I snapped a picture of her self-portrait during one of my visits. Crashed on her couch after a party at her place. Didn't necessarily want to stay the night there, least of all on the couch, but I had too much of everything and wasn't gonna sleep in my car again. And she treated me like a perfect guest the whole night: Sheet, blanket, pillow, glass of water, the whole schmear. Woke up on my own terms, well before her, and quick snapped a picture with my phone of her fiery face adorned on canvas. Shortly after she came out to join me, cup of coffee already in hand. She had someplace to go but she wasn't kicking me out. She also brought a camera with her to the coffee table, but she never used it while I was still there. At 11am we both left together to go our separate ways: Me to find food before my matinee and her to wherever.
Damn right I stared at her picture all the way to the theater.
It was all I could do to contain myself. Not everyone knew about her, but those who were privy to the info found themselves gushed upon. It had been literally years since I found one woman for whom I lost all my shit.
And I can't stop it. I really wish I could. Past handful of relationships I got quite good at control.
Maybe the seasons
The colors change in the valley skies
Dave Grohl's voice coming through the gym speakers. I love this song.
We see each other once in a while, every two weeks or so. Usually me going to see her, but twice she came up by me. Once was for my Open Mic Night. Translated all my pieces just for her at last minute. It sucked. The words matched, but there was little life to the stories. Another time she came to hang out at my place. Eventful visit, too. My parents showed up. They never show up. My Dad opened the door and her dog ran up to meet him. They came to collect a rack of TV tables and end up being introduced to a girl and an animal in my house. But, cool chick that she is, she made everything seamless. And I left candy on her doorstep. On her birthday. Never heard my car comin'.
Everything else?
It's all rote.
Drive Down, Meet, Chill, Catch Up, Pet Dog, Hang Out, Smoke Cigarette Outside, Chat, Pet Dog Again, Smoke Another Cigarette, Eat Something, Gather Stuff, Walk Together to Door, Hug, Leave.
Nothing tops Our First Night Together.
But I keep hoping it does.
Until one time...
She told me a story. A scandalous story. Something she couldn't share with anyone at work. They all talk. Something she could only tell a good friend. Like you, Kevin. You're a good listener and you seem trustworthy.
"But I don't know if it's right telling you."
If you feel like sharing, share away.
"Okay."
"So I met this one couple, guy and a girl, they've been together for awhile, and they're really cool and we've been hanging out together and really hitting it off with each other, and they're both really great, the guy's cool but the girl and I have really been connecting and we've been hanging out a lot more and, well,........"
I've heard this story before. A myriad of times. It's nothing new or scandalous.
But all of a sudden her hair and her eyes are less vibrant.
And the ghosts of the past seep through the farmhouse walls.
"Is it awkward that I told you this?"
...yeah, it's a little awkward.
"Oh. I think I know why, but tell me, why?"
And I told her why.
I go to the gym a lot more now. Yoga classes when I can make them. Totally making eyes with this one redhead at the juice bar. Yeah, she's catchin' me. Even though I look scrubby. Every day on the elliptical. If she could just catch me playing guitar. Four weeks in and I'm alright. Yeah. Not too shabby.
Hey now, don't make a sound
Say, have you heard the news today?
I love this song.
sigh
Melissa.
To Be Concluded...
----------------
Now playing: Foo Fighters - Long Road To Ruin
30 July 2008
23 July 2008
Our First Night Together
Mid-February. Halfway through the run.
We were at intermission one Saturday night when Gina stops me while crossing through the dressing rooms to grab a smoke.
"Is that the girl from the bar?"
"Excuse me?"
"That girl you were talking to in the bar that one night. Isn't she in the front row?"
I rub the bridge of my nose. My glasses sit untouched with my street clothes.
"I really wouldn't know."
She escapes back through the girl's dressing room. Her face bursts as she reappears a minute or two later.
"It's her!"
Seriously? Crap, don't tell me that. I can't focus the whole second act. I can see her, blue striped shellback coat sitting Stage Right, front row, aisle. Can't miss the hair, the glasses. Dear God, what does she think? Am I selling it? I'm doing everything with a Deaf chick on stage, the whole gamut of a relationship. Does it look real? Did I look hot? Can't concentrate. What's that saying? "Know your lines and don't bump into the furniture." Yeah, that's all I got.
The Lobby after the show. I've grown to detest it. The smothering, the rigamarole. If no one I know shows up I'll sneak out a side door, I detest it so much sometimes. But I can't sneak out. I gotta talk to her. I know she'll be there.
I've been envisioning this moment. I knew I'd see her again. Been planning my move. So totally gonna ask her out. Smoothest motherfucker you ever did see.
"Hey, babe, you were the hottest thing in the bar that night. Wanna go grab a beer?"
That was, honest-to-God, the line I was gonna use.
Brian, Tim, and Amber all came to see the show that night, all of them very congratulatory. Redhead's there with a friend. I make introductions all around. Friend excuses herself to leave, I excuse myself from my brothers to grab a smoke outside with the girl.
Say it! Use the line, goddamnit!
But it's so bad! It'll never work!
You gotta! You'll never get a chance like this again!
No... Wait, shut up. Let me think of something...
During a break in the conversation I just blurt it out.
"Doing anything tonight?"
No.
"Would you like to get a drink?"
Sure. Where?
"Just down the road somewhere."
Fine. Let me run home to take care of my dog. I'll meet you there.
This is all too much. As I re-enter the theater Brian can tell from my face that I'll be late tonight coming home. Tim doesn't quite grasp the whole situation but Amber smiles brightly enough for two and pulls him along, leading a couple steps ahead. I don't know where to go so I set my sights on the most recognizable bar on the strip and text her to meet me there. In the half hour I'm sitting there on my own, with the way I'm feeling, I could pick up any girl at the bar there.
And then she walks in.
And from here on out I'm lost in whatever she has to say.
I'm not the chatty one in a couple. I tend to be the sounding board, the release valve. But this girl ain't saying anything and I have to pull the conversation along between us. Her list of accomplishments reads like Lisa Simpson mixed with Ernest Hemingway. Rugby player, were you really a rugby player? Already published a book of her own poetry. Using fancy vocabulary words like "epicurean" and "synesthesia". A huge music fan, she can match me per nuance on many a modern rock band. Two people sitting alone in a crowded bar, not speaking a word, getting to know each other. Sharing things only we would know. Everyone else stealing glances.
Hers is a story I haven't experienced before, in many ways the exact opposite of mine. She recently became completely Deaf, within the past few years. Her parents are Deaf, which is how she learned to sign. She knew she and her brother would eventually become Deaf as well, and due to an operation she lost all her hearing. Her eventual fate implanted a deep sense of urgency in her. Chill, reserved irises do little to project the kinetics of her, the nitroglycerin nature of her will. Life is fleeting, intangible, and must be jumped upon before it fades.
My mind sucks all this up like a blood cell swimming in ethanol.
Then takes a double when she mentions presently breaking up with her boyfriend of three years.
What did you think of the show?
"I thought it was great. You did an amazing job, I was very impressed. But I have to admit, the first night I met you at the bar I didn't think your signing was that good."
Well, I have to admit, I was a little stoned that evening at the bar.
"Really?"
A sharp look, carried towards the exit behind her, then slid back with a smile.
Really?
"No expectations."
"No expectations" was my middle name.
In the car I try to follow her but Hermann's droning roar makes me drive slow this time of morning. She's texting me directions one wrong turn after I need them. But we get there. And it's quaint, a colonial-style village farmhouse. As if Donna Reed moved to Green Acres and rescaled the house for a 4 ft. family. She rents the whole first floor.
I break out what little wares I have. And all of a sudden the signing goes wild. People standing around me would have had their faces slapped. She just sits on the other side of the loveseat facing me, one elbow bent and propping her head up, eyes registering somewhere between awe and drool.
All the artwork in the place is original, her own. A fiery red-and-yellow self-portrait. Fuzzy Mediterranean frescoes. And this green-faced Messiah, very like a Marley blacklight poster, sitting in the prominence.
Who's that?
She chuckles brightly.
That's Adam Duritz. She has a sort of thing for Counting Crows.
Understatement.
At this point she regales to me a story that officialy makes her the coolest thing on two legs.
Whenever Counting Crows would play Rochester she had to sit first row every show. Had to. But even that wasn't close enough. So she devised a plan to get as close as possible. The next time they played she called the arena holding the gig.
"Hi, I'm a free-lance interpreter and I understand some Deaf customers have bought tickets to see Counting Crows. Could you tell me where I can park my car?"
The toughest part was finding people who could sign to play the customers. Which wasn't that hard.
At the arena the night of the gig: Parking was free, backstage pass sat waiting, friends got great seats at a rock concert, and she stood in skin-tight leather pants, 10 feet from Adam, signing every word coming off his lips.
She repeated this.
Multiple times.
One time actually catching Adam and Ed Kowalcyk from Live in a pick-up basketball game. Adam saw her, flashed a cursory glance her way. She had gotten very close. And he knew. She stopped after that.
Coolest thing on two legs.
It's getting early now. Really early. "No expectations" means no expectations. So,... nothing's happening. Right?
So I have to go home.
Right?
I don't want to crash here. That's a poor first impression. Besides, I'm so lost now. I would do anything she says. The most epochal person I have met in forever, and I'm a foot away from her. I'm soft and mushy, a puddle of wet diary pages in her living room. But I don't want to crash here. That's a poor first impression.
She asks if I'm okay to drive home.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Where's the door?"
Her text messages don't help in reverse. I've nodea wheremat. By the zoo, somewhere. Fuck, Hermann's loud. Waking the neighbors driving like this. Someone's gonna call. I can't get another ticket. Cannot. Shit, where the fuck am I? Driving around, fucking map... someone's gonna spot me. No, can't do it.
Hermann pulls over into a Dunkin' Donuts parking lot.
Just gonna relax until safe to drive. Daylight or so.
Can't keep the motor running. Cop might pull up.
Holy living fuck, this winter's fucking cold.
To Be Continued
----------------
Now playing: Counting Crows - Einstein on the Beach (for an Eggman)
We were at intermission one Saturday night when Gina stops me while crossing through the dressing rooms to grab a smoke.
"Is that the girl from the bar?"
"Excuse me?"
"That girl you were talking to in the bar that one night. Isn't she in the front row?"
I rub the bridge of my nose. My glasses sit untouched with my street clothes.
"I really wouldn't know."
She escapes back through the girl's dressing room. Her face bursts as she reappears a minute or two later.
"It's her!"
Seriously? Crap, don't tell me that. I can't focus the whole second act. I can see her, blue striped shellback coat sitting Stage Right, front row, aisle. Can't miss the hair, the glasses. Dear God, what does she think? Am I selling it? I'm doing everything with a Deaf chick on stage, the whole gamut of a relationship. Does it look real? Did I look hot? Can't concentrate. What's that saying? "Know your lines and don't bump into the furniture." Yeah, that's all I got.
The Lobby after the show. I've grown to detest it. The smothering, the rigamarole. If no one I know shows up I'll sneak out a side door, I detest it so much sometimes. But I can't sneak out. I gotta talk to her. I know she'll be there.
I've been envisioning this moment. I knew I'd see her again. Been planning my move. So totally gonna ask her out. Smoothest motherfucker you ever did see.
"Hey, babe, you were the hottest thing in the bar that night. Wanna go grab a beer?"
That was, honest-to-God, the line I was gonna use.
Brian, Tim, and Amber all came to see the show that night, all of them very congratulatory. Redhead's there with a friend. I make introductions all around. Friend excuses herself to leave, I excuse myself from my brothers to grab a smoke outside with the girl.
Say it! Use the line, goddamnit!
But it's so bad! It'll never work!
You gotta! You'll never get a chance like this again!
No... Wait, shut up. Let me think of something...
During a break in the conversation I just blurt it out.
"Doing anything tonight?"
No.
"Would you like to get a drink?"
Sure. Where?
"Just down the road somewhere."
Fine. Let me run home to take care of my dog. I'll meet you there.
This is all too much. As I re-enter the theater Brian can tell from my face that I'll be late tonight coming home. Tim doesn't quite grasp the whole situation but Amber smiles brightly enough for two and pulls him along, leading a couple steps ahead. I don't know where to go so I set my sights on the most recognizable bar on the strip and text her to meet me there. In the half hour I'm sitting there on my own, with the way I'm feeling, I could pick up any girl at the bar there.
And then she walks in.
And from here on out I'm lost in whatever she has to say.
I'm not the chatty one in a couple. I tend to be the sounding board, the release valve. But this girl ain't saying anything and I have to pull the conversation along between us. Her list of accomplishments reads like Lisa Simpson mixed with Ernest Hemingway. Rugby player, were you really a rugby player? Already published a book of her own poetry. Using fancy vocabulary words like "epicurean" and "synesthesia". A huge music fan, she can match me per nuance on many a modern rock band. Two people sitting alone in a crowded bar, not speaking a word, getting to know each other. Sharing things only we would know. Everyone else stealing glances.
Hers is a story I haven't experienced before, in many ways the exact opposite of mine. She recently became completely Deaf, within the past few years. Her parents are Deaf, which is how she learned to sign. She knew she and her brother would eventually become Deaf as well, and due to an operation she lost all her hearing. Her eventual fate implanted a deep sense of urgency in her. Chill, reserved irises do little to project the kinetics of her, the nitroglycerin nature of her will. Life is fleeting, intangible, and must be jumped upon before it fades.
My mind sucks all this up like a blood cell swimming in ethanol.
Then takes a double when she mentions presently breaking up with her boyfriend of three years.
What did you think of the show?
"I thought it was great. You did an amazing job, I was very impressed. But I have to admit, the first night I met you at the bar I didn't think your signing was that good."
Well, I have to admit, I was a little stoned that evening at the bar.
"Really?"
A sharp look, carried towards the exit behind her, then slid back with a smile.
Really?
"No expectations."
"No expectations" was my middle name.
In the car I try to follow her but Hermann's droning roar makes me drive slow this time of morning. She's texting me directions one wrong turn after I need them. But we get there. And it's quaint, a colonial-style village farmhouse. As if Donna Reed moved to Green Acres and rescaled the house for a 4 ft. family. She rents the whole first floor.
I break out what little wares I have. And all of a sudden the signing goes wild. People standing around me would have had their faces slapped. She just sits on the other side of the loveseat facing me, one elbow bent and propping her head up, eyes registering somewhere between awe and drool.
All the artwork in the place is original, her own. A fiery red-and-yellow self-portrait. Fuzzy Mediterranean frescoes. And this green-faced Messiah, very like a Marley blacklight poster, sitting in the prominence.
Who's that?
She chuckles brightly.
That's Adam Duritz. She has a sort of thing for Counting Crows.
Understatement.
At this point she regales to me a story that officialy makes her the coolest thing on two legs.
Whenever Counting Crows would play Rochester she had to sit first row every show. Had to. But even that wasn't close enough. So she devised a plan to get as close as possible. The next time they played she called the arena holding the gig.
"Hi, I'm a free-lance interpreter and I understand some Deaf customers have bought tickets to see Counting Crows. Could you tell me where I can park my car?"
The toughest part was finding people who could sign to play the customers. Which wasn't that hard.
At the arena the night of the gig: Parking was free, backstage pass sat waiting, friends got great seats at a rock concert, and she stood in skin-tight leather pants, 10 feet from Adam, signing every word coming off his lips.
She repeated this.
Multiple times.
One time actually catching Adam and Ed Kowalcyk from Live in a pick-up basketball game. Adam saw her, flashed a cursory glance her way. She had gotten very close. And he knew. She stopped after that.
Coolest thing on two legs.
It's getting early now. Really early. "No expectations" means no expectations. So,... nothing's happening. Right?
So I have to go home.
Right?
I don't want to crash here. That's a poor first impression. Besides, I'm so lost now. I would do anything she says. The most epochal person I have met in forever, and I'm a foot away from her. I'm soft and mushy, a puddle of wet diary pages in her living room. But I don't want to crash here. That's a poor first impression.
She asks if I'm okay to drive home.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Where's the door?"
Her text messages don't help in reverse. I've nodea wheremat. By the zoo, somewhere. Fuck, Hermann's loud. Waking the neighbors driving like this. Someone's gonna call. I can't get another ticket. Cannot. Shit, where the fuck am I? Driving around, fucking map... someone's gonna spot me. No, can't do it.
Hermann pulls over into a Dunkin' Donuts parking lot.
Just gonna relax until safe to drive. Daylight or so.
Can't keep the motor running. Cop might pull up.
Holy living fuck, this winter's fucking cold.
To Be Continued
----------------
Now playing: Counting Crows - Einstein on the Beach (for an Eggman)
17 July 2008
Just a Girl at a Bar
Third week of January. Third week of rehersals. Thursday evening. No one had to work early the next day. We're done at 10. Drinks? Yeah, sure. Hell yeah! Where at? Kevin, you been here before, what's good?
We went to a bar I thought I had been in before. One from last year, couple of guys from the band and the come-hither hottie serving drinks. One where I heard "King of Carrot Flowers" played on the jukebox. You never hear that song in public. This wasn't the bar, but here we were. All of us. Two circle tables pushed together, half of us fast-flinging fingerspellers, the other half loud-talking others.
Didn't really wanna be there. Stopped drinking habitually. Bars are too loud for me. Conversation gets lost, drowned in the squelch or yanked by a drop-dead hook. So I arrived already comfy. Dressed a little like I was askin' for it. Christine took one look at my preppy cardigan and shook her head slowly. Oh, brother. Or so her face said. Neither table is drawing me particularly, so I start out playing waiter. Everyone else picks a side and I end up losing musical chairs. Boo-hoo. I gather orders and take to the bar. The husky-voiced bartender is a little plump, but she's catchin' me, so that's cool. People scuffle, people leave. Something opened up right next to the Lighting Designer. Don't know him. Perfect. Bring some drinks back and collect money. Gina slips me a fifty. She's got first round. I go back to Miss Smoky to pay.
And I catch her out the corner of my right eye. Redhead, purple shirt, tall, slim dancer's build. Slow reveal towards me showed distant eyes framed by sweet pointy glasses. She is perfect. Exactly what I like. I'm horrible at chatting up girls at bars. So much so I don't even try anymore. So she'll be the most visited landmark on the scenery of the evening.
I'm chatting at the tables, making small talk, nursing my Blue Moon. She's sitting at the table directly to my left. Two other friends, a stack of cups, and a pitcher of Bud. I'm listening to dude next to me, trying not to look so blatant. The girls still flinging their conversation cross the table to my right. Something about training for the Marines, rolling your own cigarettes, yeah, dude, I'm with you. Redhead gets up to move. Can't mistake her for a second. She heads over to the girls flittering away. She starts to flitter along. Holy shit, she can sign.
I'm committed now. I couldn't hide anything if I tried.
Christine is all over this, talking animatedly to the redhead. Pulling out postcards, writing down notes, explaining the whole operation.
"The whole show's done in sign language, and we'll have it captioned as well, and these three girls are Deaf, they're in the show, and Kevin over there, he's hearing but he signs very well, he plays the lead."
She's staring at me. I know she is, 'cause I'm staring right back. Everyone can see this, can't they? There's like, something going on between us, right?
Isn't there?
She comes over to introduce herself. Her name, she's from New York, recently became Deaf due to,... something something. I'm listening, I really am, but I can't put two words together to save my life. I'm so incredibly amazed that this girl is even talking to me. Her nose ring, her bright eyes, her gorgeous body. Her voice is strong, but the signing really helps in the bar. After making a complete fool out of myself and her returning to her table, I head outside for a smoke break. Lighting guy follows me too. We're not a minute into freezing our asses off when she comes outside with one of her friends, lighting a cigarette and loudly talking about placing bets on the Packers. No one can ignore that. Some more exchange of words outside. Why does it have to feel so difficult to talk to her? Why is this even happening? She's meant to be a landmark, a beautiful eye-catcher in a sea of monotony. What is she doing talking to me?
This is supposed to be happening, right?
Her party takes off before we do. She comes over to me before she leaves. Squeezes my bicep as she says goodbye.
I knew at that point that I would see her again.
To Be Continued
----------------
Now playing: Neutral Milk Hotel - The King of Carrot Flowers Pt. One
We went to a bar I thought I had been in before. One from last year, couple of guys from the band and the come-hither hottie serving drinks. One where I heard "King of Carrot Flowers" played on the jukebox. You never hear that song in public. This wasn't the bar, but here we were. All of us. Two circle tables pushed together, half of us fast-flinging fingerspellers, the other half loud-talking others.
Didn't really wanna be there. Stopped drinking habitually. Bars are too loud for me. Conversation gets lost, drowned in the squelch or yanked by a drop-dead hook. So I arrived already comfy. Dressed a little like I was askin' for it. Christine took one look at my preppy cardigan and shook her head slowly. Oh, brother. Or so her face said. Neither table is drawing me particularly, so I start out playing waiter. Everyone else picks a side and I end up losing musical chairs. Boo-hoo. I gather orders and take to the bar. The husky-voiced bartender is a little plump, but she's catchin' me, so that's cool. People scuffle, people leave. Something opened up right next to the Lighting Designer. Don't know him. Perfect. Bring some drinks back and collect money. Gina slips me a fifty. She's got first round. I go back to Miss Smoky to pay.
And I catch her out the corner of my right eye. Redhead, purple shirt, tall, slim dancer's build. Slow reveal towards me showed distant eyes framed by sweet pointy glasses. She is perfect. Exactly what I like. I'm horrible at chatting up girls at bars. So much so I don't even try anymore. So she'll be the most visited landmark on the scenery of the evening.
I'm chatting at the tables, making small talk, nursing my Blue Moon. She's sitting at the table directly to my left. Two other friends, a stack of cups, and a pitcher of Bud. I'm listening to dude next to me, trying not to look so blatant. The girls still flinging their conversation cross the table to my right. Something about training for the Marines, rolling your own cigarettes, yeah, dude, I'm with you. Redhead gets up to move. Can't mistake her for a second. She heads over to the girls flittering away. She starts to flitter along. Holy shit, she can sign.
I'm committed now. I couldn't hide anything if I tried.
Christine is all over this, talking animatedly to the redhead. Pulling out postcards, writing down notes, explaining the whole operation.
"The whole show's done in sign language, and we'll have it captioned as well, and these three girls are Deaf, they're in the show, and Kevin over there, he's hearing but he signs very well, he plays the lead."
She's staring at me. I know she is, 'cause I'm staring right back. Everyone can see this, can't they? There's like, something going on between us, right?
Isn't there?
She comes over to introduce herself. Her name, she's from New York, recently became Deaf due to,... something something. I'm listening, I really am, but I can't put two words together to save my life. I'm so incredibly amazed that this girl is even talking to me. Her nose ring, her bright eyes, her gorgeous body. Her voice is strong, but the signing really helps in the bar. After making a complete fool out of myself and her returning to her table, I head outside for a smoke break. Lighting guy follows me too. We're not a minute into freezing our asses off when she comes outside with one of her friends, lighting a cigarette and loudly talking about placing bets on the Packers. No one can ignore that. Some more exchange of words outside. Why does it have to feel so difficult to talk to her? Why is this even happening? She's meant to be a landmark, a beautiful eye-catcher in a sea of monotony. What is she doing talking to me?
This is supposed to be happening, right?
Her party takes off before we do. She comes over to me before she leaves. Squeezes my bicep as she says goodbye.
I knew at that point that I would see her again.
To Be Continued
----------------
Now playing: Neutral Milk Hotel - The King of Carrot Flowers Pt. One
The Jig Is Up
This is no joke.
Last night I realized my life's ambition.
It was as if someone peeled away the foliage and a shining path lay there all along.
When implemented, this plan will bring only good and will make all my dreams come true.
This thing is so big that nothing else matters. It's as if I was given the plans for checkmate for my life. All the steps are right there. As soon as I take them, everything opens up and falls into place.
Basically put, the answer is:
Where have I been for the past seven years?
It begins with a microphone, an empty stage, and light.
It ends with a book tour.
----------------
Now playing: Fastball - You're An Ocean
Last night I realized my life's ambition.
It was as if someone peeled away the foliage and a shining path lay there all along.
When implemented, this plan will bring only good and will make all my dreams come true.
This thing is so big that nothing else matters. It's as if I was given the plans for checkmate for my life. All the steps are right there. As soon as I take them, everything opens up and falls into place.
Basically put, the answer is:
Where have I been for the past seven years?
It begins with a microphone, an empty stage, and light.
It ends with a book tour.
----------------
Now playing: Fastball - You're An Ocean
15 July 2008
Came across this while doing my thang on Wikipedia.
Learned helplessness
This puts a whole lotta pieces together.
Learned helplessness
This puts a whole lotta pieces together.
09 July 2008
Submission
If I glance over to look at you
Furrowed brow
Sheepish grin
Muttering something about how I tend to overanalyze things
Please realize
The brow will never be resurfaced
The grin is anchored by dimples
This mutter cannot be more understated
Last year: Rollercoaster of a lifetime
Always edging forward
Speaking the future
Meeting opportunity
No wrong moves
This year carried hope that
Lightning strikes twice
Does it ever?
Everything's trapped in sap
Either suctioning sideways
Or ever sloping southward
All attempts are equal
Every result the same:
Wait and/or Fail
Wait and/or Fail
Yet
I swear
Nothing here is wrong
Fairly sure of it
Intentions held ever true
Methods still improving
But they are my own
And I feel every fault
Imperfect but so it goes
Chuang Tzu spoke of this
Madman singing at the door
"When the world makes sense
The wise have work to do
They can only hide
When the world's askew."
Conventional wisdom dictates
Flipped on its head
The root remains and the weed
Gains a new genus
Dandelion becomes flower, another rose
By any other name
"Surrender" : Process :: "Submission" : Destination
If progress is halted
Then let me stand still
Denied the greener grass
Though now grows not brown
My goal is out of grasp
So heaven becomes here
It is time
To live the luxury of the meek
To play prey instead of predator
To yell out Hello World
Alone + Easy Target
Free Hot Lunch
Guy Fawkes for Hire
The universe is giving a bye
A year-long Labor Day Weekend
Seven deconstructs
into Three and Four:
Own the mirror's warts
And bask in everyone's beauty
This equals enlightenment???
Like
Milkweed seeds ending up in window boxes
Thistle redeposited from backwoods to downtown
Cross-pollination aided by migratory swallows
Life finds a way
It must:
Form follows function
Aaaaaaaaaaaaa...
So this is why
My life is crap
People see me as a threat
I am exactly where I'm supposed to be
And my furrowed brow
sheepishly grins
"Every man knows how useful it is to be useful
No one seems to know
How useful it is to be useless."
Quotations from:
"Confucius and the Madman", The Way of Chuang Tzu, translated by Thomas Merton, c. 1965 Abbey of Gethsemani
----------------
Now playing: XTC - The Mayor of Simpleton
via FoxyTunes
Furrowed brow
Sheepish grin
Muttering something about how I tend to overanalyze things
Please realize
The brow will never be resurfaced
The grin is anchored by dimples
This mutter cannot be more understated
Last year: Rollercoaster of a lifetime
Always edging forward
Speaking the future
Meeting opportunity
No wrong moves
This year carried hope that
Lightning strikes twice
Does it ever?
Everything's trapped in sap
Either suctioning sideways
Or ever sloping southward
All attempts are equal
Every result the same:
Wait and/or Fail
Wait and/or Fail
Yet
I swear
Nothing here is wrong
Fairly sure of it
Intentions held ever true
Methods still improving
But they are my own
And I feel every fault
Imperfect but so it goes
Chuang Tzu spoke of this
Madman singing at the door
"When the world makes sense
The wise have work to do
They can only hide
When the world's askew."
Conventional wisdom dictates
Flipped on its head
The root remains and the weed
Gains a new genus
Dandelion becomes flower, another rose
By any other name
"Surrender" : Process :: "Submission" : Destination
If progress is halted
Then let me stand still
Denied the greener grass
Though now grows not brown
My goal is out of grasp
So heaven becomes here
It is time
To live the luxury of the meek
To play prey instead of predator
To yell out Hello World
Alone + Easy Target
Free Hot Lunch
Guy Fawkes for Hire
The universe is giving a bye
A year-long Labor Day Weekend
Seven deconstructs
into Three and Four:
Own the mirror's warts
And bask in everyone's beauty
This equals enlightenment???
Like
Milkweed seeds ending up in window boxes
Thistle redeposited from backwoods to downtown
Cross-pollination aided by migratory swallows
Life finds a way
It must:
Form follows function
Aaaaaaaaaaaaa...
So this is why
My life is crap
People see me as a threat
I am exactly where I'm supposed to be
And my furrowed brow
sheepishly grins
"Every man knows how useful it is to be useful
No one seems to know
How useful it is to be useless."
Quotations from:
"Confucius and the Madman", The Way of Chuang Tzu, translated by Thomas Merton, c. 1965 Abbey of Gethsemani
----------------
Now playing: XTC - The Mayor of Simpleton
via FoxyTunes
02 July 2008
The Ultimate Chortle
These thoughts, when popped into head, always elicit the brightest grin from me:
My life is crap
People see me as a threat
I am exactly where I'm supposed to be
I believe that the world ends in one big huge bellylaugh. I believe that the Big Crunch at the end of the universe kaplongs into one God-sized guffaw. The big joke's on us. You work, you build, you slave, you risk. The last page's the same in everyone's book.
How tragically hilarious to be born unto this world of ironical sin.
----------------
Now playing: R.E.M. - The Great Beyond
via FoxyTunes
My life is crap
People see me as a threat
I am exactly where I'm supposed to be
I believe that the world ends in one big huge bellylaugh. I believe that the Big Crunch at the end of the universe kaplongs into one God-sized guffaw. The big joke's on us. You work, you build, you slave, you risk. The last page's the same in everyone's book.
How tragically hilarious to be born unto this world of ironical sin.
----------------
Now playing: R.E.M. - The Great Beyond
via FoxyTunes
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)