Strangle Abroad

Listening to the song that has most recently grown on me; Estrangular El Extranjero (you can click the link to listen). Listen, but be wary, it is kind of weird. The electronic sound at 0:23 has been playing in my head all day. The title of the song means "Strangle Abroad".

I guess I really don't have anything else of interest to you to speak of...but heres some writing I did lately.

"Does the rain bother you?"
She asked me as we stood in front of the bay window overlooking a less than mediocre garden now being watered for the first time in months.
I guess I must've had some look of concentration or disgust on my face that would've made her think that. Otherwise, she must not know me very well to ask me such a question. I mean a writer loves the rain. That's it.
"No," I decided to answer her seriously. I didn't want to look at her.
"But writing about it does." I looked at her now. She was looking at the rain.
"Why?"
I didn't want to provide an answer. She didn't really want to listen to one.
I guess I might have had a feeling that she had written a poem that she wanted to share with me, but I didn't know it was about the rain.


I don't deserve this.
-New President of the Modesty Club

CK: Questions 18-20

I guess I never really finished these. Its been such a long time I don't even remember what I answered. For the sake of completeness I'll post the rest.

18. You have won a prize. The prize has two options, and you can choose either (but not both). The first option is a year in Europe with a monthly stipend of $2,000. The second option is ten minutes on the moon.

Which option do you select?

18. Making $24,000 in Europe is good, but not fantastic, I'd still have to get a decent job and things like that. But its better than most. I guess with going to the Moon, I could say I've been on the moon. It'd probably be a pretty great experience, but living in Europe with a stipend is a more realistic endeavor, and more reliable to give me situations to help my career and life more than a visit to the moon would. Maybe I could say moon and just take all the money they were going to use to send me there instead of going?

19. Your best friend is taking a nap on the floor of your living room. Suddenly, you are faced with a bizarre existential problem: This friend is going to die unless you kick them (as hard as you can) in the rib cage. If you don’t kick them while they slumber, they will never wake up. However, you can never explain this to your friend; if you later inform them that you did this to save their life, they will also die from that. So you have to kick a sleeping friend in the ribs, and you can’t tell them why.

Since you cannot tell your friend the truth, what excuse will you fabricate to explain this (seemingly inexplicable) attack?

19. Finally he covers some of these gray areas. I'd tell them I just wanted to kick them. Or I'd tell them I was drunk or sleep walking. This question isn't really as hard as it should be. I'd make them breakfast or something so they know I didn't really mean it.

20. For whatever the reason, two unauthorized movies are made about your life. The first is an independently released documentary, primarily comprised of interviews with people who know you and bootleg footage from your actual life. Critics are describing the documentary as “brutally honest and relentlessly fair.” Meanwhile, Columbia Tri-Star has produced a big-budget biopic of your life, casting major Hollywood stars as you and all your acquaintances; though the movie is based on actual events, screenwriters have taken some liberties with the facts. Critics are split on the artistic merits of this fictionalized account, but audiences love it.

Which film would you be most interested in seeing?

20. Without a doubt the first one. Interviews from people I know in real life and bootleg footage? This is extremely interesting. A high budget movie on my life? It'd probably make me feel worse about how much less flashy my life is comparatively. And I would be pissed if the actors were more attractive then their real-life counterparts.

2011 Change

Insert Obama joke here.

So I saw a neat video today. Its called "Luv Deluxe" (that's the link there). You should watch it, its only about 5 minutes or so. Its filmed from a first person perspective and the plot is based on how a single moment can affect the outcome of, well, the rest of your life. I think the side lesson is also to never travel with a girl, because they will go crazy on you and two times out of three, will kill you. Watch the video and you'll see what I mean.

The soda stains on my plastic cup are turning my milk orange.

-Anonymous

An Update

Not sure about staying an English major...I mean I'll keep with it for my BA probably, but beyond that I'm not sure.

I'm thinking I should start doing something that will have a payoff, like money. May find a writing job, may not. Looking for opportunities, and a sense of ambition, instead of sitting on the computer all day, maybe I can sit on the computer all day and make money?

Anyhow, turned in a portfolio of my creative works to my professor. Classes are ending this semester. Tomorrow is reading day - no finals.

Don't Wanna Sleep

Its 3:30 am. I don't want to sleep. I don't really know why. I mean, I'm tired, I could sleep. But I just don't want to. I'm not even doing anything really interesting. I think its the waking up that I am dreading, which just gets worse as I stay up longer. I don't even have enough interest to keep writing here, but I'll try. My mind is shutting down, I can only focus on one idea at a time. Its like tunnel vision, something I'm not really used to.

This kid said one time that remembering things throughout your day helped your memory. Maybe. But cells phones help alzheimer's more than anything else (its true, look it up, or I'll put a link here when I feel like researching). But that kid was on drugs, so I don't know if he really knows what hes talking about.

I remember talking about a movie, Mouse on the Motorcycle (thought it was spelled Mouce, and almost freaked out at the red lines). I was wondering why I thought of it, when I looked at my spanish homework and saw I had just read "motocicleta" (I won't bother translating, if you were wondering).

I also wanted, and want to, watch an episode of a show (won't post here due to copyright issues and more importantly, interests that sway me away from the image I would like to portray on my blog of myself, I'll be honest). Blog makes me think one thing immediately. 200 hits! Yeah, alright. Then, about my internet fame, if it would ever be possible. I am narrating this in my "Capitol Bill" voice, that is, the newspaper from School House Rock. I advise that you do the same.

So I was thinking about the movie, and the ambulance in the movie, and how kinda weird the movie was. Some kid going out into a cottage, you know it doesn't really make sense to me now. It was probably the same cottage those twins from the Parent Trap used to share oreos and peanut butter.

What is it with peanut butter anyway? People putting it on things it doesn't belong. Its like ketchup, but not for everything. I realize I am throwing a lot of movie names around and stuff when I denied you, reader, of the show I wanted to watch. Inconsistency eh.

I was dreaming about something this morning. Oh yeah, skis. Skis on the ground though, in the snow. Made me so mad when I woke up in the middle of it. I was about to jump some cars, it was gonna be cool.

Anybody have flying dreams? I guess I'm kinda trapped by my own mind. I have dreams about jumping really high. If I ever fly, I have some kind of device attached to me, or I'm floating, at best. I don't know, but jumping really high, I could do.

And all of you people that think you're so cool with lucid dreaming, get your head out of your ass. Cool, you found something out, but everybody can do it. Don't think you are so original and so powerful because you can control your dreams. Holy crap, I can hear you now "lol cool dream bro, but did you just get up and fly out of there? I did. Because I can control my dreams HA" and then I proceed to smack your face with both my hands with my knuckles. You can't lucid dream when you lose consciousness buddy, and definitely not during a concussion.

Now, ya'll wanna lucid dream, thats fine. Just don't get all high and mighty like Jesus came to you and accepted you as his personal apprentice, which really, wouldn't be that great of an honor since you'd be starving and stuff. But miracles you know? And dying for sins and such. Lots of honorable things, not to mention cult followings.

Which reminds me of the rosary. Who says 50 prayers? I'd be like Hey God, I could be praying right now, or I could be like, cleaning up the streets or something. I think you know whats best so I'll leave that up to you, who am I to tell you how to do your job?"

That sounds like the attitude I should have had when my FACS teacher started yelling at me (I swear this rant isn't forced or made up. I'm just following thoughts, the plot is repetitive, I know it). Something about having to sew my pillow during class, but I sucked at sewing (to tears, really) so I could never get it done. And I asked her if she could have her class during special study hours, which for some reason she never did have it open, then she got all defensive and told me not to tell her how to run her own class. She said hi to me every day after that, but screw that. Not screw her, I don't really care, but apologies aren't flying either way, even though its not really a big deal. But "not a big deal" doesn't really make a story now does it?

I think that about wraps it up. Hope you 200 visitors decide to come again!

I will tell you

Its been a while since I've updated here...but I suppose its in my nature to attempt to be unexpected. So I'll take advantage of your mindset that I would never update it again, and hopefully catch you when you've checked one last time to be surprised at an update.

I thought about sharing a dream, but no one really wants to read those without knowing me. They aren't really as interesting as you would think, if you didn't know me.

Now, I do enjoy my subconcious. Some ideas, come from thinking about them, but sometimes you get some lines that you didn't really make on your own. Something from the back of your mind sparked and you hand obliged. This is the difference between poetry and prose for me. My best lines of poetry have been unexpected.

"I will tell you what death is like, but you may not be able to hear me"

I don't remember what I was doing when I thought this up. I don't remember even thinking it was good when I put it on my computer, though I must've when I typed it up as a message on my phone. (Boy, for a guy that doesn't like pretentiousness, I sure do talk about how great I am a lot. Hey, its my blog).

I just really enjoyed that line, maybe because it was from me, but from a me that wasn't directly me. Or thats my excuse, so I don't feel bad bragging about my own work. I wish I could think of a poem to accompany it, but I feel like I would destroy it with other lines.

More later.

Academic?

Well, this is my creative blog, which has taken a hit since September, when I started my classes up again. I guess this blog could see some of my academic writing as well.

ALSO can we clear up the anonymous?? I love comments but you can put your name too! I'd like to know who the regulars are around here! Even if its a pen name, it would be nice. Then if you choose Name/URL you can put a link to your blog as well!

This essay has gone through multiple revisions, and has become a lot better than what it was originally (which I may never show you). I think it explains itself;

Dust and Ashes Allusion in “To His Coy Mistress”

“And your quaint honor turn to dust / and into ashes all my lust” (Marvell 29-30). “Ashes” and “dust” are an allusion to “The Order for the Burial of the Dead”. The prayer is as follows: “Forasmuch as it hath pleased Almighty God of his great mercy to take unto himself the soul of our dear brother here departed: we therefore commit his body to the ground, earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust...” (Booty 310). The repetition of each word signifies a beginning and an end, starting from earth and ending as earth, starting from ashes and ending as ashes, starting from dust and ending as dust. Marvell uses “dust” and “ashes” in his argument to his mistress to convey the idea of death. He recognizes that all humans will eventually return to dust and ashes, and reminds his mistress of this truth.

“The grave's a fine and private place” (31). This line shows that Marvell means death when he mentions dust and ashes, which correlates strongly with the prayer. The prayer is all about death, and uses dust and ashes as a description of death. In the context that Marvell is using “dust” and “ashes” and the meaning that he is trying to convey to his mistress, there is almost no doubt that he is making an allusion specifically to this prayer and nothing else.

Marvell omits the meaning of the second half of the prayer, which continues, “in sure and certain hope of resurrection to eternal life”. Marvell is not trying to convince his mistress that she will be resurrected, but that she will die and her noble efforts will be turned to dust.

290

Works Consulted

Booty, John. The Book of Common Prayer, 1559. U of Virginia P, 1976.

Margoliouth, H. M.. The Poems and Letters of Andrew Marvell. Vol 1. Oxford U P, 1927.

I don't think every poem needs a title.

I don't think every poem needs a title

He spoke, but no one listened.
His words drowned out conversations
that were more interesting than his.
Never give a selfish man a microphone.

Someone says "smells like narcissism in here"
and you fly to the moon, not remembering what happened
or even what is happening
but only knowing that you are what you are
and always will be.

A fear doesn't have to be real
or necessarily make sense ever
or even have a way about it that
makes another person feel fear.
Like a fear of dolphins.
I do not own this fear,
but could definitely see
redness in their eyes.
Lighthearted, playful yelps interpreted as
battle shrieks.
Red meat tendencies instead of tender fish
Now, I hope I do not see a dolphin today.

I wonder if anyone has a fear of cupcakes?
If they had the same traits as the
previously mentioned dolphins, then I imagine
those would be some frightening cupcakes.

I suppose if a writing mirrored a piece of art
that is, each word matched the emotion of each stroke
how big or small
it wouldn't be so bad
unless perhaps it was a painting of picasso's

I want in this moment,
not more than anything in the world
for that slot is saved for people worthy of emotion,
but likely second most, in this very moment,
to continue to be warm outside of a hot shower

He was pushed aside in the name of love
the third card in a hand that was blackjack
and now the bet has run over.
The player has run back the clock
and chose to discard the overflow.

There is no middle cushion to a loveseat.

I don't really think there will be anyone
that is perfect for me in every regard
or even great for me in every regard
but for you, I will make an exception.

Sometimes when you tell one person something
you feel like you've told the whole world.
I don't like making small talk you say
and the listener, barely knowing you,
cannot think of a way to respond
without making small talk immediately or right afterwards.
You have assumed that saying it out loud
allows you to rudely walk away from another person any time afterwards
who has attempted to curse your day with small talk.

There will always be those people
you know in your heart
don't deserve it

He knew what they would say if he did
the blood on the floor surrounding
his inanimate corpse. He knew no other way.
You don't really find a way out
you just break down the way in

I want a pair of glasses
that have the rearview mirrors on them.
They would probably not be as good
as mothers' eyes
planted directly in the back of their heads
but they would be good enough
to see what kind of wreck was happening behind me
without having to face it.

I pop bubbles for a living
In a literal sense, I am an innocent child
in a figurative sense, I am a mean critic

I believe its when I we must say goodbye
is when we feel most loved

Love stories are like rafts on the ocean
some evolve into yachts and cruise liners,
others slowly get holes pokes into them
from stone tears that fall from their inhabitants

people who dont like happiness
should be shot
with a balloon of course!
because balloons are happy

CK: Question 17

Does anyone still read these? Well, if not, theres only 5 or 6 left, so they'll be over soon. Theres been some inconsistency in the posting I realize, and hopefully that'll change soon. I definitely will be posting some writing this weekend, of my own original stuff, not another question. Maybe I'll write something new, or find something to talk about. Anyhow, heres another one of Klosterman's questions.

17. You are sitting in an empty bar (in a town you’ve never before visited), drinking Bacardi with a soft-spoken acquaintance you barely know. After an hour, a third individual walks into the tavern and sits by himself, and you ask your acquaintance who the new man is. “Be careful of that guy,” you are told. “He is a man with a past.” A few minutes later, a fourth person enters the bar; he also sits alone. You ask your acquaintance who this new individual is. “Be careful of that guy, too,” he says. “He is a man with no past.”

Which of these two people do you trust less?

17. Well, theres three people here besides myself. And how metaphorical are we talking this past thing here? Because if the fourth man had no past, then he wouldn't really exist, so the two men are the second and third guy. And what kind of pasts are we talking here? The soft-spoken acquaintance might be a nutcase who speaks in tongues. This is probably much harder than I'm making it but I'll continue. What do I have to trust these guys for anyway? Not stealing my drink? Do I have to make friends with them or something? Why does this acquaintance have to be so cryptic????

OK I'll just focus on the past/no past thing. I would trust the man with the past less. Assuming his past is something to fear, then we have already established him to be a bad guy. He is a scary dude whether his intentions were good or not. However, the man with no past has nothing to lose and could probably use a buddy as well as someone to be loyal to.

Posting

I suppose I haven't posted anything in a while. I'm not in the mood for writing right now but I'll say a little of whats going on with me and writing at this point in time.

I have momentary thoughts, or quotes, that I think of when paper isn't around. So they go on my phone, which I have to text, which I don't enjoy that much but sometimes thoughts just gotta be put down. I have four now, and I'm planning on getting 100 and then putting them all together somehow in a work? Maybe. Or just posting them. As a preview, one of them is "I can think of nothing more ironic than an anagram of "dyslexia"."

Some are more quirky, others are more personal. But they are all my thoughts.

I was also throwing around the idea of beginning stories by taking one, what I think to be, provocative line from a song and beginning a story out of it. I'd do it now but I have something of a headache and no inspiration. But sometime, hopefully.

The Valley of Rolling Armadillos

OK so we did an exercise in our creative writing class to make up 3 titles and put them in a bag. Then we pick out three titles and pick one to title our images poem. Which I didn't know we were supposed to do, so I wrote one in class. We had to share one image, so I wrote one down as quick as I could, which was "Scarlet eyes on velveteen clouds" and some other ones later on in class, when I realized we were supposed to have more than one line. And then I added a lot after class.

So, the title of this blog post, was one of MY titles, which I liked a lot more than the titles that were given to me, I guess being much too selective in the writing I enjoy, but the best title I got was The Tuesday I lost my Apathy. The other ones were When the Lights Go Out and While Dancing in a Blackout which I guess in retrospect are a bit better than I had originally thought, but still not my favorites. I had thought of "Valley of Rolling Armadillos", "Scars From Mud", and I will never remember the last one, but it probably wasn't very good. So heres the poem I wrote.

The Tuesday I Lost My Apathy

Towels ablaze from the devil's fire shower

Marbles filled with nightmares

Scarlet eyes on velveteen clouds

A drive in movie in winter

White sheets of dried monterey

creating miniature mountains over

crumbled pieces of unlevened bread

A tie of eyelashes and unwanted shoelaces

A hollywood rendition of playground soccer

The sassafras of zyzzavas in the gazebo

Pointed candy warning the hand that

still contains baby fat

A sugary stare of plush ...

Link Sharing Time

A mix of other movies with the inception trailer, the first being Up. Pretty funny, and pretty talented video mixing. Check it out;

12 Brilliant Mashups of the Inception Trailer (VIDEO)

Added a copyright so all you chumps can't steal or I'll SUE.

Also, 100 visits yay

CK Question 16

I'm gonna run out of questions here soon. Then I'm going to run out of things to say.

16. Someone builds and optical portal that allows you to see a vision of your own life in the future (it’s essentially a crystal ball that shows a randomly selected image of what your life will be like in twenty years). You can only see into this portal for thirty seconds. When you finally peer into the crystal, you see yourself in a living room, two decades older than you are today. You are watching a Canadian football game, and you are extremely happy. You are wearing a CFL jersey. Your chair is surrounded by books and magazines that promote the Canadian Football League, and there are CFL pennants covering your walls. You are alone in the room, but you are gleefully muttering about historical moments in Canadian football history. It becomes clear that—for some unknown reason—you have become obsessed with Canadian football. And this future is static and absolute; no matter what you do, this future will happen. The optical portal is never wrong. This destiny cannot be changed.

The next day, you are flipping through television channels and randomly come across a pre-season CFL game between the Toronto Argonauts and the Saskatchewan Roughriders. Knowing your inevitable future, do you now watch it?

16. I probably wouldn't look into the crystal ball because 1) its probably a scam anyway and 2) it probably costs a good chunk of money. But I do. I wouldn't want to watch my future anyway, it'd ruin it for me and make questions like this hard. I probably would. If I love CFL so much, might as well get into it as soon as possible, why waste time knowing my inevitable future and seeing how happy I was there regardless of the circumstances? Even if I was unhappy, its still my future. I could've been washing the deck of the Flying Dutchman for Captain Davy Jones but it still wouldn't stop me from jumping into that game of Liar's Dice and risking my entire eternity for my son (I don't even like that movie, but I've seen it twice).

CK Question 15

I realized a few things today.

One, I really like the sound of shattering glass. Not that overused sound on TV shows, but the actual live sound of glass breaking on tile, or concrete, or whatever.

Two, I feel gigantic sometimes, and I now attribute that to my five-year old personality. I guess theres a little guy in there thats still going strong, and he's got too big of a body. Just typing it out makes me feel like I am maturing way too quickly. Peter Pan syndrome, or Big syndrome, if you know that movie.

15. You have a brain tumor. Though there is no discomfort at the moment, this tumor would unquestionably kill you in six months. However, your life can (and will) be saved by an operation; the only downside is that there will be a brutal incision to your frontal lobe. After the surgery, you will be significantly less intelligent. You will still be a fully functioning adult, but you will be less logical, you will have a terrible memory, and you will have little ability to understand complex concepts or difficult ideas. The surgery is in two weeks.

How do you spend the next fourteen days?

15. My first instinct is that I would write. I would probably enjoy other people's company when I lose intellect and I would probably find it easier to enjoy sex and the like (based on a previous blog post). And who said I was accepting this surgery? I guess Chuck assumes living a life as an idiot is better than no life at all? I believe I would be very frustrated at trying to think after the surgery and wouldn't want to live on like that anyway. If I was an english professor (my intended profession), how could I find work? Theres no way. I'd probably write a little guide - instructions on how to live my life for dummies. This still wouldn't work for my career though. It would also depend on who I lived with and if they could stand living with a dumber me. I would probably spend the next fourteen days doing the regular crap I already do. I guess I could still play drums after the surgery, so not all is lost.

Birthday!!!

I want to give a shout out to my favorite girl - its her birthday!!! You know who you are :)

She Was

offtopic: neat trick, if my font is too small to read, or any site, hold the control button and scroll with your mouse up or down to make the page larger or smaller. The font gets larger so its easier to read.

Hello. This will probably be a long post. There are multiple poems that got placed into one, and I will explain to you my process and such. Here is how the poem finished;

She Was

Out cold in a shivering December
holding close to his toes
trying to forget
he had no home

She threw the pills against the wall
her eyes red, her skin blue
She knew no one lived forever
and she was sick of trying to

The cigar rolled from one side of his mouth
to the other
Listening to the silence of the house
as he stared at the moon

He had her cremated
so he would always have her
part by agreement
part by necessity

He stretched out across the bed
awaiting his lover's embrace
but was met only with cold cotton
that will never be as soft as she was

__________________________

COMMENT before you read my thoughts on the poem okay?? For those of you who comment. There is no wrong thought, there is no wrong question, there is no wrong answer. Here are my thoughts on the end poem itself (highlight of course);

Each of the four lines were from different poems. Some of them had sets of four lines, and others were just four lines on their own that got put in. They had been imagined to be separate characters, each set of four lines. I must have been thinking similarly throughout each one, since they all seem to tie together. I wrote all but the second set in one night. The second set was after I woke up and had a dream, which is written down of course, that had nothing to do with the lines at all, but soon I had that idea for her. I wasn't satisfied with any of the poems alone, they really had no endings, so I placed them together and thus, all the male characters became one, and the female character was added as well.

The first (I'll call them stanzas, a set of four lines) stanza is about a man who is homeless. That was how it was written in its own poem, but emotionally, it stands to be true in this poem. Cold as in cold-hearted or lonely. It has more emotional aspects when placed with the others, but on its own, its about a homeless man feeling cold, and that's all.

The woman is blue, because of her veins, which isn't described since veiny isn't a word. She is (was lol) the main point of the poem, the source of his feelings.

The third stanza is simply a man who is almost, almost content with what he is doing. He seems to me, an older version of the man in the other stanzas, but not as old as the first. Oh, I meant to say the first stanza feels like a prelude to the entire poem - thats how he was AFTER she had died. Died being implied, she could be sick. Then it explains why she died, then it explains how he felt. So the first stanza could be physical or emotional or both. So the man feels older, like he is getting over her death simply.

I think the real order of the poem to make sense would be to read the stanzas in the following order; 2, 3, 4, 5, 1. Yeah, that's how I explained it earlier. OK. So she dies, then he feels okay, then he knows he isn't, then he feels lost without her in bed, then he is out cold, homeless. Or maybe that's an emotional stanza, and that should be first? You tell me haha.

The fourth and fifth stanzas are essentially the same man, both very lonely.

OK, now that you have commented, and then read what I was thinking when I wrote the poem originally, now I can show you the remnants of the poems the stanzas had originally come from. They are similar to the other ones, but went through changes as I moved them to the collaborative poem.

1. Starving

Written originally to convey the feeling of starving, but not only for food, but for home, and love, which was what my larger poem was going to be about, people starving for something different all the time. Some don't tie together, but what was on one page is written together as one poem here.

Sharp pangs seeming to pull from underneath

Like a thousand fingers all wanting a piece

Out cold in a shivering December

holding close to your toes

trying to forget

you have no home

Stretching out across the bed awaiting a lover's embrace

feeling only emptiness when you palms rub the wool

that will never be as soft as she was

Ravenous

Teeth sinking into fruit

forgetting to care about your famished brethren

Can famished be used as starving and for full? I think it could be used for both. I don't know which one it means exactly. You'll notice the poem was originally meant to be third person, which I kind of like better actually.

2. Ashes

He had her cremated so he would always have her

part by her agreement, part by his necessity

He had the jar placed in the most intimate area of their house

where he could always see, (where she would always be)

and imagine the rest of her

The line in parenthesis was originally crossed out. I wanted to talk about the jar but had no more ideas to continue through with it. I think the perfect song to accompany the small poem, at least what comes to mind every time I hear the word "ashes" is Porcupine Tree - My Ashes - "where a boy rides on a bike, and never smiles..." That line stands out to me in that song.

3. At the Moon

The cigar rolled from one side to the other in his mouth

He fumbled with the playing cards in his right hand

his arms covered in rich fabric to the wrists -

fit for a king, and not the foolish kind

He sat back in his chair and listened to the silence of the house

as he stared at the moon

This one I used, but left out so many details of what he was doing since it seemed useless in lieu of the mood of the poem it was put with.

The poem about the woman is exactly the same as its own, just the four lines.

I wrote two other poems I didn't use but conveyed some feeling. I guess I might post them later but they are totally irrelevant to this entire poem besides being written at the same time.

Watermelon Carvings

So theres these really cool watermelon carvings that I found a site of. Theres some awesome art, you should check it out. Also thought I would share this site I found called funky downtown. Its a time waster, added to the links list.

Also, Mighty Optical Illusions. Random optical illusions, a lot to look at. Added to the list.

Amazing Watermelon Carvings from Melounovy Festival 2008

Coma[ternal]

4 days and no posts?? What is going on?

I've been busy.

So I had a very interesting weekend, which some writing might come out of. Been thinking a lot of other story ideas to throw around, I would post some stuff here but its longer than my usual, and so I don't really want to share just parts for a larger story until I have more of it done SO I'm gonna pull out one of my older ones, and share that with you. It's kinda short because I wrote it by hand first and cut out parts to skip to the actual plot so I could finish it in some way or another at least. The title is a mesh of "coma" and "maternal" as in mother.

Coma[ternal]

He walked with a limp and a bit of a hunch, but quicker than a trained indian. Inherently, he was a nice man, but time had worn on his intentions and had destroyed his motivation. He almost questioned his entire existence.

He wasn't religious, but maybe he should be. Maybe it would give him incentive to continue with his life in a jolly manner, but now all he desired to bring among the people around him was pain and guilt. He lived on the newcomer's stares of empathy and thrived in scaring it out of them with his wretched personality.

His ninja waddle, if it could be called so, took him a long time to perfect, but he had learned to enjoy it, as it added to the anticipation of the scare. He loved their faces not only from the intense growling noise he would make but also from his terrifying appearance.

He never physically harmed anyone, and his personality wasn't a result of choice entirely, it was a result of the conditioning of the meann people before him had wrought upon him (does that mean he is allowed to do unto others what has been done to him however?)

He used a cane, mostly to ward off small children and unwanted visitors of his precious personal bubble. He didn't need it to walk really.

His mother stayed in the hospital, in a comatose state. Arguably, she was the only person he felt a shred of compassion for, but she hasn't had the chance to ruin his perception of her yet. He stayed also because he needed physical medical care, whether that was from old age or a prolonged stay in the hospital was uncertain. He avidly denied any medication.

The hospital couldn't have had any positive effect on his mood. It was a bleak white with slightly blue horizontal bars lining from the top to the bottom. While it wasn't a prison in any way, he had decided by choice never to leave. His sour mood never allowed it.

He walked into her room like he always did. Stop at the doorway for a few seconds, giving a small sigh when her eyes remained closed. He pinched the bridge of his now allowed his eyes to water a little and placed his cane against the wall by the door. He walked towards her slowly, trying to make enough noise with his steps in hope that she may wake up. It had never worked before.

He sat slowly in the seat that had been moved next to her. It belonged in the corner but since he had moved the chair by her bead and steadfastly protested it never be moved, it has not budged.

His hands slowly moved towards hers and gently wrapped themselves around her frail fingers as he stared at her restful face. She looked peaceful but extremely weathered. Her chest barely moved up and down from her weak breathing.

As his head stared at the ground, he felt her hand twitch and a surge of joy ran through his heart. His love, his compassion! He brought his eyes up to hers and saw her eyes open for the first time in years.

She let out a small moan and looked over into his eyes.

Her eyebrows furrowed and her hand pulled away suddenly.

"Who are you!?" she asked almost maniacally as she curled away from him, pushing herself to the far side of the bed. She pulled away as much as her frail frame allowed and returned his tearful eyes with a glared pair.

"Mom, its me!" he choked. Tears dropped as he stood and grabbed for her hand, but she swatted it away.

"No beast could ever be my son!" she returned with vigilance. His eyebrows raised and his chin crumpled as well as his emotions.

"Mom please, its me..." he whimpered, his lower lip trembling.

"Get out," she hissed. He receded slightly, reluctantly.

"Get out!!" she repeated, louder this time. She sat up and stared at him in anger, pointing towards the door.

He ran from the room a with a sick feeling in his gut and his eyes to his face. He ran down the hallway crying without pause.

His sobs could be heard throughout the entire hospital.

CK Question 14

I've been pretty tired lately. Reading textbooks. I'm much too lazy for this stuff. Writing more, but this post isn't for that. Its time for another question.

14. For reasons that cannot be explained, cats can suddenly read at a twelfth-grade level. They can't talk and they can't write, but they can read silently and understand the text. Many cats love this new skill, because they now have something to do all day while they lay around the house; however, a few cats become depressed, because reading forces them to realize the limitations of their existence (not to mention the utter frustration of being unable to express themselves).

This being the case, do you think the average cat would enjoy Garfield, or would cats find this cartoon to be an insulting caricature?

14. OK, the average cat, probably would enjoy it. I assume there are cats like there are people. A tenth would love it, a tenth would hate it and an eighth couldn't give a cat's ass. I imagine there would be a couple cat fanatics that would make blogs dedicated to garfield and stuff, while others would dedicate books to how garfield is an insult to their species and stuff. Think about comics that insult people. People find that stuff hilarious. So I think on the whole, the average cat would probably like garfield, some because they find it funny that cats can be so stupid, and some because they honestly relate to a love of lasagna. And some because this is the only tangible outlet where a cat's feeling is expressed, and therefore the only adventure that a cat can relate to, besides perhaps encyclopedia references on cats, so they may be forced to enjoy it out of a lack of interest in non cat-related media, aka, 99% of books in existence.

CK Question 13

I dislike spanish. (This sentence has been edited).

Anyway,

13. Every person you have ever slept with is invited to a banquet where you are the guest of honor. No one will be in attendance except you, the collection of your former lovers, and the catering service. After the meal, you are asked to give a fifteen-minute speech to the assembly.

What do you talk about?

13. Seeing as there isn't anyone yet, that'd be a pretty lonely banquet lol. Who asks me to give a 15 minute speech to the assembly?? One of my former lovers, since they and the catering service are the only ones there (and the catering service better keep their mouths shut I paid them for one thing and one thing only)? Seeing as that must be true, then no one asked me to do a speech, meaning the second part of this question is totally invalid. But let's just say I had many lovers over the span of my life and I must now address them. Do they know that they were all my lovers? I mean they know they are to me, but are they all aware that everyone in the room has had sex with me? Either way, I'd probably read some story I wrote dripping with sexual innuendos, and I would make suggestive glances to all lovers still interested while I said each suggestive word.

Also, I'm trying to work on stories a little more productively...some success some not. That's all I'll say for now.