Tuesday, August 30, 2005

Oh for the love of...

Must be something in the stars, but the Google image search for this post was less than fruitful. Summer cold! That was supposed to be the theme, and I even had a witty title for it. But no such luck. I did, however, find out that even with a moderate-safe search on Google, "Suzanne Sommers" yields nudity. Yeah, I was working the punny route, too, but couldn't get a good representation of "cold". M--f-- Google.

So yeah, it's the end of the summer and all I got was this lousy cold. Shivers, shakes, Nyquil, fever dreams... yep, all that. Feel pretty good right now, but it's just the symptoms that have been cured (gotta love the pills every once in awhile).

Course, guess I should count my blessings. I may be ill, but at least I'm currently a mile above sea level and nowhere near that bitch Katrina. High and dry... and alive.

Anyway, back to my self-pity... ah, never mind. Maybe I'll work on a less crappy post later on, but for now, this is what you get (when you mess with us).

Friday, August 26, 2005

Sleepy says it all

Sleepybomb of the wreckroom imparted some serious knowledge with today's post. I was thinking I'd have to copy and paste the post, but decided that if you haven't been to the wroom, it's time to go... his encyclopedic knowledge of music combined with his dry wit makes for an entertaining read... and he posts much more regularly than I.

Get ye to the Wroom!

Thursday, August 25, 2005

Drained by Anon E. Muss

painted into a corner,
poked and caged,
and like a beaten dog
I snapped.

My eyes were red
with frustration
and confusion,
and my heart was heavy,
lungs weakly, desperately, painfully
gasping for air.
Choked by tears,
engulfed in smoke,
though I know I said
I'd never do this again.

Guess I'll never say that

By the time I knew
the sources of your attacks
it was too late.

I had been beaten too long,
and it didn't strike me as real...
The reasons had altered too much,
too quickly;
turned on a dime
too many times.

Your anger snowballed
along with my lack
of understanding.
Your anger was justified
and had you focused and
fought with sincerity
and integrity
I would've had empathy;
had you yourself
before you went on the attack
I would've tried harder
to make it better,
but instead I fought back.

We're both too hurt
and have said too much
and have had too much said
to us...
Guess it's over
too soon
whatever it was.
But I hope someday
to look back on this
as a lesson learned;
it could be something,
you could be someone,
worth knowing;
maybe someday
I'll be able to
let go
of the pain...
But unfortunately,
for now
I'm drained.

Thursday, August 18, 2005

Thoughts on the Poem below

How very autumnal. Especially for an August birthday from a friend whose birthday is in May. I'll have to ask why he shared it with me.

Course, he's fond of James Joyce and other heady writers from an era that I consider... too purple, too obtuse, too...

But the imagery is a lot clearer now that I'm not trying to carry on a conversation and read at the same time (not to mention the couple-few beer influence upon my reading comprehension). And I do see how it's an appropriate poem, both because of its quiet, perhaps serene, reflection and hopeful foresight... or something like that.

I'm thinking that I'm entering the summer of my life, but back in the day (not sure when Thomas was alive, but I'm thinking "back in the day" will suffice) thirty may have been the beginning of autumn. God knows I'm not as invincible as I was (or thought I was) in my twenties. Hell, last night's grocery trip may have inflamed my shoulder's tendonitis...

Random ramble... thanks to the raggamuffin... I'm old (heh).

heron autumn mtn

Poem in October by Dylan Thomas

Thanks to Joel who thought of it for my thirty

It was my thirtieth year to heaven
Woke to my hearing from harbour and neighbour wood
And the mussel pooled and the heron
Priested shore
The morning beckon
With water praying and call of seagull and rook
And the knock of sailing boats on the webbed wall
Myself to set foot
That second
In the still sleeping town and set forth.

My birthday began with the water-
Birds and the birds of the winged trees flying my name
Above the farms and the white horses
And I rose
In a rainy autumn
And walked abroad in shower of all my days
High tide and the heron dived when I took the road
Over the border
And the gates
Of the town closed as the town awoke.

A springful of larks in a rolling
Cloud and the roadside bushes brimming with whistling
Blackbirds and the sun of October
On the hill's shoulder,
Here were fond climates and sweet singers suddenly
Come in the morning where I wandered and listened
To the rain wringing
Wind blow cold
In the wood faraway under me.

Pale rain over the dwindling harbour
And over the sea wet church the size of a snail
With its horns through mist and the castle
Brown as owls
But all the gardens
Of spring and summer were blooming in the tall tales
Beyond the border and under the lark full cloud.
There could I marvel
My birthday
Away but the weather turned around.

It turned away from the blithe country
And down the other air and the blue altered sky
Streamed again a wonder of summer
With apples
Pears and red currants
And I saw in the turning so clearly a child's
Forgotten mornings when he walked with his mother
Through the parables
Of sunlight
And the legends of the green chapels

And the twice told fields of infancy
That his tears burned my cheeks and his heart moved in mine.
These were the woods the river and the sea
Where a boy
In the listening
Summertime of the dead whispered the truth of his joy
To the trees and the stones and the fish in the tide.
And the mystery
Sang alive
Still in the water and singing birds.

And there could I marvel my birthday
Away but the weather turned around. And the true
Joy of the long dead child sang burning
In the sun.
It was my thirtieth
Year to heaven stood there then in the summer noon
Though the town below lay leaved with October blood.
O may my heart's truth
Still be sung
On this high hill in a year's turning.

Monday, August 15, 2005

Updatey thingy

Yep, Ludwig Van has been put on the backburner for now. Turning 30 and poverty and homeostasis and etc., have fully consumed my attention, and musical learning has progressed (or should I say regressed?) to more putzing around... but the Ludwig Van did inspire me to putz around in Am, which has a melancholic, but to me hopeful, sound. And I'll work on page 2 when I have more time... it's just gonna take a while.

People are whack, but we already knew that didn't we? Optimistic I am, but hopefully not foolishly... new friends, old friends, new friends who feel like old friends. And the potential for... potential.

Thank god for paychecks coming at just the right time...

Guess I'll try to find a picture to extend this post past the 1000 word mark. Happy Monday yous guys.

Ahh, here it is--enjoy (not exactly what I was looking for, but pretty cool anyway):

there ya go, more words--peace out bruddah