Brainpane

Mofo

2008-08-03T15:44:00.000-04:00

13 days until I'm back at college.
Then I can renew all time-wasting on the blog.

Excuses, excuses

2008-06-29T14:30:00.002-04:00

So here's the story:
I'm at home for the summer.
Home being my parents' house.
My parents being crazy and limiting when the internet connection is live.
The internet connection usually only being live when I am asleep or working.
The blog remains untouched.

Also I am 712 miles away from the one around whom this blog is mostly centered.
This creates problems I don't know I am really prepared to blog about.

I'm back.

2008-06-03T16:23:00.001-04:00

Posts resume as of today.
Also, there is definitely an advertisement for bed-wetting above this blog.
w00t.

2008-03-31T11:14:00.001-04:00

Talking until 5 in the morning.
I'm falling fast.

I'm taking a break from posting. See you later.

2008-03-29T15:29:00.001-04:00

Everytime I'm away I wonder why I am.
Wish she were with me.

2008-03-27T09:43:00.000-04:00

Always talk to me.

Exhaustion.

2008-03-26T09:33:00.002-04:00

Need more sleep than I'm getting.
And today marks a full day apart from her.
It is the first in more than a week.
I'll just sleep through the loneliness.

World Upside Down

2008-03-25T12:53:00.001-04:00

I can't comprehend.
Let this never end.

Intertwined

2008-03-19T18:05:00.000-04:00

Sleep has never been so dear, so cherished.

Study Haven

2008-03-17T13:07:00.001-04:00

I love how we are able to talk without talking
how we're comfortable in any situation
how I can be frank
how we're happy

Numero Tres

2008-03-16T02:50:00.002-04:00

Best day in history.

Misty Eve.

2008-03-15T13:23:00.000-04:00

We went out to the belltower at 4 in the morning.
I like her so much.

Confrontation.

2008-03-14T12:02:00.002-04:00

A jealous third party exists, which I knew.
Tried not to offend him.
He figured it out and confronted us.
Hard to deal with...
He's my friend.

Great Day

2008-03-13T13:12:00.001-04:00

Her birthday, there were gifts and parties.
And a glorious hour laying holding hands in a warm field.

Still Wary

2008-03-10T12:44:00.002-04:00

Went to ihop in wee hours, after the rock concert.
I slept to noon...
...glorious.
She took me to the movie.
Caught me off guard when she paid.
But I have a problem.
I am still fighting with no confidence.

Work Worth It

2008-03-08T18:49:00.002-05:00

Stagehand for a rock concert today.
Sat in one of the dull moments with a 'hand with a lot of experience.
Talked about the past. Nostalgia is a strong emotion, even when you weren't alive then.

Time

2008-03-08T11:14:00.001-05:00

Was up to three with her Thursday night, Friday morning.
She asked me to see a movie on Sunday.
I said yes.

Peaceful.

2008-03-06T01:23:00.003-05:00

Her classes are harder than mine.
Tonight I sat with her as she studied. I read a book.
It was nothing, there was nothing said.
But it felt good to be with her.
Walking back to my dorm in the inky night, I was calm.

Remember the Day

2008-03-04T09:29:00.002-05:00

Two days ago, after much work, I got to see everyone.
But all together, no chance for a reunion with her.
Then yesterday, classes, choices for next year, new work hours.
And her, hours with her, and a planned date, the words spoken aloud.
New music too. Life is accelerating and stabilizing.
Must never take this happiness for granted.

Renewed

2008-03-02T10:30:00.001-05:00

The swelling is down, the pain is gone, the sleep patterns are back.
And I'm back home.
I'll be at work when people arrive, but it's no matter.
Soon.

Sleep the Day Away

2008-02-27T16:22:00.002-05:00

Nothing but sleep.
See you when the mist clears.

Ouchie.

2008-02-26T12:20:00.002-05:00

I feel like I've been chewing on pennies all morning.
Mouth tastes like copper. All doped up.
And I'm extremely hungry. Let this end.

My phone is my link to sanity.
Her phonecalls are therapeutic.

Rest

2008-02-24T21:26:00.001-05:00

Home now.
It's good to see family, but I miss my friends a lot.
And someone in particular.

An Unexpected Twist

2008-02-24T01:24:00.002-05:00

Much to my surprise, the evening actually turned out well.
A conversation with a good friend lead to regrets and indescribable joy.
The simultaneous emotional responses were rather unexpected.
I won't elaborate; suffice to say, life is good.
Also, another friend and I had a bonding experience.
The evening is thus redeemed.

On Hold

2008-02-23T15:26:00.002-05:00

Spring break comes at a really inopportune time.
And a day early, leaving me here alone.
I really am stunned to find myself lonely...

A Post Out of Step

2008-02-23T07:58:00.001-05:00

Had a double date last night: ice cream.
Also a movie.
Don't really have anything to say, save:
I'm exhausted, but happy.

Time for Time's Sake

2008-02-21T23:40:00.003-05:00

Studying together; chemistry has never been so fun.
Simply spending time with each other -
There need not be a reason; we make do.
A week away from her will be hard.
I need a bit of momentum.

Evaluation

2008-02-21T03:20:00.002-05:00

We ate together; we walked around for hours.
No purpose but each other. No goal but happiness.
They say not to consider it to be anything yet.
I say come what may.

The lunar eclipse was underwhelming.
The act of watching...a whole 'nother story.
I love my friends.

Holding Steady At Happy

2008-02-20T02:35:00.002-05:00

We had an apple juice, rice krispie treat and bagel run. Afterwards we watched a movie.
After spending time with her, I feel...content.
It's a good feeling.

Cloud 9 and 3/4s

2008-02-18T18:43:00.000-05:00

Brother visited today, but I was too tired to be very entertaining.
I'm happy with the way my classes have changed.
One got easier, the other ended. Cheers.
Spent some time with the girl; we walked aimlessly and ate dinner.
This is a new feeling, this happiness.

Here there be happiness.

2008-02-18T01:44:00.000-05:00

Today:
There was a fumbled phonecall and lots of smiles.
Followed by tea and a hastened parting.
Then another rendezvous, this time a movie in my room.
Smiles again.
Can't stop smiling.
I like her a lot.

A Tall Tale

2008-02-17T14:03:00.000-05:00

There was this amazing DJ here last night. He wove a web of sound that consumed all thought and left you helpless, so caught up the beat that there was nothing else. In the moment, I found myself dancing with her. My friends, all of them, pushed and prodded the dance floor till she was face to face with me.
And we danced.

Judgement Day

2008-02-16T12:51:00.000-05:00

I'm going to ask her today.
You just watch.

Alive

2008-02-14T20:35:00.000-05:00

Happy Single's Awareness Day!
or as my friends like to remind me:
Happy SAD!

Damn acronyms. They've been going downhill ever since the National Dyslexic's Association started calling itself the DNA.

(For reader reference, if something I say seems ludicrous and it's not backed it up with a link, take it as humor.)

Another beastly workweek this week. It's already Thursday night and I don't really even remember the 4 busy days leading up to here.

While I've not been having a lot of sleep, I have been dreaming extremely vividly, which is cool until you have what I like to call a night depression. It's like a nightmare where all the excitement and fear is replaced with mediocrity and sadness.
Sort of like Mondays, but at night on a Wednesday.
Basically, every endeavour I attempted was an epic failure. Tried to ask a girl out, but my friend beat me to it. Tried to take a test, but I didn't understand the material. Tried to shrug it all off by drinking (I'm a dreamland alchoholic), but I got busted.
It was disheartening. The worst part is how I awoke believing it had all happened. The feeling stuck for something like ten minutes.
Horrid.

Anyway, back to my studies. Buy someone you love something overpriced and red.
And then revel that you have someone to love.

Dance.

2008-02-10T20:28:00.000-05:00

So the weekend is drawing to a close. It's a nice feeling, actually. I've been busy nonstop since last Sunday, what with work during the week and friends on the weekend. Now I get a free moment, at work of all places, and it feels good.

This is the best my life has ever been.

Hell Week

2008-02-07T16:41:00.000-05:00

That's what my friends are calling my nightmarish workload this week.
I won't disagree. Blogs posts are going to be delayed until at least Saturday.

Mwhahuahahaaaa, my ads are amazing.
Come on google, I'm not that down on life.

An old pal

2008-02-05T19:14:00.000-05:00

Oh yeah, one thing i forgot: check out my friend's blog over at bigfabes.blogspot.com.
He's a good guy, with good ideas.
And click on my ads. I like money.

Yeah, yeah yeah.

2008-02-05T18:26:00.000-05:00

I lied. My deepest apologies.
I'm trying...working 30 hours this week.
(And I'm making plans to see a play and review it; which I will post here and on the university website when all is said and done.)
Even more striking than my current harried state of eternal stress is that suddenly I appear to be doing better in my classes and in my social life. I'm not getting much sleep, but I'm healthy and I'm happy. Even better, soon I'll be rich, too.
Seems everyone is getting sick - a great deal of my closest friends have sneezed or coughed on me, but I'm still as healthy as a sun-starved emaciated techie can hope to be. Here's to hoping that I can keep it up.
I'm pleased with most everything here at the university with the noted exception of the weather. It's constantly damp here - perhaps that's what we get for having a lake - but now it's seventy degrees outside. While to many that may appear to be a good thing, to me it just means less sleep. My dorm is a sauna whenever the temperature spikes like this. It irks me. It irks me bad.
Today is Super Tuesday, which makes me happy. We are one milestone closer to a new president, thank the FSM. I can only pray that It will reach its noodly appendage down and strangle that backwards preacher Huckabee (henceforth to be known as Hickabee).
Also, things are looking good for the spooks, and bad for the country. Wired Threat Level reported today that Senator Jay Rockefeller (D-WV), architect of the administration-approved FISA bill (which includes immunity for telecom companies, dang it) intends the legislation to be used to erect surveillance driftnets. So we're well on our way to a surveillance state. Whooopeeee.
For the Neil Gaiman fans out there, check out neverwear. It's sexy.
And, on a separate note, for those of you who know me, I'm trying as hard as I can to "just do it."
For the rest, perhaps I'll explain tomorrow.
I think I'm going to do a dual post, one vernacular, one essay.

Update

2008-01-31T16:53:00.000-05:00

I'm going to start posting daily.
Yes, I know no one reads the blog/journal, and I know I structure most of the vernacular posts like a dialogue with the reader. I don't care.
I post because its therapeutic.
Also, I make pains to be frank and bare myself (not literally, that's another website....not) and I relish the danger that someone I write about will find this one day.
Also, I'm making efforts to leave the ranks of the single.
Wish me luck.

State of the Union

2008-01-24T19:56:00.000-05:00

I don't understand politics.
Why does this country fight so hard to oppress itself?

Who woulda thunk it?

2008-01-22T15:51:00.000-05:00

No one could have seen this coming.
I hit a wall of depression a few weeks back, but instead of just taking it like normal, I rebelled.
I made definitive motions to renew friendships gone stagnant, to build new ones.
I forgot people's names, made freudian slips and crappy jokes, crossed lines and forgot boundaries.
But I met new guys (a rare occasion for me), went outside, met new women, learned new names, got laughs from my freudian slips, made really good jokes, and above all, realized I have friends who don't care about my flaws.
I like someone, and it's not someone with whom I could never be.
I am at a point where I don't really know where my life is going, save that it will be a positive movement.
I guess this is what optimism is like.

Creativity

2008-01-18T16:33:00.000-05:00

So this has been staring me in the face for three years and just now I'm realizing it.
I might need to reevaluate my career choice.
The arts are screaming for me to come to them.

Epic.

2008-01-17T15:52:00.000-05:00

Snow.
I mean, I know it's just frozen water.
But damn if it isn't fun.
I leaned out my window, and saw snow.
I stood on the balcony and watched it come down for about an hour.
I was mesmerized, but not so enraptured that I was unable to see that it wasn't going to stick.
Flakes are cool. This is undeniable. So I followed the only possible course of action: I ran all over the entire campus shouting and cheering and catching snowflakes in my mouth. I hadn't seen snow outside of photos in years. But I'm a physical weakling, so I stopped running after a time and went inside. The only thing left to do then was to hold out for ice, and a cancellation of class.
Then I walk outside to see a friend.

The snow stuck.

It's everywhere.

And then the realization kicks in.
Snow fight.

I then proceed to run all over campus, just packing and throwing. Everyone was outside, all of the students. EVERYONE. The most unity the campus has ever seen, all prompted by a force of nature. It was an adventure of the highest order. I couldn't feel any digits, there was ice in my pockets and ears, and everyone aimed for me. I was tackled more times than I can count.

I loved it.

We went into the wee hours of the morning, ne'er minding the clock. Snowmen, snowballs, snowangels, snow penises, everything.

Epic.

Adjustment Complete

2008-01-15T00:40:00.000-05:00

Holy vernacular Batman!

Yeah, so loneliness found me here too.
College was not the safety net I was counting on.
But it is much better.
I have close friends, enough to find myself growing apart from old ones.
Friends are good; until they date. Then they have someone more important and they ditch you like WHOA. Shame really, things were going really well until then. I don't wish them any will ill; I bet I'd be the same way.
Wonder if I'll ever know.
'Cause I am TERRIBLE at that whole dating thing. swear to god, if I don't get some sort of affection from the finer sex, I'm gonna lose my ever-loving mind.

So fucking lonely.

2008-01-15T00:32:00.000-05:00

I need an outlet.
So I find myself here again; here where I'm going to spew it all.
Heh, all. Bullshit.
I spew only enough to vent.
No names. No specificity.
I revel in the fundamental anonymity of an internet identity.
(I rhyme all the time.)
Whatever. I just want to spend away all my dreariness and creative urges where they'll collect dust, where no one will come a-knocking save people I'll never meet, people I don't care about.
Selfish, I know.
But fuck if I care.

nameless

2008-01-15T00:21:00.000-05:00

found myself in the rut again
don't like it here
lockstep with all the same strife
fighting the solitary war
must resist temptation
ease of desperation
white flag waving
strutting along with mask on
pretense of the carefree
but the paint is running
not too much to ask
wanting little and finding less
one
here's a toast to none

2007-06-06T21:35:00.001-04:00

It's not the goal, just the indicator of success.

Elusive: Word of the day/week/year/lifetime.

Like Cogs In a Clock

2007-04-15T17:26:00.000-04:00

Predictability. The rut of repeated events, of forecasting the result, of a life defined by its deja vu.
Here I am caught, shouting for someone to bump my trolley off the track, to add some spice, to simply let me have something new.
I'm mired.
They tell us:
"Here is a static world, stare quietly and say not a word.
You must stagnate. Follow the trend. Be the target market."
And I'm mired, wanting things to change, wanting so much, simply because I'm tired of what I've got.
Alone.
Talk too much.
Hidden behind a mask.
Bored, both in specific moments, and in the grand scheme of things.
And worst of all, I can only spew this cliched existential mental vomit to myself, as loose thoughts tied together by a title and a web address. I am the only one who listens without request, I am the only one without an other, without an other who puts me first. I taste the tang of the silver metal. Gold is out of reach.

just another post

2007-04-11T21:56:00.000-04:00

I'm so close to snapping.
I was extremely irritable this morning, and that just isn't me, whatever else I may be.
I just need out, is what I need. New places, new people.
Ugh.

So guess what?
I really don't like the image of a guy having his arm around a girl. It's awkward looking, and really possessive. Holding hands is much better.

Identify

2007-04-05T22:04:00.000-04:00

Are we what we do, or what we feel?
Are we what we say, or what we think?
I don't let people in my shell. What I always thought was me has been hidden away from the world for years. I only let out what I can't control, or what I want to expose.
And now I wonder.
Is it the mask that defines a man, or what he hides beneath?
I'm a reticent guy. My angers and fears and sadnesses are all pent up. The mental vomit that is my constant speech is mostly autopilot. Listen to me sometime. It's all trite jokes, obvious declarations and mimicry.
After years of cheery, syrupy sweet Bobby, is there any reality to what I keep tucked away?
No one knows me. No one. No one can choose to like or dislike, love or hate, the self I keep hidden.
It shakes the core of my friendships. They like happy me, talkative me, outward me.
And now I wonder.

Naturalism

2007-03-25T22:39:00.000-04:00

I am more than a little intimidated by fate.
Someone helped me get inside my own head, and I found a permeating fear of that which I cannot control. I control myself, but I rule little more than this physical vessel of flesh. I rule not even my own emotions. The photo beside this passage represents both what I yearn for and what I fear - there lies a couple entwined in a dying embrace, finding solace in love's strength over the ravages of an uncaring world. They are victims of what cannot be controlled, of impersonal nature unleashed, crushing without malice or mercy. But they find some everlasting comfort in another naturalistic force - love. No mortal could e'er claim comparison to the might of love, to the permanence of the truest of affections. What if I am never picked up by love's steadying hand? To be caught by fate like a leaf upon the surf -that is both my greatest fear and my highest hope. Death is inevitable - none may thwart the reaper - but love is a roll of the dice. What if I never know such happiness?
Or worse, and sadly more likely, what if i find only love unrequited? And therein, therein lies the rub.

A Holdover

2007-03-22T22:56:00.000-04:00

Something clicked Wednesday night.
I somehow managed to recapture my love of the newspaper, and it all came back.
I like to think the Associate Editor is back in business.

mmhhhm.

Snapshots

2007-03-19T20:29:00.000-04:00

the short weekend is filled with longing.
i dread a life of american splendor.

* * *

Have you ever played Clue? You take all the pieces of evidence you know and insert a piece you don't know. Process of elimination, and there you have it, the answer you seek.
Beware comparisons to others, for they illuminate the differences in people. I know where we are the same, and what makes us different. The comparisons shed light on the shortcomings. And I cannot bear the brilliance.

* * *

So to me, birthdays symbolize more than what has passed, the years under my belt, but rather are a glaring reminder of the failures, of what I haven't achieved.
Case in point: I'm 18 and never been kissed.
What a happy world.

* * *

I get this feeling lately that I'm waiting. I have this hopeful foreboding, this lowlevel buzzing of assurance, that if only i get through the now that it will all be okay. everyone feeds it: "college will be better." bull. college will be a rerun of this mediocre quagmire of unhappiness, but with a pricetag, a bill in the mail: the first tendrils of debt. It's an addicting, subversive emotion, this "waiting." Some would say that the only remedy is to focus on the now, revel in the present. But the present is no better; i retreat into the warm glow of an imagined future more and more in recent days because the present rankles me to the core.

I hate my life.

* * *

sleep your life away,
but remember:
dreams are best left to the professionals.

I don't remember my dreams. They may not even exist. Sleeping is my little death, for i have no experience with the real petit morte. I die each night, total shutdown, closed for good, pull the plug.

And its hard to get up each morning.

* * *

The core underlying motif in one's life is his personal demon, his failure, his weakness. For some, ambition. They alienate for love of power. For others, chance. It all rests on a roll of the dice. For me? Rejection. It is my fate to ask and be denied.
So what'll it be?

Check no or no.

Balancing the Clock

2007-03-15T22:24:00.000-04:00

I have no time.
I have too much time.

I have too much work.

High point of today: sleeping in my car on break.

I hate my life.

Just One of Those Days

2007-03-13T17:48:00.000-04:00

So today was a bad day.

I was sleepy all day, and irritable to the extreme.

I don't want to do my HW.

boreded.

2007-02-26T17:14:00.000-05:00

bored.

Vater

2007-02-24T14:18:00.000-05:00

I wanna be a daddy.

I might have sanity issues.

CDS

2007-02-21T20:13:00.000-05:00

The year is blowing by me in a blur of words and music and movies. Soon I'll be off to college.
Does anyone else feel some reluctance to grow up? I just wanna be a slack teen for my whole life.

Youth is wasted on the young.

I feel no longing for the past, I have no desire to live to the good ole days. I am a walking failure of the American dream - for that is one oft-overlooked facet of it.

Nostalgia. People always want what they can't have, and what is more impossible than the past? Always, always, the grass is greener on the other side, the side you already left forever. And so the Americans try to rise from the present, eyes on the future, compelled by an idyllic, imagined past to build a new golden age.

I live with a strange mindset. I like now, no matter how much I hate it. I wish I could solve the world's ills with my budding adulthood intact.

My eyes rest on the future, wishing with all my soul that it was now. I want to build a new world and banish my own terrible cynicism, and I want it before my caustic worldview burns me away.

Eh. Imma go watch a movie. It dulls the philosophy center.

mmm...amateur psychotherapy.

Musings

2007-02-06T20:52:00.000-05:00

I haven't updated in a long while. My writings have been internal monologues; I have had issues with motivating myself to write.

I've not been talking with my best bud. then i found out his mom is real sick. I feel like dung.

I might have misstepped in another friendship. I must remember in the future to avoid changing such a massive status quo.

We have but mere months left here. It's a burning fuse on anything I attempt to do; there are various time windows I am locked into:

how long before i am overtaken by senioritis
how long before i my friendships fade away from lack of communication
the above as applied to romance.

that last one irks me. if i ever have a successful relationship here, it will be tempered by the fact that it will be forced to die or go long distance just months into the future.

It surely must weigh on the minds of others as well.

Not to mention i have a poisonous tendency to fall for friends.

I have a solution: i take a nap.
Naps always cheer me up.
and I see Rent tomorrow.

Barrier

2006-12-18T22:54:00.000-05:00

we wall the others out and ourselves in.
there is no beauty in this.

Phoenix

2006-11-01T22:43:00.001-05:00

He sits, still.
There is no imagination.
No creativity.
The dilemma is a blank page. It sits on his desk, nestled in the shards of his former existence, in the sharp splinters of a life that once was.
A photograph. A letter. An answering machine. A stapler. A desk calendar.
Comfortable glimpses of a past, buried under the tatters of the present: a strewn pile of AZT pills.
The phone rings. Rings. Rings. Rings. Click. The answering machine is the safety net. It gives communication without interaction.
Beep.
Pause.
John, we need to talk. Your diagnosis...
Pause.
I’m so sorry. We need to talk.
John, please.
Pause.
There is a sigh of sadness. Is it him, or her?
Click.
He has only himself. His body will fail, but his mind will stay.
In words, he will live on.
What words?
They are locked away. No muse has answered his laments. No Calliope has come on high bearing enlightenment. The words won’t come.
He has 12 weeks, at the outside. Can he write it?
It’s a self-contained life, a new stage for his life to play out on. These last weeks...so precious.
His old life is a simple portrait, a frame of images to be seen, not lived. He will never go back.
Those days are gone.
He mustn’t dwell on it, must focus on now.
How to move on? To ignore what was and could have been?
That’s it. All ties to his old life must be severed.
Burn the portrait, rise from the ashes.
A phoenix.
He begins it, a bonfire of memories, right there.
Everything goes. Posters, books, clothes, even the desk.
It starts slow, but steady.
There will be no stop to this blaze of what came before.
It will light the future.
No matter, because now the words come. By the light of the flames, he writes.
Fluid and flowing, the words drip, drop onto the paper. He etches his existence into the paper.
He runs out of paper. He writes on the floor. On and on, he tells his tale, till there is no more to tell.
The elation fades. The heat rises.
I’d rather burn out than fade away, someone once said.
Will I be remembered? he thinks.
In the inferno, a smile.
He has said what needed to be said. That is enough.
The ashes float away on the winds of a new day.

Check my derivative.

2006-10-19T21:44:00.000-04:00

We have acceleration.

I have finally achieved something has eluded me for years.

And today, I was embarrassed. My ears turned red, I blushed and bowed my head.

And it was amazing.

I'm so awkward, and I don't really know how to go about anything.

It's like learning to walk.

I love it.

[As an update, I was happy for a week. Then she told me romance was not preferable to friendship.]

Inertia

2006-10-16T20:07:00.000-04:00

Newton's first law:
An object will stay at rest or move at a constant speed in a straight line unless acted upon by an unbalanced force.

Me now: Steady as she goes, sitting and twiddling thumbs, waiting for an interesting life to strike me from the heavens.

Me tomorrow: Giving a little push, throwing in a little acceleration for the thrill of it.

Screw you, inertia.

There are two possible outcomes.
Yes = a fundamental change in my life.
No = Say hello to the status quo.

Call me unbalanced.

Need

2006-10-12T22:01:00.000-04:00

I want someone to share it all with, someone to smile at for no reason.
Someone I can love, who can return my love.
Where are you?

Lost in thought

2006-10-12T21:30:00.000-04:00

Take off your shoes and stay a while.
Sit back and enjoy the show.
No heckling.

Teenage Angst Pictures presents
An Underveloped Emotions Production
"Lost in Thought"

Do you wonder?
What do you wonder?
I wonder all the time.
Why are we here? What is our purpose?
[Cliches amuse me.]
I don't know what I want.
I don't even know what I like.

Writing?
The sliding of a good pen, fluid and flowing, the black ink of thoughts dripping, dropping onto the paper.
Fingers flying, clicks and clacks, the sounds of the gears in the head, personified by the type.
The thrill of the right words, the simplicity of the word sought and found in the recesses of the head.
Trying to quantify quality, to describe color to the blind.
Erecting landscapes and people and emotions from 2 dimensional paper.
The linguistic purity of a job well done.
Writing? Maybe.

Design?
Making the elements fit, finishing the jigsaw from pieces of different puzzles.
A cohesive mix of images and words, to please the visual palate.
Binging chaos to order, and order to chaos.
Sweating all the small stuff.
When it just looks right.
The visual bliss of a job well done.
Design? Maybe.

Science? Math?
Order.
Knowing how the coin will fall, knowing the reasons why.
The cat in the box.
The beauty of the numbers, the simplistic associations of basic reality.
Rules.
The majesty of the massive, the madness of the miniscule.
On or off, closed or open, working or broken.
The ordered rigidity of a job well done.
Math? Science? Binary doesn't allow for maybe.

A job well done.
Yes.
Perhaps it is simply that.
A job well done.

[Roll credits]

Landslide

2006-10-12T21:25:00.000-04:00

lost and confused
cant make the words come out right
slipping and sliding
like pebbles in a landslide
mind a wreck
all the rocks crashing
down
on
me

[line breaks breaking breaking broke my head]

Picks and Peeves

2006-10-04T20:42:00.000-04:00

Pick: Conversation
It's no secret that I find the utmost pleasure in making smalltalk. Allow me to demonstrate, as I engage you, the reader, in a hypothetical discourse. Hello, my name is Bobby Rode. Describe myself? Why, what a strange request! But no worries - I won't disappoint. Imagine, if you will, a massively obnoxious beanpole of a senior who meanders down the hallway, flapping his jaws constantly and loudly. Pretty annoying, huh? I agree wholeheartedly, it is a good thing there's no one like that at Wando. Now imagine the most handsome, upstanding young gentleman you can, one with a penchant for chitchat, and you've got me. (*Modesty not included, some assembly required.) Yes, I do love a good conversation. It's fair to say that any clichéd synonym you can dredge up for "one who talks a lot" will be a good label for me. My word! You kiss your mother with that mouth!? I do believe this exchange is finished. Begone.

Peeve: Warnings of fiery apocalypses
You know, prophecies of an imminent Ragnarok really ruin my day. You know how it is: Here you are, going about your daily routine, maybe even enjoying it a bit, when you see this guy. You know, this random guy with the sign, "The end is nigh!" What can you say or do in response? "Oh, what a load of baloney. We got a few years yet." How stupid would you feel if you woke the next morning to a world of mushroom clouds and glow-in-the-dark cheese? You'd hear his "Told you so!" ringing for days in your ears. (Then they'd fall off.) So you gotta prepare. Stock up on the essentials: Canned veggies, water, Spam. (Yes, Spam. How could one bear the Götterdämmerung without its canned delicious-ness?) Maybe you even decide to do some Eschatology research, or place some wagers on which religion will have its say on humanity's way out. (Norse, of course. Bet you a ten-spot.) But then you wake up the next morning in your fallout shelter to the sounds of the day's weather forecast. And now you know the world hasn't ended yet, because it's "Partly sunny with a chance of showers," not "Partly radioactive with a chance of anthrax." Dang. Fell for it again.

Pick: Nerd T-shirts
Have you ever seen those nerd T-shirts with those witty phrases only nerds would get? Well, I am the proud owner of quite a few. Here are some notable ones I've found over the years.
I pwn n00bs.
2+2=5 (for extremely large values of 2)
There are 10 types of people: those who understand binary, and those who don't.
And my personal favorite:
Roses are #FF0000
Violets are #0000FF
All my base
Are belong to you.
I find the marriage of humor and geekdom to be a union made in heaven. May these amazing traits continue to stay together on overpriced printed T's, till death do they part.

Peeve: Teenage-ness
I hereby coin a word - "Teenage-ness". (Now I can stand with the literary giants who made up...er...coined words before me.) Allow me to define this pinnacle of linguistic innovation and, incidentally, my least favorite intangible item on the planet Earth. Read on:
teenage-ness [teen-eyj-nis] -noun
1. The general overall character of an adolescent Homo Sapien, characterized by an apparent total lack of judgement and driving skills, an aversion to work and common courtesy, a tendency to be petty and to stereotype, and an awakening urge to join the rat race, preferably with the least amount of effort possible.
2. the state of limbo between the gender-segregated innocence of childhood and the unadulterated lust of adulthood.
See also stupidity, immaturity, libidinousness

Wilkes

2006-09-14T21:40:00.000-04:00

A terrible storm is manifesting itself in the dark skies above Chicago. Torrential rains drench every inch of the dirty city, making commuting an arduous ordeal. Winds pick up debris and fling them though the streets, plastering litter to telephone booths. Thunder rumbles, ominously and continuously. Lightning streaks across the sky in menacing, luminous spiderwebs, every few seconds illuminating the slumbering metropolis, rendering it in stark detail. During one of these flashes, a man can be seen, bent against the wind, loitering underneath a dim, wavering streetlight. As both the sky and the light flicker, something glints from within the man’s trenchcoat. He wraps the drenched garment tighter around his body. Even though it is near three in the morning, there is still activity on the streets. At that moment, a police car screams around the corner, streaking through a deep puddle and spraying water for yards. Its shrieking siren announces the patrol’s presence to the sleeping inhabitants of the city for blocks around. The man glances up and quickly down again, shielding his face with his collar. He tries to light a cigarette, but quickly despairs in the torrential downpour. The police car continues its murderous pace, not even pausing to look at the man, intent on some urgent crime on the other side of Chicago. After a while, a cab happens to pass near the intersection and the man flags it. As he gets into the car, the cabbie gets a good look at the man and visibly starts. The man’s face is gaunt and unshaven, hiding what might have been a handsome face, framed by dark brown hair and split across the left cheek by a pink scar. His overall appearance startles the cabbie, but what he is totally fascinated by is the man’s eyes. They are icy blue and haggard, accentuated by dark rings underneath, holes into a tortured, fiercely intelligent man. The man betrays no emotion at the driver’s interest, instead breaking the brief reverie by handing him a hundred dollar bill and saying simply, “Get me out of the city.” As the car pulls away from the curb, he settles into the seat and flattens his collar. This man is Johnny Wilkes, and he is a murderer.

Johnny makes himself comfortable, sinking into the backseat as if it were the softest bed he had ever encountered. As he rests, he closes his eyes, prompting the cabbie to heave an inward sigh of relief – those eyes are haunting, and they are hard to look away from - the man has to watch the road. Johnny finds himself dozing off, and jerks himself awake. Finally, he decides to focus his attention on one thing so as to keep his mind occupied and therefore aware. His mind flashes back a couple of months, back to the very beginning, the advent of a series of events which had culminated in this evening’s hasty taxi ride. Back to a beautiful afternoon in downtown Chicago, where Johnny and his girlfriend, Sue, had gone to see a moving picture – a talkie, as it happened.

Sue was a beautiful brunette, intelligent and independent, free-spirited and good-natured. Johnny met her while deep undercover in organization of the self-proclaimed King of Chicago, Louis Malone, opium and whiskey runner, and overall crime lord. Susan, a rare woman reporter, was doing a similar investigation. They both had been very suspicious of each other, and had ended up confronting each other, only to find themselves unlikely allies. They began to work together, seeing each other more and more, until it was more than just business, though neither would admit it. With their combined resources, they grew ever closer to infiltrating Big Louie’s inner circle and exposing him with irrefutable and court-admissible evidence. They seemed on the brink of success when suddenly, inexplicably, Louie and his goons ostracized Susan and Johnny, no longer even speaking to them, before physically throwing them out of the organization. The only leads and evidence they had evaporated, gone overnight as Big Louie overhauled his entire organization, apparently just to render their hard-won information useless. Sue speculated that the only possible cause for Malone’s sudden alertness to their actions was a snitch, someone who sold them out. Wilkes disagreed, on the grounds that only a select few knew of his cover, and only one could even mildly be considered suspect. The disagreement didnt dampen their relationship, however. As their cooperation on the Malone job grew into friendship, and the friendship grew into something more, the partners in subterfuge became partners in love.

They saw more and more of each other, and Johnny began to suspect that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with this woman. In fact, it was more than a suspicion; it was a conviction, as substantiated by the newly purchased diamond ring in his pocket. It took a whole job’s pay to buy it. So naturally, on this particular date, he was a bit nervous.

“You seem kind of out of it today, Johnny,” Sue grinned, speaking loudly to be heard over the newsreel playing after the credits of the movie, “You’re not gonna die on me, are you?” Johnny tried to calm his pounding heart.

“Uh, no, of course not. Say, I was wondering if you would like to, um, maybe go to the Blue Pelican for dinner?” Johnny crossed his fingers and hoped for the best.

“Ooh, that’s a pretty ritzy place…are you sure you can handle the bill?” Sue

teased. Johnny nodded. “Oh, well…I don’t know…” Sue pondered melodramatically,

“Pretty spur of the moment…”

“Uh…yeah.” He had made the reservation weeks ago.

“Well, if you insist…” Sue laughed and gave Johnny a big hug. He started breathing again. The mood grew slightly more serious as they gazed intently into each others’ eyes, the blue and the brown just inches apart. However, it quickly dissolved into a staring contest, with both competitors struggling to maintain a straight face. The game was short-lived, however.

“Sorry to interrupt you lovebirds, but Mr. Malone cordially demands your presence,” a rough voice said near their ears, as a coarse, hairy arm curled around each of their necks, shoving wet rags in their startled faces. The last thing Johnny remembered before the chloroform and darkness overcame him was an awful stench of whiskey and body odor.

* * * * *

“Nice to see you again. Sorry ‘bout the drugs. I had to get you here somehow.” The voice slowly phased into clarity. Harsh, grating clarity. Johnny’s arms throbbed from the ropes binding him to a rusty barrel, not to mention the fog in his vision and the splitting headache. It was amazing how chloroform could knock him out easily, and still leave his senses wide open to pain. “You don’t look so good, my friend.” A face loomed into his line of sight, and he began to comprehend what was going on as the countenance in front of him came into focus. As the revelation hit him like a freight train, he let out a string of colorful curses, punctuated by a groan of pain as a baseball bat made contact with his face at a considerable velocity. There was nothing for a while, only blackness. When it receded, Johnny struggled against his restraints and screamed.

“Malone!” The name tore out of him like a knife. “What have you done to Susan? If you’ve touched her, I swear I’ll kill you. I will rip you to pieces.” Again came the bat to the face. The blackness was more fleeting this time.

“Idle threats, Wilkes.” The voice dragged him from the depths of darkness. Malone walked around into Johnny’s line of sight, then leaned in close and seized his chin. “You won’t live through the night, you little ----. I’m gonna take a long time with you... and your little girlfriend, too.” Johnny surged against the ropes holding him and spit a large wad of blood of spit and phlegm into his face. Malone’s eyes widened for a moment in shock before the action fully registered and he back-handed Johnny, grabbing his collar. “Oh yes, this is going to be fun...yes, indeed.”

“Is this what gets you off, Malone?” Johnny slurred from behind the haze of chloroform and pain. “Does it make you feel like a man? Huh?” This interrogative earned him another trip to the realm of the unconscious via baseball bat, and he didn’t return very quickly this time. When he awoke, Malone was sitting on a stool, and Sue stood bound and supported by an unshaven, armed brute beside the ruthless crime lord. For the first time, Johnny noticed the myriad of ruffians and gun-toting thugs in suits in the room, and it struck him that this was probably the end. He had stirred the hornets nest, and they were in the mood for some stinging.

“Let’s see the man smart off now,” Malone spoke gleefully, “now that I’ve got his little sweetheart where he can see her bleed.” Johnny groaned and made a feeble attempt to break free of the ropes, again to no avail. “Come on, tough guy,” Malone shouted, “let’s hear those big words now!” He nodded over Johnny’s shoulder. A thug came around and slammed an iron fist into Johnny’s lower torso. Thud. “Come on, talk!” Thud. “Show me the anger!” Thud. “React, you little sneaking twerp!” Thud. Something cracked this time, and a groan escaped Wilkes’ bloodied mouth. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Say, I know-”

“Arrgh! You little -----!” Sue had bitten her captor. The thug backhanded her into next week, nursing a bleeding digit.

“Can’t even handle a woman...can you, you great big lug...,” grunted Wilkes through some loose teeth. He wasn’t learning. His tongue was going to be the death of him.

“...I’ve had enough. This has lost its entertainment,” Malone sighed. He pulled out a nickel-plated Colt .45, a gun Wilkes knew very well. “Remember this? Your little pal gave this to you. Rhode, right? ...Not going to answer me? Well, he was a fun little murder, too. It’s a crying shame no one could pin that one on me. Not even Wilkes. Nope, you were no match for me.” Wilkes waved the thugs away from Sue and took aim. “So here ends the great.”

BLAM!

“Johnny.”

BLAM!

“Wilkes.”

She fell, dead before she hit the ground. Johnny sat like a stone, the images before him still sinking in.

Malone wiped his face of Sue’s blood with a handkerchief and shoved the cloth into Johnny’s mouth.

“Goodbye, old friend.”

BLAM!

Big Louie shot Wilkes in the stomach. He took the bullet, not even registering the pain and imminent death.

“That should make for a pleasant demise.” He nodded over Johnny’s head. Two thugs came over and picked up the dying detective, barrel and all. They dragged him out of the warehouse, down to the docks, and tossed him. Malone stood near the warehouse and shouted after him. “Ciao!”

The water took him, murky and inviting. He didn’t resist the pull of the fog at the edges of his vision. Darkness fell.

* * * * *

I’m going to finish it.

Don’t worry.

The Face of Mortality

2006-09-06T17:59:00.000-04:00

All of the walls of the hospital look the same. They are painted different colors, but they are all the same. For a place dedicated to bringing and preserving life, there is little life in the walls. No pictures, just cold impersonality, in solid shades of green and yellow and blue and purple. Choose a crayon. There’s a hallway for each. And the smell is awful. It is a chemical smell, a hospital smell, a smell unchanging for the halls of bringing life, or the halls of leaving it. The place reeks of it.

I hate the hospital.

Why is he dying? What did Papa do? His leg is already gone; it was taken from him by his sickness. Must his life be taken from him too? From me? The morphine is taking his lucidity, one drop at a time. With each dose, he takes another step away, away from me, from Daddy. But that’s not true. A generation is skipped, lost in the mists of anesthesia. He sees his son in me.

Now I am Robby. I wear my daddy’s football jacket, older than I am. My father says now I am big enough. Big enough for the jacket, big enough to be woken up in the night to see my dying grandfather, big enough to comfort him. I am seeing my father as I never have before. As a son, a son like me.

Papa tries to hand me something, reaches out a shaking hand. His fingers reach out from the dream world of drugs. But what they gripped was lost along the way. I take the nothing and thank him. Now, now he is driving. He is driving a stick, 20 years ago and a thousand miles away. I cannot reach him. No one can.

I have to leave the room. I am a big boy. No one must see me cry. I walk to the waiting room and sit. The chair is blurry and wet; everything is blurry and wet through my tears. When I am better, I get some hot chocolate and sip and think of chess. My Papa is really good at chess and plays me when I ask. I always get close to winning, but never do. I am always so happy to get close. It strikes me now for the first time that Papa likely went easy on me. What if he never does again? What if, what if there never was another game? This is my first glimpse of the reaper. It frightens me, and I try to take solace in the warmth of the cocoa. It burns me, but I am still so cold.

I go back to the room. Papa is no longer driving. He has fallen into a tumultuous slumber. His car has broken down. I am scared it will never start again. There is a rattle in his breath that terrifies me. My father sits at his arm, looking older and younger than I have ever seen him. I don’t know what to do, where to go, what to say. In the face of mortality, my mind is locked up. I am reeling. Between fear of death and fear of the fear I see in my father’s face, I am more scared than I have ever been in my life. What more is there to do but to go get more hot chocolate and wait? And wait. I tell myself I shiver from the cold; in some part it is true.

Relatives come in and out of the waiting room, but they are irrelevant. I try to watch some TV, but everything, even the George Foreman grill, makes me think of my grandfather. I turn it off. I try to sleep. It’s a pointless effort.

After a while, my father comes to get me. Papa’s condition has been the same for a while, and we are going home to get some sleep. When we leave the hospital, I am relieved, and immediately guilty. I should have been more supportive. But I didn’t, don’t, know how.

The proximity to death has changed me, and I was helpless in the metamorphosis. I now know life is fleeting, and how I must cherish it. The chess game of life only goes on for so long before a piece is taken from the board. In my bed later, I shed more of my tears in privacy, the only way I can.

A while later, the news reaches us, by way of a very emotional phone call. We left too early. My grandfather will never go easy on me again. He has reached his final checkmate.

Faces

2006-09-05T23:26:00.001-04:00

Her face is the surface of a pond, calm and flat, austere, cold. I say anything, I see the emotions ripple across it, shaking and shattering the illusion of any happiness. Nothing said is the right thing to say, no word gentle enough to leave the surface unsullied. The waters are deep and dark, yet less crystalline than the lakes of the mountains. Cloudy and confused, they hide a whirlpool of suffering, sucking her down into despair. The turmoil is all under the surface of glass. The terrifying surface, so flat and perfect that it shows but one thing, a reflection of unreconciled fears and unanswered prayers. Me.

His face is a cloud. When idle, the face is simply foreboding, hinting at the storm within with flashes of powerful light. Catch his attention, and the cloud becomes a fluffy wisp of scenery shining from the sun behind, revealing an unexpected, deep happiness hidden away within. The storm is a maelstrom of ideas, the lightning, sparks of innovation skittering and skipping across the face of his mind. It hides the real him inadvertently. But the sun is there, inside the dim danger of the unseen. It is the foil to his outward demeanor, that stormy countenance shown to the world. Only rarely does the lightning strike other than the cloud, and then only with much prodding. The destruction that ensues is so terrible that one realizes the power of the tempest, and the energy its containment produces. Ideas are birthed of this lassoed fury, this self-directed angst. It is good fortune that the sun is far more likely to be revealed than a waterspout. And his Sol warms the world, fueled by the lightning of ideas.

Life as Music

2006-08-29T21:17:00.000-04:00

The sun is long set.
The stars have come out to play, glittering jewels strewn across the sky.
Cars drift along silently underneath the street lights, chasing dancing shadows on into the night.
The leaves are leaving their trees, drifting lazily to the ground, where laughing children, giddy with life, will crush them come morn.
Everywhere, people awake and happy, spend their sleep in hopes of garnering in darkness the jocularity that eludes them in light.
The night is jazz, rife with melody, washing over lives in waves of assonance, at times slow, others, fast. The night is lilting and melodic, a music complete and powerful.
They all hear it deep inside, and smile.
The tempo quickens, swirling and dancing around a young couple, strolling heedless of all but their love.
The tempo slows as they lean in close, eyes drifting tentatively to the lips of the other.
Crescendo, and a lasting note, as they meet in body and mind at the lips, the culmination of an evening of shy anticipation.
The notes drift away, lingering around a cluster of teens lounging in the park.
The music rises into the higher registers, the notes sharpen to quick staccatos.
Laughter sounds from the mouths of all present, piercing the night with arrows of joy. Camera flashes illuminate the night, documenting the notes of the jazz, frozen in song forever.
The music flows away, slipping and eddying calmly around a man spending an evening out with his grandson. The music will be remembered by both for the rest of their lives.
All throughout the city, lives are led.
Babies are conceived, born.
Live are begun and lead.
Life's notes are long and sweet, on into the night.
The music plays, on and on, improvised and beautiful.
The night is jazz.