad. Hardly any accumulation.
No work tomorrow would be awesome, but probably no such luck.

Let it snow. Let it snow. Let it snow.

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Today was my little brothers birthday. He turned 9. He would have been excited about the snow, but instead he got really sick -- 100 degree (+) fever and all of that crap.
When I was younger I always got sick on my birthday. There was 2 or 3 Christmases that I got really sick too.
I guess he caught my disease.

stuff

As you might have gathered, Brandon, Ben, Josh, and I went to the fantastic Pete Yorn show last Friday night. Like I said it was great. Towards the end of the show there were a few minor sound glitches, but who's noticing? Brandon got the best seat in the house though. He was sitting next to Barbara Streisand, who, in fact, is a transvestite. Yes, it was kind of scary. I tried to take her/him/its picture, but my camera phone refused. This is what it gave me:

Actually it's probably a good thing that it wouldn't . . . I don't know how long I could actually take looking at that picture.

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Erin is down for Thanksgiving this week so tonight we are going to go catch the Switchfoot concert at The Village. I'm not their biggest fan, by all means, but I thought catching a concert would be fun.

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Okay, I need your help. I'm trying to decide if I should buy a 35mm camera or everything I need to start recording music on my laptop. I'm going to end up with both, but which should I get first? They'll both end up costing me about the same. It all just depends on what I actually settle for.