So. I've started posting on here again.
And I just read some of my older stuff and- oh.
Wow.
Well, I guess we all had our periods when Fall Out Boy really captured our inner angst. My period is just on the internet for all to see.
Anyway, time for a new start guys!
Oh, Obama won, who guessed it.
But that is okay, if he shuts down a bunch of pro-life emergency care shelters or repeals the Hyde Amendment, I will take a rock and throw it through his window. And on the rock will be written, "You prick. You didn't have to do that."
And then this blog will be lacking on updates unless they have computers in federal prisons.
I will be in Chicago for a church service trip from the 20th-27th, so there won't be any posts this week. Sorry for the delay.
The Lord (of the manor, not to imply blasphemy) said Let There Be Light
but the power was out and the lamp didn't turn on
so He (again, implying nothing bad) walked through His dark bedroom
past a lover that may or may not have been his wife
who might or might not have been his long lost 5th cousin
And stumbled into a nightstand bumping his head on a dresser
Trembling, reaching for a switch to illuminate his mistakes
He found it wasn't there in the form he anticipated, left bare by
an Incompetent Electrician, well, not really incompetent, just distracted
Mostly by the imminent birth of his first born (hopefully, for him) son
But partly by his struggle with debt due to a lack of luck
And anyway, maybe he couldn't be blamed for leaving the switch off and the bare wires exposed
Although, to be 100% honest, that doesn't change the fact that His Lordship's body completed the circuit
Which was more than a tad depressing, seeing as he had a tee-time scheduled for only 45 minutes into that strange and mysterious, abstract length of time known among the majority of the population of Earth as The Future.
Unfortunately, this is an obviously fictitious amalgam of poetry and prose, made so obvious by the rather silly fact
That the absence of electric current in The Lord's was established way back in line two.
To be 100% honest for the second time though, this conclusion was brought about by the author resuming work on this poetryose a decent length of time after he left off of it, and without fully reading through the original part.
His Authorship was always a rather silly fellow, and careless in his work.
Well, not completely careless, he fancied himself a tireless admirer of rhythm and rhyme
But also somewhat of a devotee to those Free Verse poets who mercilessly chop and amputate poetry
To stay fresh and new (though coincidentally making themselves stinking with the scent of ink-blood)
But yes, anyway, the most Glorious-ish Author of this semi-Brave attempt at literature (no, dangit, poetry, wait, is that literature? does that count?) thinks himself to be an O-Kay poet
Be that as it may, he probably still has a higher opinion of himself than is prudent
Or perhaps not, considering his long-standing self-esteem and self-mocking issues
Although, really who gives a crap?
/psychobabble = end/
[The Author would like to here insert an announcement; he will in the future be labeling his non-poetry attempts at writing with the label "Prose" due to the fact that "Essay" is not always fulfilling his needs, seeing as his writing has been changed by some of his reading of late, owing an especially large debt to the author of Brief Interviews With Hideous Men, whose name currently escapes *this* author. Ah well. Good sir (I'm pretty sure) I credit you.]
I'd like to start a new tradition here, at my wee bloggy blog. Guest Writer! If you write, be it full length novels, short stories or poems, Send me an example! Just email what you want posted with whatever info you feel is needed (name for you and title for piece are mandatory) and I'll put it up. However, each person only gets one guest write (I might occasionally ask for more, though <;). I'm looking forward to this new thingy-ma-bobber. I think it'll create a little, shall we say, "community" here. <8) Well, that's all for now...
Well, who have we here? Who is reading this? I know I have a readership out there, but I just don't know who they are. If you read this, please introduce yourself! Leave a comment! Say Hello, My Name is etc! While hit counters can tell you people are listening, they can't tell you who the listeners are. I'd love to know who the people who've put the 300+ visits on my site, so, again, please introduce yourself! Well, that's all I really have to say right now. I'll look forward to writing more poetry and thoughts, and reading your comments.
Walter
I have some news. Most of my posts have been "lovesickyish" ones. Due to recent life changes, my focus has shifted off of these matters, and more to the goal of totally dominating life. I've vowed not to let love, hate or friendship drag me down. Why should you let love for a person grab you and smash you into the gutter? Love can ruin your life. And why should you let someone's hate of you push you down? You have no reason to just lie down; stand strong and don't fall. And I'm not willing to sacrifice my health, happiness and future for the sake of sinking down to share a friend's misery. Instead this is what I plan to do. I'm focusing on achieving the best life I can, and I'm not giving it up if the person I choose to get ensnared in love with is on a lower level of life. Instead, the only option is for me to help her up. If someone hates me; well, nuts to them. They can't bring me down, so it's like they don't even exist. And I won't go down for friends; I can only lift them up. My philosophy towards life can be summed up in two little words: carpe diem. Latin words, both of them. Seize the day. Grab it, and never let it go. If you're not daring, if you don't let everyone know what you think of them, if you don't stretch the limits of the life cut out for you, you might end up with an ok life. An average one. Nothing special. Just like you. Ok. Average. Not special. People who are beyond what you think possible for them didn't get that way by being passive. C.D. and not compact disc. Carpe Diem, seize the day, or else you'll never be the way you want to. Burn those words into your brain. Sear them on the surface of your gray thinking matter. You only have the rest of your life, so hurry up and get living! Always stay the way you were, only a little better than you were. Remember; C.D.
Last night I watched the movie "The Dead Poets Society" for the first time. Amazing. It is a very powerful movie. It didn't carry a message that was super clear, that anyone who just happened to watch the movie could see. The message required you to discover what it was, and you can only do that if you tap into the poet inside you. It's there, you just have to find it.
One of the messages in the movie is the fact that almost all men and boys have poets inside them. It's just that the poet usually gets pushed away. But he is there. Men make themselves into something other than what they should be. They should be poets, lovers, dreamers and romantics. They should look beyond their physical selves and appreciate the creative genius inside themselves. Inside each teenage boy, fueled by passion and every other emotion it's possible to have, lurks a maker of worlds, a charmer of women, a painter of beautiful paintings. Someone who dreams, and carries those dreams into the "real" world. Inside the boy who runs by himself on the football field; he has one of the most influential novels ever written, a bible of emotional rather than spiritual revelations. The middle aged man who works hard every day to support his family; he holds poems inside that could bring he and his wife back to the days when they were young and courted by the schoolyard wall. Why does this happen? This wasting of talent for the sake of "being a man." Wouldn't a real man be tapping into the revelations inside him? Or would he blindly turn away from that to a dumb, silent reactionary world? Why? Why do they sacrifice their poets for the chance to be a crude brute?
Today I started a new blog, to contain all of my funny that never makes it onto this one. You can find it at its uniform resource locator. Go ahead, see if you can find it. I dare you.
(p.s.) I will continue to update this blog. I still love it. And I will keep it going for hopefully years to come.
I have an announcement to make. I've switched to the Beta Blogger! I made the change after I realized I was an hour late to a friends house, and when I called to say I was coming, he was just going out the door. I was really bored after that, so I decided to upgrade my blog. And I like it! Lot'sa new features, and just... nicer. So, yeah, there ya go. Just wanted to tell my loyal friends why everything suddenly turned blue... Reassure them that, no, it's not the water.
Hm. I wonder why I'm doing this. I have things to do, chores, mostly. I have to clean like crazy because my sister's baptisim is tomorrow,and the house is a mess. Then tonight I'm serving at church, and after that I have to quick eat so I can get to the party I'm going to tonight before it ends.
Why am I typing? I'd better stop.
If what I think is correct, you cannot post audio files to your blog using blogger. This has made me sad. Oh well. I can still show off my pics and poems. Hm. It's sad though. Not being able to show everyone my audio shows. I can do some mean stuff with Garageband.
Below I will post an improvisational poem. Mine, all mine! No stealing got it?
Makes ya wonder don't it
Wonder how I live
All alone, as far as you know
All alone, by himself
Well I do
Live alone
By myself
Not the way I would have it, oh no
I would have my life bursting with love, sound and color
But
Not the way it panned out
Makes me wonder, ya know
Wonder if it's the world, or if it's just me
Well... This is cool. I have a blog! Never thought this would happen... Well, anyway, this is where I will show off my poems, photographs, song lyrics, audio projects and occasionally babble incoherently, or, as I like to think of it, give my learned thoughts on a variety of subjects. Hey, that made me think of something. Wouldn't it be lovely if we all didn't have to go to work each day, if we just each had to do an hour of work, and then we could simply create all kinds of beauty and art. Think of just making music all day, or writing poetry, or writing stories. Wouldn't the world be a better place if all the soldiers could lay down their swords, become poets, and pick up pens?
Hhhhmmmm. Food for thought, I guess. Like fish. Food for your brain. Although, is that just a bit of old advice that doesn't really work? Cause there's mercury in big fishes, and that can mess with a child's development. Hhhmmm. Maybe just a variety of healthy food is brain food. Oh well. With that interesting interlude, it's back to rubbing your nose against the grindstone, or what ever industrious people do.
