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Variations on W.S. Merwin [08 Nov 2008|02:50am]
[ mood | contemplative ]

How We Are Spared
- W.S. Merwin
At midsummer before dawn an orange light returns to the mountains
Like a great weight and small birds cry out
And bear it up



---


How We Are Spared
On blue December mornings snow piles heavy against our thin oak door
Until it groans and later the lurching plow grumbles forth
And sets us free



How We Are Spared
Under grey foggy sky the waves grow higher and darker with every lurch
The ship makes until the clouds part
And show us the moon



How We Are Spared
At midday before dusk the sun’s hot glare beats down upon two small deer
Who have stopped moving and the mountains rise up
And give them shade



How We Are Spared
On windy stormy days cold rain floods our tender green yard and
Rises to the roses’ frail necks until the roots of trees awake
And drink it up



How We Are Spared
As we sleep the Pacific’s hands creep up the coast to climb worn cliffs
Whose fingers hush the ocean’s roar
And push them back the other way



How We Are Spared
In dead of night the young boy who will be President trembles in bed
With dreams of flame and his kind lonely mother lifts him up
And sings him to sleep



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[07 Apr 2008|12:27pm]
Thoughts Unsaid

I had a good idea once. It was
The day I called you and we didn’t talk. It went
Unspoken and died quietly within me, its worth uncalculated.
Slowly filling the inside of my skull like an expanding balloon, it threatened
To burst through ears clogged by years of intake, of faked release. I held it inside,
Held my breath until my eyes closed and when I awoke
It was gone.

I began to search for it.

I’ll see it in the distance, across an empty field and I’ll run to find
Nothing but a tree full of frozen butterflies.
I heard it rumbling behind a locked door that went quiet
When I found the key.
I smelled it on an empty pillow which was not mine
And is still not mine.
It landed on my tongue once when I was not looking
On a cold day when snow fell and melted before it touched ground.

It felt like clouds parting.

Was that my one chance?
I had abandoned the tool with which I was born.
I picked my brain for the stillborn electron and found no graves.
I filled my head with sweet things that made my frontal lobe buzz
But it could not be coaxed back to life.
I clapped my hands. I thought happy thoughts.
But none of them were it.

Was I the murderer of futures?

I wondered where it had gone
If it had been melted back into formless nothingness
Ready to be rediscovered, reinvented
Like deep earth oils made into plastics, gasoline, dinosaurs.
From liquid to solid;
A nothing into a something.

We call these unspoken thoughts ‘secrets’.

Little gems kept safe from chisels and picks.
Worms that might shrivel in daylight.
Old love letters looked at only
When we think we’re home alone.
The secret forgotten is a terrible loss
A treasure buried too deep
Its map discovered, mistaken
For a child’s doodle
And never seen again.

I was full of these things.

Not all of them good, I hid them
Bottled up, air-tight, frozen.
Little did I know,
These things fester.
They drip out of sealed spaces, turn to mold.
They gnaw through bindings
To lap at ingrown hairs inside your skull.
There were days where I went about with peculiar ticklings
At the back of my head, as if a small insect had somehow
Gotten in. I wondered

Is this darkness in you too?

This incessant buzzing of the worthless and banal
An internal factory producing only noxious gas
Never let out. Trapped behind my eyes a thousand
Tiny demons tunneling towards my throat and squealing.
I gagged.
I hid from all.
I shunned myself.
I turned all the lights off.
I slept.

Pale morning light fled the room. I sat up,
Headed for the shower barefoot. Water ran
Between my toes, and the only tap tapping
Upon my skull was the showerhead speaking.
All else was quiet.

The telephone rang in a distant room.

For a second, the darkness almost returned.
A fog of anxiety settled over my head I wrapped the towel
Around me. A chorus of devils threatened to sing from my mouth
As the receiver was picked up.

And then I heard your voice.

The absence was filled, and I too,
With thoughts of better things, good things even.
And I knew the worth of the unsaid thought
Was nothing at all.
So this time,
I let it live.
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the heartless never rise [07 Dec 2006|03:52am]
[ mood | accomplished ]

it's been a long time since i've written in here and i treat it like a bad sign. i read through about a year's worth of entries tonight and my god i am an embarassing culmination at this point. i think shane was saying this after reading his old term papers last year in tahoe, but fuck i used to be a lot smarter.


i really am on autopilot these days. i am a rollercoaster flying on a track with a BB gun to shoot at targets that zip by. i am the shooty game in ff7. some targets i hit; some i miss. i fly by either way. sometimes when i shoot them i receive points. we will see if these matter in the end. is there an all time high score chart? should i care? is this my gun or was it passed down from someone who finished the ride?


why is it that as i grow older, more knowledgable and more priviledged i feel the options disappear around me. does life work like a tech tree? i delve further to reap more of the same, the same just bigger and better? i want my skill points back.


after reading my old entries, it seems like i carried about a lot of 'big things'. in reflection, i do not know how i came to cary about 'big things' but i adore my former self. he was strong, he was optimistic, he had time and he was going to use it.


much like this entry, my thoughts come only in snippets now. it's like those flikr photo albums online where you want the whole story but what you get is a bunch of pictures with captions that make no sense. i often wonder what the brain is. a lot of space and not much electricity i guess.


this week i have been forced to write about a lot of shit that will get my to a "better place" but the journey there was horrible and painstaking. is this what the future holds? i love writing but i am not a consistent writer. what i hate about the world is that you cannot be in the top 5% of all skills and be considered one of the best. you have to the be the top .000001% or be content with being nothing. i feel as though people who try to stay this level often fail, but this is not the case. see puff daddy. and then the opposite is true. see bill gates. baffles me.

the heartless never rise. i came up with this slogan sometime early during the semester. what occurred was a rift in the paintball scene in my area, southern california the home of paintball. natural selection occurs in an extremely high level here, more than in most sports. more than in basketball or baseball, coolness is king. it's all males, with no hopes of winning girls through your gun. it's a brotherhood trial. you shoot people. you hurt people. you make people cry. you pretend as if getting hurt is fun, which it actually is once you've convinced yourself of it. in my area, kids quit every day and new blood comes up. our job is to beat them up, scrap the broken ones and sweep the bloodied youngins into teams. you have to have heart. even the broken still beat and these are the ones that will stay, will play every weekend with no money and eat cheetos every day for a week for a bag of paint. and there is no goal! there is no money at the end of the trial, no glory. we watch paintball on espn and we know it is nothing like that. we are circus animals, zoo monkeys, sunfish in monterey bay. it is art for the sake of art, production for the sake of production, living just to live. the heartless never rise.

some shit i've been into lately and i'm out.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=obqJtc2wuXg

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aPumIWU-Qno

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lrBZeWjGjl8



l.a.d. soon to r.i.p.



old new immortal.

7 comments|post comment

[01 May 2006|11:36pm]
i just realized that i really grow to share other people's bad habits, but are they 'bad habits' because i think they're bad or because other people make me think that they're bad?
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la distraction [07 Apr 2006|01:35am]

...it happens on a sunday...Collapse )
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[09 Feb 2006|03:44am]
LiveJournal Haiku!
Your name:1timeconcubine
Your haiku:like that of a hide
and go seek game one only
has to look around
Username:
Created by Grahame
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[06 Feb 2006|11:56pm]
i just saw this scrolling thing on the bible network that said 'pray for the election'

first off, i don't understand how people can pray for an election that is clearly decided (supposedly) by democratic voting by actual people. is there really an expection of a result based on praying i.e. hoping?

also, if an election WAS won by prayer, thus the will of god, does that mean that there is no free will? even if you prayed, you didn't ultimately decide the fate of the election, but i guess you are still happy with the way it turned out?
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[29 Jan 2006|12:18am]
[ mood | horny ]

it would be sweet if people could just give their opinions on a couple of things


if you like yourself more when you're under the influence, should you try to change yourself into something more similar to that state or does a realization come at some point where you accept who you are already (or just fuck yourself into oblivion)? because the second of those two options seems like total bullshit to me


if you have friends who enjoy the things you do and you participate in all the same activities together, but you are far more skilled than them, do you stay with them forever and help them keep up or do you leave them behind (in a less harsh wording than that) and become what you are talented enough to become? in the big scheme of things your progress won't really matter at all except to human history, so is it better to be a "good" human being?


do people believe that god is simply a positively moral set of guidelines to live by or do they think that "he" actually exists and that there is a supernatural force moving the fate of earth's inhabitants?


i'm really confused by all of these things right now

3 comments|post comment

[29 Dec 2005|06:33pm]
MEREDITH:

i dont have your screen name plz post all your pictures from THE EPIC LIFE here or send them on aim to me 'tylandras' thanks you are a great person.

love,
jeff
2 comments|post comment

cybernator [23 Dec 2005|01:14am]
when i was a small child i played a lot of video games. at one point, i started naming all my protagonists 'cyber'. until today, i could not remember why i picked that name, or where it came from. recently i came back from tahoe where i retrieved my super nintendo and brought i back to my home in marin. there was one game that i remember playing as a child that was my absolute favorite super nintendo game, but i couldn't remember what that game was either. tonight i looked through twenty six pages of super nintendo game titles looking for the game, until i clicked on 'cybernator'; it was the game, my all time favorite, and now i realize why i picked the name 'cyber' for everything i did as a youngster. in cybernator, you play a small robot with a gun and a shield and you basically fly around space shooting at stuff. i immediately went on ebay and searched for it, finding one and only one copy of the game available for auction. i currently am winning at a .99 cent bid. then i went and searched for cybernator reviews on google, and one reviewer gave it a 3.0 out of 10.0 . i can't wait to play this fucking game.
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it's pathetic when people post song lyrics [07 Dec 2005|07:14pm]
Have you ever been all
messed up?
Have you ever?
You're the pincard,
You're
the lifeguard,
You're the
information guy,
But things look much bigger
On your knees, on your knees.
Missed the signal,
Missed the signpost,
Lose the access to it all.
And all of a sudden,
You are one with the freaks.
Have you ever?
Have you ever been all messed up?






4 comments|post comment

[14 Nov 2005|11:50am]
what do you do when everything begins to look like reality?
2 comments|post comment

[14 Nov 2005|02:10am]
here is a simple yet satisfying little quest you may choose to partake.

step 1: download (or buy it you good samaritan) 'samson' by regina spektor

step 2: listen to it. if you like it, continue to step 3.

step 3: look up the history of samson on wikipedia -> http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Samson

step 4: listen to the song and read the lyrics.

You are my sweetest downfall
I loved you first, I loved you first
Beneath the sheets of paper lies my truth
I have to go, I have to go
Your hair was long when we first met

Samson went back to bed
Not much hair left on his head
He ate a slice of wonder bread and went right back to bed
And history books forgot about us and the bible didn't mention us
And the bible didn't mention us, not even once

You are my sweetest downfall
I loved you first, I loved you first
Beneath the stars came fallin' on our heads
But they're just old light, they're just old light
Your hair was long when we first met

Samson came to my bed
Told me that my hair was red
Told me I was beautiful and came into my bed
Oh I cut his hair myself one night
A pair of dull scissors in the yellow light
And he told me that I'd done alright
and kissed me 'til the mornin' light, the mornin' light
and he kissed me 'til the mornin' light

Samson went back to bed
not much hair left on his head
Ate a slice of wonderbread and went right back to bed
Oh, we couldn't bring the columns down
Yeah we couldn't destroy a single one
And history books forgot about us
And the bible didn't mention us, not even once

You are my sweetest downfall
I loved you first
2 comments|post comment

[28 Sep 2005|06:06pm]

SHOOTING FACES FROM START TO FINISH: NPPL SAN DIEGO IMMORTALITYCollapse )
2 comments|post comment

[25 Sep 2005|09:41pm]
i am never satisfied. once i have it, i throw it away, down the garbage chute to pile upon the countless wonderous things i have had that i have discarded and abandoned for the newest saturation of adrenaline and anxiousness. i crave the emotions called 'pain', 'anxiety', 'achievement' and 'conquest', these words created by similarly anguished individuals to plead with others for an impossible remedy, or as palpable aural trophies for their narcissistic thrists; the same personality cut into double barreled time periods, the fracture of a moment turning one ego into the other as hunger turns to gorged, becomes burdened into vomit, and left with an empty tummy longing for the massacred feast, nostalgically fantasizing about its luscious flavors before it was churned and spewed into that gagging upchuck of a dilapidated human being. i am the eat shit eat cycle of human existence.





there is something i want. i'll let you know if i still need it when i have it. guard your feelings.
1 comment|post comment

back then, hos didn't want me. now i'm hot, hos all on me [18 Sep 2005|11:13pm]
victoryCollapse )
5 comments|post comment

[17 Sep 2005|01:14am]
Nobody that wears Banana Republic is going on a Safari. I have yet to see a Ralph Lauren Polo Club knit on an equestrian. Why do we wear these fashions that don't represent the purpose? The SAT's asked us an important question, but the answer is obvious; the 21st century is about style over substance in every genre and every category. Hollywood, it's a tease. Nobody is that beautiful, but we still love it. Real life is a tease. Are we forcing a regression back into Modernism? I want to see real television, is that reality tv? It's so hard to see who people are these days. We all know now that we want what we can't get, so can we be who we are born to be or is that too predicatable? I feel like I'm an honest person, but most of the time I'm trying not to be just to attain things I want? I don't think that's how it should be. Hiding our feelings is perfectly natural, but it is because the culture forces us to. We are the culture, so are we doing it to ourselves or is it out of our hands?

Democracy is crap. Mass appeal is not a form of government I'm afraid. Now I understand God. He is all knowing, the ultimate dictator but he's always right. You can't disagree with a person who knows everything, I'd like my life laid out for me, thank you.

All this shit about equality makes me sick. Ever heard of self-esteem? If you were just like everyone else, you'd fucking hate yourself. Darwin told us this a long time ago. You can't improve without a sense of perspective. Everybody wants to be the best, and those that are the best want to keep their superiority. I know very few people who would give this up, and I am unsure about it myself unfortunately. When some are the best, some have to be the worst, and that's how it's going to be a for a long time.
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autobiography [14 Sep 2005|11:18am]
As my experience as a _____, a peculiar and vaguely intruiging name at best, there have been certain reoccuring instances involving my alias that has made my life feel like that of a conveyer belt tuna fish: beheaded then cut then sliced then canned, one after another until my ultimate capture, doomed to live out the rest of my inanimate and celibate life as a soupy yet slightly edible and ultimately unalluring mess of goopy emo innards. Of all nicknames I have endured, which is perhaps four or five at most, the one I have hated the most was originated of course by the female gender, the arch-nemesis of mine that is destined to be the death of me, or at least the cause of severe depression. This nickname, whose spelling has varied from 'Jeffy' to 'Jeffie', has only been undermined on one occasion when I received the marked man's name of 'Jelfy', in which I was forced to simply lay down and suffocate myself. The ability to be nicknamed a moniker which calls to mind such harmless creatures as the field mouse and clam is a stifling blow to my ambition of a penis wielding, virgin ripping man of action, and certainly does not promote my reputation as thus. I despise the name really, and even while I write this I am sure I have received numerous impersonal AIM and text messages with the vile title bludgeoned all over their digital death sentences. While these small snippets of conversations are quite flattering and I feel grateful to have attained any kind of personal attention at all, the very presence of a few 'Jeffy's' and '<3 Jeffie!'s pretty much makes me want to cry out of my ass.
7 comments|post comment

IT IS NOT THE LETTER, BUT THE SPIRIT! [05 Sep 2005|04:58pm]
are you measured by who you love and who loves you or does the one with the most toys win?! let's trade shoes! let's layoff honest workers! let's build machines! fuck labor we're lazy, right! doctors without borders are killing us; the government points! LOOK! THOSE people are handling it! we can worry about other shittt! like making money! ahh good old doctors without borders, go do your thing so nobody else will think about it. thank god, my conscience is at easee. fuck doctors without borders. stop helping, stop doing everything and people will understand. stop it all please. charity is a safeguard to its possesor, a cheap, delicious sense of self approval. look in the mirror. can you touch your reflection? are you perfect? you want perfection don't you? can the imperfect create the perfect? FUCK no. what are you trying to do, Incompetent? i have guns you have guns LETS ARGUE. white? you have guns. black? you have guns? yellow? you have guns? fucking everybody has fucking guns! let's have a standoff! i can't WAIT to fucking use this big fucking gun. i loved the cold war era, lets bring it back. got a nuke? shit, i don't to fuck with you but i'll talk shit behind your back any time i can mother fucker! power against power. fear. is this sin city? lets make more violent pornography! i love girls getting choked and fucked they fucking LOVE IT. but no, i won't touch another human. i won't touch one because i am afraid. i'm afraid that we will fall i will be responsible. i won't be able to kill that person. stay away from me. READ THE FUCKING BIBLE AND LETS BELIEVE IN FAIRYTALES. there are bonds between man and man and woman and woman without homosexuality. don't touch me! at what point do we awaken!?
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[26 Aug 2005|12:17am]
MTV is smothering the extremely unique experience we know as "music" by plastering a completely aural medium with visual imagery that completely pre-emptively destroys the exclusive impression of the music we are hearing by invading our senses with premade productions and impressions. Other than live music and live musicianship which are skills of their own branch, "music" was an experience purely dealing with the the production and reception of sound. No pictures were painted in your mind, diluted by illusions of the musician's faces and awkwardness, or of their beauty or misproportions. Or perhaps this is purely an evolutionary step toward the ultimate experience, an engagement which occupied and accompanied each of the human form's receptors, busying each nerve and receptor until all knowledge, experience, emotion, pain, anguish, bliss, confusion, and solace flowed at once, a universal chord of understanding and fellowship.
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