I'm feeling pretty good. The surgery was just magical. I've had nitrous oxide before. I can remember giggling while watching the surgeon pull membranes out from under the base of my tongue. This was different. I had the drip. I didn't even have time to see where they put it in my arm, though. I was out almost instantly. It was like the switch went from "on" to "off" with one little poke. I woke up 20 minutes later feeling like I had been asleep for three seconds. Unbelievable. They did an incredible job, too, or it could be that I'm just a lucky S.O.B. I have had zero swelling and zero pain. I remember my sister had to hold her bloated cheeks up with her hands for an entire week. She was popping vicodins like M&M's, and she kept complaining about how it seemed like she was sucking on a bar of copper. That's not even the worst of it. Within a week, she developed dry socket, which is when the underlying bones and nerves become exposed. She had to go in for a second surgery and everything. I don't know if she ate anything but bloody mashed potatoes this August. I just finished a sandwich :D.
Haven't been up to much. Hung out with my cousins yesterday. My cousin Johnny is 22, so three years older than me. We've always gotten along pretty well. He was telling me about how his university is on strike, leaving all the students in some kind of weird academic purgatory. Two classes shy of graduating and already enjoying a second "victory lap," as he calls it, my cousin seems to have been royally fucked. Although, he didn't seem that crestfallen. I guess there really is no reason for him to be particularly bitter about the whole fiasco. It truly is out of his hands. It's probably just best for him to keep rolling with the punches until it works itself out.
Been watching a lot of movies. I'm imposing some sort of quota on myself for my last week at home because I haven't finished my book yet. I thought I'd be done with the fucking series by now. Saw Memento today. Fantastic movie. I really liked the Non-linear story-telling and all the twists and turns. Terrific climax, as well. The hour-and-a-half of head scratching is worth it. The ending had a unique feeling, as well. Far from hopeful, but not quite bleak, I guess it was just thought-provoking. I also finally bit the bullet and sat through The fucking Godfather. DO NO TAKE THE GODFATHER'S NAME IN VAIN, haha, I know. It's so canonical and sacrosanct, I don't even deserve to watch it. However, I feel that if we all took the time to watch it again, we might want to chip off a couple stars. IT'S SO FUCKING LONG. The whole middle part of the movie is stupid filler. Why does Michael need to start a family in Sicily? I cheered when that car bomb went off. That said, I liked the bravura performances from Marlon Brando and Al Pacino. The rise of Michael Corrleone did not go unappreciated. I really liked the scene in Vegas when Michael straightens Freddy out. There was great tension there as we see Michael put on the Don pants.
My uncle got me an Ipod yesterday, and it's next to useless until I can figure out how to remove these fucking DRM tags. I have about six-thousand legitimately acquired music files that can't be transferred to iTunes for downloading to my Nano until I get rid of the tags. The bitch of it is, there's tons of free software out there to jettison the tags, but I feel like my computer is one piece of shareware away from tripping the smoke alarms. The search continues...
I realized I haven't written about my mental state in awhile, which is a shame because sometimes I think it educes the best writing from myself. Hm, I guess I'm growing more and more indifferent. Living for today? More like ignoring tomorrow. I'm driftwood; I'm dead leaves. Take me where thou wilt! The straps are starting to loosen, the shackles break. There's less and less tying me to anything. Whichever. Whatever. Whenever. A couple weeks ago, I was upset with the classes waiting for me in Ann Arbor. Now, I could really care less. Sometimes I think this could be good for me. Am I learning to relax? Is faith making a resurgence? Funny, I don't feel lazy yet, by any means. Can apathetic people be active? It's weird how horrible a stigma laziness carries in this country. Every new generation is condemned for its laziness. Anyone who doesn't succeed is lazy. But really, what's so bad about it? Aren't robots the only things that work without incentive? Once survival is taken care of, shouldn't we slack off? Isn't it a bit deserved? I used to have such grand hopes for myself. Whatever I was going to do, I was going to be the best at it, I was going to write the book on it; people were going to fly me from half-way around the world to do it, classes would be taught about me doing it. Now, I feel like Lester from American Beauty. I'm like regressing into a sixteen-year-old drive thru attendant, who relishes his responsibility-less job.
This may very well be my last post before 2009, which will probably be one of the most important years of my life. Can't wait to get started.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Greek Chorus
Saw a rusty car laying by the road today- a Detroit memento mori. There's nothing like the season of light to illuminate the gloom floating above everyone's heads. I never realized how brave adults were. Those smiles they wear, the traditions they cling to, the myths they encourage, the troubles they forget- a selfless facade for their kids. How easy it would be to toss the hot chocolate for some scotch and let the weather and the economy ruin everything, but they carol on. It's not scorn I'm showing here, or sarcasm. I'm geniunely moved. But maybe it's the season? Maybe there is such a thing as the magic of Christmas?
Orientation for U of M was on Tuesday. If I was offered a full ride to Harvard tomorrow on the sole condition that I had to go through their orientation, I'd decline without even blinking. I can't stand getting patronized for a whole fucking day. The damn program directors made all of us sing the fight song twice. Now, I know it's kind of exciting for a 17-year-old kid to sing his fight song for the first time, but our group was a bunch of battle-hardened sophomores and juniors. We even had a married lady from Florida. Needless to say, our 10:30 AM rendition of "Hail to the Victors" was not much more than a grumpy whisper, and the one following it, which they made us do because the first wasn't loud enough, was nothing but rhythmic groans and nasty stares. Before all the song and dance, I had to take a language placement test. Mi espanol es muy mal, but by some miracle of God, I got placed into their fourth semester of Spanish. DIOS MIO! I'm totally screwed. The last time I heard a Spanish sentence was when Shakira was on the radio. And there's just no way to "wing" fourth semester Spanish. Can you wing Med. School? This is a REAL class, something I really am not equipped for. Then, they made us go get our pictures taken for our new ID card. I tried to do my patented "gay face," but the lady at the computer told me to knock it off. There goes my easy conversation starter for Ann Arbor chicks, I thought. Next, they marched us out into the penguin-piss cold campus to look at any building with an embarrassing story attached to it. Sometime after the fifth stop, a VERY unsettling thing began to happen to me. All right, so it's ball-negating cold outside, and I'm standing next to some statue listening intently to instructions on how to approach the statue and how to cross its shadow and what to do if I haven't taken my first blue book exam before arriving at the statue nexus, when I started to regret drinking a liter of water during the exam. So, we walked on, ignoring all bathroom stops along the way, for about another twenty minutes, when something incredible happened to me: I could not tell whether or not I was pissing myself. It felt like I was, full-stream, too. I spent the last ten minutes of the tour looking not at the guides but at my crotch with total and utter amazement. When we finally reached the Union, I left the group to their Q and A session while I raced to the bathroom. In there, I tried to see if my reason could cook up any answers. All I could come up with was the numbness sort of played tricks on my hardware, creating the sensation of peeing. It just felt so REAL! Maybe coupled with the nerves of an orientation with a bunch of strangers at a strange new school, it was magnified to the point of feeling real. It's just that I've been numbed by cold hundreds of times, but never have I felt like I was pissing myself. Maybe I should grab a pack of Huggies to see me through Jan. and Feb. just in case. Holy Christ, was I scared!
Ever feel like you're getting only anesthesia when you need the cure? Man, I hope this transfer works. I'm a restless dude. What can I say? I get sick of everything so fast. People, especially. How awful is that? Eh, but such is the price of honesty. You have to face some kind of ugly truths about yourself.
Wings beat the Sharks 6-0. Merry Christmas to you too, God!
I guess one of my friends had been telling people that I was gay. When I asked him why, he said something like, "Can you blame me?" Hmmmm, I chewed that over for awhile. First of all, I'm not gay. What I tried to figure out was what would make me seem gay. I'm not girly, not really, not in tastes or mannerisms. I am sort of chatty, and my voice is high. I never had one of those gruff, half-asleep monotones I hear on most guys. So, next I looked at my behavior, insofar as what I do around girls or to get girls. I looked at my last two years of college and realized I hadn't made any serious advances towards any girls. Yeah, I thought, that might seem gay. Well, there's a perfectly good explanation for all of it, and it doesn't involve me crashing through any closets: I haven't met a single girl I would date. And why is that? Ohhh, there's a number of reasons. I don't know how boring or trite they are, but I'm giving them nonetheless. Well, first off, I guess I am sort of picky. I'm attracted to a strange type. I like loners, people with a very strong sense of independence and identity. Those are the girls that are the same around everyone, never warm and bubbly in large groups, but dismal and quiet one-on-one. I also can't date women that have sun beams streaming off their faces, either. I'd be breaking her heart every day. I like sober, logical girls, girls that my mopey ass has to cheer up. I like when I'm constantly doing the spirit-lifting, not the other way around. Otherwise, I feel like I'm just some chore, some gloomy head-case in need of a shrink-girlfriend. Also, she has to have wide interests. Some people phrase this as a girl "who can have an intelligent conversation," but what the hell does that even mean? "Wide interests" is more clear and way less cliche. I like girls that know a bit about everything, that have a nice smattering of trivia, not some piece meal obssessions. Curiousity is a big one, as well. I like those people that have to run to their computer to look something up on wikipedia before they forget what it is, who call their friends at 2 AM to answer some question that's keeping them awake. It shows a strong tie to this world. There's nothing worse than those apathetic assholes who shrug and sigh their days away. The luckiest person in the world is the one who has the most wonder. At my orientation this week, I remember being jealous of the girl from Florida because she had never seen snow before. You should have seen her face when we told her it was going to snow that night on the way home from Ann Arbor. Quirkiness is a big plus, as is humility. There is nothing more attractive than an eccentric, scatter-brained girl sandbagging you with her smarts. Physical features? Ha, last year, I could have given a laundry list of them. What I really like, though, is dark skin, dark hair, and dark eyes. That would include all Meditteranean and Levantine peoples. But, really, this is secondary.
I've been seeing people do end-of-year lists and stuff, but I'm not sure if I have the energy for those. I guess I'll just go ahead and say 2008 was the worst year of my life, and I'm glad it's in the history books.
Had to go to the mall today. We really need to start thinking about legislation concerning the proximity of pungent candles to one another because when you get three Holiday Huckleberry's on the same shelf, it kicks up something fierce into the face of the passerby. There's not a lot of things that can make me vomit from a single wiff, but the entrance to Bath and Body Works is one. Also, I believe that the government should raise a committee to study Spencer's Gifts. If that place can stay in business, so the fuck can America! I mean, come on! They must have the most narrow demographic in capitalism! No one buys that shit except for frat boys and their begrudged girlfriends. The government should forget about the Big Three and start investing in shirts with dick jokes.
I've been trying to be more creative with this blog. It's been fun for me. So, here's a poem I just wrote on the fly. I don't really like it, but like I've said before, just writing anything helps. It might seem kind of pretentious, but I've had it in my mind ever since someone explained Nietzche's dichotomy to me.
Apollonian Anomaly
String the lyre.
Pluck the strings.
Draw the bow.
Ride the sun.
And how long can you last before your order is gone?
Rejected, replaced, and finally removed
In the face of a world dark, lit by torches,
flames brushing the dancers, their shadows flashing on the walls.
Your music, your chords, your keys, your arpeggios
can't face the drum, the drum, the bang bang of the drum-um.
Grab this krater and take a long drink.
Gift of the Gods it is.
Immerse yourself in the great spirit of this world.
Belong to these lives, young and beautiful.
Dissolve your golden locks, your handsome face, your Arete.
Destroy the difference.
Dawn from my brow.
Poems from my tongue.
Medicine from my hand.
I am the male ideal.
You can't go on, my brother.
You may know the truth, but you can't see the secrets.
Put your light away and sway.
This is the moment you are alive.
Be here, here stay.
Come down, fly down, be here at the center.
Waves, shivers, trembles, shakes, shifts will
change you, make your heart light, your eyes close
your voice loud, your breath fast, your tongue loose.
Silence the genius, awaken the beast.
Dance, animal!
I see wonders.
I make miracles.
I bring you hope.
Ascend, reach my cloud!
You fool, you poor fool. We stay because want to.
The earth is dirty, but it brings pleasure to our feet, and
the satyr hoof grinds it into an intoxicating powder.
Be gone with your ichor and your ambrosia, then.
We'll trip over the roots of the earth, we'll crawl on all fours.
Rocks and fires scratch the skin,
But this ecstasy burns and burns still within.
Your cloud can stay. We may see it in the morning.
But for now, let mist shroud us, darkness envelop.
No more light from you, you have lost.
We dance on, heedless, mindless, deathless!
But death you are.
Orientation for U of M was on Tuesday. If I was offered a full ride to Harvard tomorrow on the sole condition that I had to go through their orientation, I'd decline without even blinking. I can't stand getting patronized for a whole fucking day. The damn program directors made all of us sing the fight song twice. Now, I know it's kind of exciting for a 17-year-old kid to sing his fight song for the first time, but our group was a bunch of battle-hardened sophomores and juniors. We even had a married lady from Florida. Needless to say, our 10:30 AM rendition of "Hail to the Victors" was not much more than a grumpy whisper, and the one following it, which they made us do because the first wasn't loud enough, was nothing but rhythmic groans and nasty stares. Before all the song and dance, I had to take a language placement test. Mi espanol es muy mal, but by some miracle of God, I got placed into their fourth semester of Spanish. DIOS MIO! I'm totally screwed. The last time I heard a Spanish sentence was when Shakira was on the radio. And there's just no way to "wing" fourth semester Spanish. Can you wing Med. School? This is a REAL class, something I really am not equipped for. Then, they made us go get our pictures taken for our new ID card. I tried to do my patented "gay face," but the lady at the computer told me to knock it off. There goes my easy conversation starter for Ann Arbor chicks, I thought. Next, they marched us out into the penguin-piss cold campus to look at any building with an embarrassing story attached to it. Sometime after the fifth stop, a VERY unsettling thing began to happen to me. All right, so it's ball-negating cold outside, and I'm standing next to some statue listening intently to instructions on how to approach the statue and how to cross its shadow and what to do if I haven't taken my first blue book exam before arriving at the statue nexus, when I started to regret drinking a liter of water during the exam. So, we walked on, ignoring all bathroom stops along the way, for about another twenty minutes, when something incredible happened to me: I could not tell whether or not I was pissing myself. It felt like I was, full-stream, too. I spent the last ten minutes of the tour looking not at the guides but at my crotch with total and utter amazement. When we finally reached the Union, I left the group to their Q and A session while I raced to the bathroom. In there, I tried to see if my reason could cook up any answers. All I could come up with was the numbness sort of played tricks on my hardware, creating the sensation of peeing. It just felt so REAL! Maybe coupled with the nerves of an orientation with a bunch of strangers at a strange new school, it was magnified to the point of feeling real. It's just that I've been numbed by cold hundreds of times, but never have I felt like I was pissing myself. Maybe I should grab a pack of Huggies to see me through Jan. and Feb. just in case. Holy Christ, was I scared!
Ever feel like you're getting only anesthesia when you need the cure? Man, I hope this transfer works. I'm a restless dude. What can I say? I get sick of everything so fast. People, especially. How awful is that? Eh, but such is the price of honesty. You have to face some kind of ugly truths about yourself.
Wings beat the Sharks 6-0. Merry Christmas to you too, God!
I guess one of my friends had been telling people that I was gay. When I asked him why, he said something like, "Can you blame me?" Hmmmm, I chewed that over for awhile. First of all, I'm not gay. What I tried to figure out was what would make me seem gay. I'm not girly, not really, not in tastes or mannerisms. I am sort of chatty, and my voice is high. I never had one of those gruff, half-asleep monotones I hear on most guys. So, next I looked at my behavior, insofar as what I do around girls or to get girls. I looked at my last two years of college and realized I hadn't made any serious advances towards any girls. Yeah, I thought, that might seem gay. Well, there's a perfectly good explanation for all of it, and it doesn't involve me crashing through any closets: I haven't met a single girl I would date. And why is that? Ohhh, there's a number of reasons. I don't know how boring or trite they are, but I'm giving them nonetheless. Well, first off, I guess I am sort of picky. I'm attracted to a strange type. I like loners, people with a very strong sense of independence and identity. Those are the girls that are the same around everyone, never warm and bubbly in large groups, but dismal and quiet one-on-one. I also can't date women that have sun beams streaming off their faces, either. I'd be breaking her heart every day. I like sober, logical girls, girls that my mopey ass has to cheer up. I like when I'm constantly doing the spirit-lifting, not the other way around. Otherwise, I feel like I'm just some chore, some gloomy head-case in need of a shrink-girlfriend. Also, she has to have wide interests. Some people phrase this as a girl "who can have an intelligent conversation," but what the hell does that even mean? "Wide interests" is more clear and way less cliche. I like girls that know a bit about everything, that have a nice smattering of trivia, not some piece meal obssessions. Curiousity is a big one, as well. I like those people that have to run to their computer to look something up on wikipedia before they forget what it is, who call their friends at 2 AM to answer some question that's keeping them awake. It shows a strong tie to this world. There's nothing worse than those apathetic assholes who shrug and sigh their days away. The luckiest person in the world is the one who has the most wonder. At my orientation this week, I remember being jealous of the girl from Florida because she had never seen snow before. You should have seen her face when we told her it was going to snow that night on the way home from Ann Arbor. Quirkiness is a big plus, as is humility. There is nothing more attractive than an eccentric, scatter-brained girl sandbagging you with her smarts. Physical features? Ha, last year, I could have given a laundry list of them. What I really like, though, is dark skin, dark hair, and dark eyes. That would include all Meditteranean and Levantine peoples. But, really, this is secondary.
I've been seeing people do end-of-year lists and stuff, but I'm not sure if I have the energy for those. I guess I'll just go ahead and say 2008 was the worst year of my life, and I'm glad it's in the history books.
Had to go to the mall today. We really need to start thinking about legislation concerning the proximity of pungent candles to one another because when you get three Holiday Huckleberry's on the same shelf, it kicks up something fierce into the face of the passerby. There's not a lot of things that can make me vomit from a single wiff, but the entrance to Bath and Body Works is one. Also, I believe that the government should raise a committee to study Spencer's Gifts. If that place can stay in business, so the fuck can America! I mean, come on! They must have the most narrow demographic in capitalism! No one buys that shit except for frat boys and their begrudged girlfriends. The government should forget about the Big Three and start investing in shirts with dick jokes.
I've been trying to be more creative with this blog. It's been fun for me. So, here's a poem I just wrote on the fly. I don't really like it, but like I've said before, just writing anything helps. It might seem kind of pretentious, but I've had it in my mind ever since someone explained Nietzche's dichotomy to me.
Apollonian Anomaly
String the lyre.
Pluck the strings.
Draw the bow.
Ride the sun.
And how long can you last before your order is gone?
Rejected, replaced, and finally removed
In the face of a world dark, lit by torches,
flames brushing the dancers, their shadows flashing on the walls.
Your music, your chords, your keys, your arpeggios
can't face the drum, the drum, the bang bang of the drum-um.
Grab this krater and take a long drink.
Gift of the Gods it is.
Immerse yourself in the great spirit of this world.
Belong to these lives, young and beautiful.
Dissolve your golden locks, your handsome face, your Arete.
Destroy the difference.
Dawn from my brow.
Poems from my tongue.
Medicine from my hand.
I am the male ideal.
You can't go on, my brother.
You may know the truth, but you can't see the secrets.
Put your light away and sway.
This is the moment you are alive.
Be here, here stay.
Come down, fly down, be here at the center.
Waves, shivers, trembles, shakes, shifts will
change you, make your heart light, your eyes close
your voice loud, your breath fast, your tongue loose.
Silence the genius, awaken the beast.
Dance, animal!
I see wonders.
I make miracles.
I bring you hope.
Ascend, reach my cloud!
You fool, you poor fool. We stay because want to.
The earth is dirty, but it brings pleasure to our feet, and
the satyr hoof grinds it into an intoxicating powder.
Be gone with your ichor and your ambrosia, then.
We'll trip over the roots of the earth, we'll crawl on all fours.
Rocks and fires scratch the skin,
But this ecstasy burns and burns still within.
Your cloud can stay. We may see it in the morning.
But for now, let mist shroud us, darkness envelop.
No more light from you, you have lost.
We dance on, heedless, mindless, deathless!
But death you are.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
The Calm after the Storm
Man, it's been awhile since I updated, but I bet most people can guess why. Finals sort of left me incapacitated. Studying left me too drained to do much of anything, really. The farthest I was willing to go was for coffee, which Shaw Hall kept about four hundred feet, as the crow flies, away from my room. You gotta love the stuff. I mean it's awful! AWFUL! Aw shit... I can see this sudden caffeine addiction as a gateway into hard drugs. How easily I'm seduced by a jolt of energy! During finals week, I was chatting with some friends in the cafeteria, and there was a moment where I had to guess what I was saying based on their facial expressions. It was like something hijacked my brain. Speaking of addictions, I could use some will power now while I'm home.. Yesterday, I ate about four chocolate chip cookies in one sitting, and it took me about an hour. What I do is pick the cookie apart, prying chocolate chip after chocolate chip off the body of the cookie until it's gone. I've heard that anorexic people do the same thing, except they stop when they've had just enough to fight their hunger. I don't stop until I'm about to throw up. So, it really doesn't do anything except waste time and piss people off. No one wants to eat a cookie that looks like a piece of Swiss cheese- holes where the chocolate is supposed to be. Speaking of food, since I've been back, I've witnessed an ecosystem out of whack. My vacant role in the food web has really started to wreck havoc on the cubbard. There's piles of dried peas, dried cherries, nutri-grain bars, hummus containers, almonds, and blackberry yogurt laying around, a testament to the extinction of the Alex. But, since I've been reintroduced into the wild, things are starting to look better. I sure as hell have enjoyed making up for lost time. Eating is my favorite.
In addition to taking finals, I spent all of last week finalizing my transfer to U of M. Looks like I'm going! Everyone keeps asking me if I'm excited, and I've tried to be optimistic when answering them, but the truth is I'm nervous and scared as hell. No more restlessness for me, this is it. If I don't like it, I'm stuck. I'm signing in blood this time. In all honesty, I think I'll hate Ann Arbor just as much as East Lansing over time. However, here's how I rationalize it. Instead of staying in one place and letting my hatred fester for four years, isn't it better to start over for my second half of school? That way, your hate intensity never passes the two-year mark! Haha, and to think that's what I've been smiling about these last few weeks. The chance at a brand new hate cycle. Aw well, at least I'm not getting my hopes up. I'm letting realism take the reigns for awhile. I've got orientation tomorrow. This late in the game, I'll be lucky if I get a class with a chair in it for me. I'm taking our lawn seat just in case. I'll be looking pretty fly in the back of the room with my drink holders, smelling like beer and bug spray.
I only asked for one thing for Christmas: The National Genographic Project kit. I've been wanting to get involved with this project for years. I think it's scheduled to conclude in 2010. For those who don't know, it's a massive team of researchers going around the world to collect DNA samples from the most disparate peoples on Earth. I've seen clips of guys in white lab coats swabbing the cheeks of witch doctors. Anyone can contribute, though. All you have to do is order the kit. It comes with a DVD explaining the project and just what it is that your DNA will tell the project. After you send in a cheek swab, which should contain a couple good, DNA-packed cells, your results can be accessed and tracked through their web site. As more people send in information, your results become more comprehensive. I'm not sure about what they tell you EXACTLY, but I know you find out which haplogroup you belong to, and I know you get to see a map of your ancestor's route out of Africa. Men can elect between a mitochondrial DNA test, which traces the DNA passed down from mother to mother, or a Y-Chromosome DNA Test, which traces the DNA handed down from father to father. I asked for the mitochondrial test. My mother's mother's family was Hungarian, and Hungarians have quite the mysterious genetic and historic origin. Maybe this test could shed some light on where the Magyars came from. Some theories posit that the Hungarians came from Central Asia. God, it would be so awesome if that were true! What a surprise! I'd do their testimonial for free: "I look like a normal, white guy, but you'd never guess that I'm Asian! Thanks National Genographic!"
I think within four hours of getting home I was stealing music. Man, how I missed it all these months! MSU's network moderators are very good at catching people. So, all semester long, I kept a list of albums I needed to steal. I'm almost through the list now. Do I ever feel bad about it. Yeah, yeah I do. It's not fair to the artist, but I don't think the future lies in digital sales anyways, at least not for rock bands, so what I'm doing isn't of that much importance either way. Pop and R & B artists can make a killing off their latest iTunes single, but rock bands that focus on the album as a whole are sort of incompatible with this new type of market. Now, it's not that I want to see the album format go away so that I can divest myself of guilt and just buy my band's singles on iTunes. That's probably the furthest thing from what I would want. All I'm saying is that since CD sales are secondary, bands should just give up the fight against pirates. Let us steal your music. Focus on your tours. Put on awesome shows. Tours are the cash cow. We understand if it takes you three years in between albums. Take your time on your tours, and earn some money.
My Red Wings are sort of in a funk right now. Their goaltending is a little shaky, and they seem to be having some trouble when penetrating the neutral zone. A lot of their plays have ended at mid-ice, which is very uncharacteristic of Detroit's powerful, fast, and puck-controlling offense. We play San Jose on Thursday and then the Black Hawks on the 30th and on New Year's, so I should be in for some good hockey throughout my stay at home.
Nick was very friendly towards me during our last week together. I think it was because I told him that I was leaving for good soon. Visions of a double room all his own must have been swirling through his mind all week. All that extra space to buffer him from humans. Ah, I shouldn't be mean. We were very different, Nick. I don't know how we could be matched in the same room, let alone the same planet. I was very relieved that our hand shake last week didn't lead to a matter-on-anti-matter explosion.
My sister had a carolling party yesterday, so I had to move all the stuff I brought home from school plus some other junk into my bedroom for the facade of tidiness. My room looks like a flea market with a bed. There is just so much shit everywhere. Just walking from the light switch to my bed yesterday felt like a game of fucking minesweeper. My feet are bruised from it. One can barely see my Alexander the Great statue through all the dead, rejected plants, and columns of Cosmo Girls. I've put 24 hours on the clock. If my room isn't cleaned by someone, then it's getting cleaned by the blow torch.
That's it, for the most part. I haven't really been up to much- video games, food, and waiting for everyone else to get home. I just had to update since it's been so long. I'll be updating more, though, since I have all the time in the world for the next month. Well, it's getting late. I should go see what long BBC nature specials are on.
In addition to taking finals, I spent all of last week finalizing my transfer to U of M. Looks like I'm going! Everyone keeps asking me if I'm excited, and I've tried to be optimistic when answering them, but the truth is I'm nervous and scared as hell. No more restlessness for me, this is it. If I don't like it, I'm stuck. I'm signing in blood this time. In all honesty, I think I'll hate Ann Arbor just as much as East Lansing over time. However, here's how I rationalize it. Instead of staying in one place and letting my hatred fester for four years, isn't it better to start over for my second half of school? That way, your hate intensity never passes the two-year mark! Haha, and to think that's what I've been smiling about these last few weeks. The chance at a brand new hate cycle. Aw well, at least I'm not getting my hopes up. I'm letting realism take the reigns for awhile. I've got orientation tomorrow. This late in the game, I'll be lucky if I get a class with a chair in it for me. I'm taking our lawn seat just in case. I'll be looking pretty fly in the back of the room with my drink holders, smelling like beer and bug spray.
I only asked for one thing for Christmas: The National Genographic Project kit. I've been wanting to get involved with this project for years. I think it's scheduled to conclude in 2010. For those who don't know, it's a massive team of researchers going around the world to collect DNA samples from the most disparate peoples on Earth. I've seen clips of guys in white lab coats swabbing the cheeks of witch doctors. Anyone can contribute, though. All you have to do is order the kit. It comes with a DVD explaining the project and just what it is that your DNA will tell the project. After you send in a cheek swab, which should contain a couple good, DNA-packed cells, your results can be accessed and tracked through their web site. As more people send in information, your results become more comprehensive. I'm not sure about what they tell you EXACTLY, but I know you find out which haplogroup you belong to, and I know you get to see a map of your ancestor's route out of Africa. Men can elect between a mitochondrial DNA test, which traces the DNA passed down from mother to mother, or a Y-Chromosome DNA Test, which traces the DNA handed down from father to father. I asked for the mitochondrial test. My mother's mother's family was Hungarian, and Hungarians have quite the mysterious genetic and historic origin. Maybe this test could shed some light on where the Magyars came from. Some theories posit that the Hungarians came from Central Asia. God, it would be so awesome if that were true! What a surprise! I'd do their testimonial for free: "I look like a normal, white guy, but you'd never guess that I'm Asian! Thanks National Genographic!"
I think within four hours of getting home I was stealing music. Man, how I missed it all these months! MSU's network moderators are very good at catching people. So, all semester long, I kept a list of albums I needed to steal. I'm almost through the list now. Do I ever feel bad about it. Yeah, yeah I do. It's not fair to the artist, but I don't think the future lies in digital sales anyways, at least not for rock bands, so what I'm doing isn't of that much importance either way. Pop and R & B artists can make a killing off their latest iTunes single, but rock bands that focus on the album as a whole are sort of incompatible with this new type of market. Now, it's not that I want to see the album format go away so that I can divest myself of guilt and just buy my band's singles on iTunes. That's probably the furthest thing from what I would want. All I'm saying is that since CD sales are secondary, bands should just give up the fight against pirates. Let us steal your music. Focus on your tours. Put on awesome shows. Tours are the cash cow. We understand if it takes you three years in between albums. Take your time on your tours, and earn some money.
My Red Wings are sort of in a funk right now. Their goaltending is a little shaky, and they seem to be having some trouble when penetrating the neutral zone. A lot of their plays have ended at mid-ice, which is very uncharacteristic of Detroit's powerful, fast, and puck-controlling offense. We play San Jose on Thursday and then the Black Hawks on the 30th and on New Year's, so I should be in for some good hockey throughout my stay at home.
Nick was very friendly towards me during our last week together. I think it was because I told him that I was leaving for good soon. Visions of a double room all his own must have been swirling through his mind all week. All that extra space to buffer him from humans. Ah, I shouldn't be mean. We were very different, Nick. I don't know how we could be matched in the same room, let alone the same planet. I was very relieved that our hand shake last week didn't lead to a matter-on-anti-matter explosion.
My sister had a carolling party yesterday, so I had to move all the stuff I brought home from school plus some other junk into my bedroom for the facade of tidiness. My room looks like a flea market with a bed. There is just so much shit everywhere. Just walking from the light switch to my bed yesterday felt like a game of fucking minesweeper. My feet are bruised from it. One can barely see my Alexander the Great statue through all the dead, rejected plants, and columns of Cosmo Girls. I've put 24 hours on the clock. If my room isn't cleaned by someone, then it's getting cleaned by the blow torch.
That's it, for the most part. I haven't really been up to much- video games, food, and waiting for everyone else to get home. I just had to update since it's been so long. I'll be updating more, though, since I have all the time in the world for the next month. Well, it's getting late. I should go see what long BBC nature specials are on.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
More stuff
Just a quick post, I wrote two more poems to submit along with "Dear Atticus" for this contest. I didn't explain "Dear Atticus" in the last post. I just kind of threw it in there. Well, Cicero used to write copious amounts of letters to his best friend, Atticus. He'd sort of fill him in on what was going on in his life, as well as tell him all his personal thoughts. You know, it might have been the first blog. Atticus would then send letters back (Kind of like comments!). I always thought their correspondence was touching. SO, in light of that, I wanted to give it a dark, cynical spin. In my poem, the narrator is sort of this friendless, lonely guy. At the end, there's this biting dramatic irony that seems to say, "Yeah, friends don't exist," because the fact is Cicero WAS executed, alone and confused, the victim of fate. Sorry dead Atticus, I'm sure you were a great friend, but I couldn't resist turning you on your head for the sake of a really depressing poem. You're sort of the non-existent, fantasy wish of someone getting "executed" by crushing loneliness :/. "Always be the best..." was sort of Cicero's life motto. It's a line from the Iliad, actually. That stanza just sort of says that the ambitions and the glory that Cicero realized in his political career meant nothing by themselves. He measured his life by his happiness, something he found with Atticus, his buddy. This stanza-and also the one where the narrator gets a tentative but very wrong feeling that Atticus is actually out there, which shows you just how crazy the narrator has become- sort of sets you up for the crushing irony at the end, where you have to listen to the narrator while knowing he's being duped. Sad. For the new poems, yeah, they're both rough (I think the deadline for the three-poem submission is like January 30), but I wanted to post them anyway. The first one is a fun poem about the loss of innocence, and the second is sort of a humanist manifesto. I tried to draw parallels between Judgement Day, especially its depiction in Yeat's "The Second Coming," and the events in the poem. In my poem, the Day of Reckoning becomes the Day of Awakening- a far more hopeful and redeeming kind of day, don't you think? And that's really the point of the poem and humanism, from what I understand of it: believe in man and his science; they are good things.
“The Last Stick of Gum”
A pack of gum purchased
For less than a dollar
Is all one needs daily
To get through the hours.
Your senses ignite on each
Minty fresh, flatly pressed
Slice of relief-
Tasty, stretchy, bright blue
Cushion for teeth.
All thoughts soon lose shape.
Your words are now muffled in
The pulse of the chewing.
Consciousness, blissfully
Sleeps.
But darkly it clings to the tin foil-wrapped, paper-sheathed
Sliver of transient ecstasy,
Bound for the liver where it will reign hell
With the machinery of madness on
All of your cellular shells-
Alive or dead, ordered or not.
Put down the phone, are no use the pills.
It slips past the microscopes,
Prisms and X-rays,
To invade the chewer,
Who smiles with abandon,
Noting the sweet flavor.
Hey, Is that cinnamon?
Eyes closed
Mouth open
Mouth closed
Then open
Pop!
Suck!
Laugh!
SHOCK!
Rumbling furnace chills
Spread from the gut.
Maybe this gum package
Wasn’t quite shut?
Face pulled tight against the worry of sickness,
No longer adding more sticks just for thickness,
The tongue unfurls, blue as can be,
To let fall from a pale grimace
The gum and its deadly refugee.
But the deed is still done,
The pleasure forgotten.
Even the blue tongue tinge
Seems like it’s rotten.
But, oh, this day had to come.
That gum had been waiting
Lurking, clock ticking,
While you relished and savored
the New Longer Lasting.
One can’t chew forever.
A pack of gum purchased
For less than a dollar
Is all one needs daily
To get through the hours.
Your senses ignite on each
Minty fresh, flatly pressed
Slice of relief-
Tasty, stretchy, bright blue
Cushion for teeth.
All thoughts soon lose shape.
Your words are now muffled in
The pulse of the chewing.
Consciousness, blissfully
Sleeps.
But darkly it clings to the tin foil-wrapped, paper-sheathed
Sliver of transient ecstasy,
Bound for the liver where it will reign hell
With the machinery of madness on
All of your cellular shells-
Alive or dead, ordered or not.
Put down the phone, are no use the pills.
It slips past the microscopes,
Prisms and X-rays,
To invade the chewer,
Who smiles with abandon,
Noting the sweet flavor.
Hey, Is that cinnamon?
Eyes closed
Mouth open
Mouth closed
Then open
Pop!
Suck!
Laugh!
SHOCK!
Rumbling furnace chills
Spread from the gut.
Maybe this gum package
Wasn’t quite shut?
Face pulled tight against the worry of sickness,
No longer adding more sticks just for thickness,
The tongue unfurls, blue as can be,
To let fall from a pale grimace
The gum and its deadly refugee.
But the deed is still done,
The pleasure forgotten.
Even the blue tongue tinge
Seems like it’s rotten.
But, oh, this day had to come.
That gum had been waiting
Lurking, clock ticking,
While you relished and savored
the New Longer Lasting.
One can’t chew forever.
“Novus Homo”
Coruscating brilliance from every direction comes
The thunder of mind-fire from the chorus of one-
Song draped in tragedy, anointed in pain,
But beautiful, touching, and pure as spring rain.
Tears glisten at the corners
Of eyes on old men
As the last missile is incinerated, engineered into pens.
Babel’s languages snake through the currents of foam;
Connected, respected, the world is their home.
Up to the sky rear the heads of the children
To greet a new protecter, a sovereign, a savior.
“At last,” they cry. “The Day of Awakening is at hand!”
His voice carries no harshness or burden or lash.
Instead, his words pour forth like dreamy quicksilver.
“‘Round the Alchemist’s fire the abacus did run,
Leaping and dancing,
Landing on the sun.
A Rosicrucian revelation,
A Renaissance revolution,
The dissemination of knowledge
Will spear every nation.
I give you the secrets these staff serpents have whispered
through centuries of ignorance, piety, and fear.
Hear the music of the spheres,
Oh you glorious apple eaters!
Watch the life force split and swirl,
You valiant pilgrims!
Bend earth's fury to your will,
Oh you beautiful fire stealers!
Plumb the stygian depths
Of this planet so fair.
Note the subtle effects
Butterfly wings have on air.
Build tall and build grand.
What great things for your hand!
Opposites, reflections, complements, patterns-
All weave in and out of the fabric of matter.
Here are the keys to the real and the right.
This is your destiny, the one that’s been formed
From centuries immemorial, from atrocities unmatched.
Blood spilt and tongues slashed and stakes set to burning
Cannot stop this holiness that you have been learning.
Take reason and justice,
Natural extensions of my miracles,
And remold the clay
Of your souls.”
Coruscating brilliance from every direction comes
The thunder of mind-fire from the chorus of one-
Song draped in tragedy, anointed in pain,
But beautiful, touching, and pure as spring rain.
Tears glisten at the corners
Of eyes on old men
As the last missile is incinerated, engineered into pens.
Babel’s languages snake through the currents of foam;
Connected, respected, the world is their home.
Up to the sky rear the heads of the children
To greet a new protecter, a sovereign, a savior.
“At last,” they cry. “The Day of Awakening is at hand!”
His voice carries no harshness or burden or lash.
Instead, his words pour forth like dreamy quicksilver.
“‘Round the Alchemist’s fire the abacus did run,
Leaping and dancing,
Landing on the sun.
A Rosicrucian revelation,
A Renaissance revolution,
The dissemination of knowledge
Will spear every nation.
I give you the secrets these staff serpents have whispered
through centuries of ignorance, piety, and fear.
Hear the music of the spheres,
Oh you glorious apple eaters!
Watch the life force split and swirl,
You valiant pilgrims!
Bend earth's fury to your will,
Oh you beautiful fire stealers!
Plumb the stygian depths
Of this planet so fair.
Note the subtle effects
Butterfly wings have on air.
Build tall and build grand.
What great things for your hand!
Opposites, reflections, complements, patterns-
All weave in and out of the fabric of matter.
Here are the keys to the real and the right.
This is your destiny, the one that’s been formed
From centuries immemorial, from atrocities unmatched.
Blood spilt and tongues slashed and stakes set to burning
Cannot stop this holiness that you have been learning.
Take reason and justice,
Natural extensions of my miracles,
And remold the clay
Of your souls.”
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
