feast of friends

so my down in the drains mood kinda got up with the unexpected return of a friend, i'll be meeting two of my dearests soon--my stomach's kinda unhappy about the whole thing but i'm hoping it'll man up. a bus ride in this city of mine may cause some unpleasant imagery, if it doesn't.

anyways--something that may at least help us comprehend humanity:

...

wow. wait a minute. this just rules.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QOGOumtU8to&feature=PlayList&p=0F91CA77BA6EE236&index=0

invitation and invention

go ahead, laugh all you want, but i have a strange feeling today. i missed jim. i'm not kidding, i was on the bus, late, sleepy and burning with heat; and bam--i missed him. and i've been feeling weird all day. so i thought i might as well post this here since this was the first clip of of him that made me feel curious about him.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2BUVK8-XyJA&feature=PlayList&p=0F91CA77BA6EE236&playnext=1&playnext_from=PL&index=9


i'm not on my best mood, i don't know why, maybe it is just because i missed jim.

...

i wasn't gonna post anything else for the night but i was browsing and came up to this and this--this had to be shared. or else it would have exploded inside of me.

fighting in the captain's tower

There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet.

T.S. Elliot

well that's what i call a loser

i'm back. but...i really don't feel like writing about anything anyhow.

...

i probably won't be able to write for a few days so i'll leave you off with this little fella:

keeping the word

i did promise you more thomas, didn't I?

Especially When The October Wind

Especially when the October wind
With frosty fingers punishes my hair,
Caught by the crabbing sun I walk on fire
And cast a shadow crab upon the land,
By the sea's side, hearing the noise of birds,
Hearing the raven cough in winter sticks,
My busy heart who shudders as she talks
Sheds the syllabic blood and drains her words.

Shut, too, in a tower of words, I mark
On the horizon walking like the trees
The wordy shapes of women, and the rows
Of the star-gestured children in the park.
Some let me make you of the vowelled beeches,
Some of the oaken voices, from the roots
Of many a thorny shire tell you notes,
Some let me make you of the water's speeches.

Behind a pot of ferns the wagging clock
Tells me the hour's word, the neural meaning
Flies on the shafted disk, declaims the morning
And tells the windy weather in the cock.
Some let me make you of the meadow's signs;
The signal grass that tells me all I know
Breaks with the wormy winter through the eye.
Some let me tell you of the raven's sins.

Especially when the October wind
(Some let me make you of autumnal spells,
The spider-tongued, and the loud hill of Wales)
With fists of turnips punishes the land,
Some let me make you of the heartless words.
The heart is drained that, spelling in the scurry
Of chemic blood, warned of the coming fury.
By the sea's side hear the dark-vowelled birds.

dylan thomas

"looking for peace"

this state of mind that i'm in is not an unhappy, grieved, resentful or angry or angsty or any of the bad ones, it's more of a matter of fact, day and night, light and dark one. it's not even necessarily sad, more like...homesick.

the feeling of being the wrong piece in the puzzle. i'm telling you, people, i could have worked out so pefectly somewhere else. I love where i am dearly, the people i have in my life, my family, my day to day habits...those make me who i am, i am in great desire to be with them. but there is also that loose end in my inner wells, a crack where the water leaks further away. i can't really explain it--not like you can ever explain anything good in life--but this want to be in another context is tiring and burdensome, but it is appropriate. it gives you a bitter smile, and a way of accepting your surrondings.

you can't escape yourself--or change who you are. i am happy to be who i am. i am happy, at times, to be where i am. other times...well, if other times didn't exist, times wouldn't have been enyojable, would they? but there is a void in there somewhere that can not and will not be filled by anything i have or will have. my friends and further friends--i love them dearly and life wouldn't mean as much without them, but don't resent me for telling you the truth--of which none of you have been capable of filling that void, or ever can, cause the void can and will be filled in an entirely different place and time.

don't sweat it, don't think to much. don't understand. i have many layers, i can present them all. you choose what you like, and i won't blame you for it. that's exactly what i do to you in return. i chose you all to fulfill something or another, it's just fair you do the same.

the day finally rolls around and like a man wrote once, whom i dearly love without ever meeting once, "a peaceful sorrow is the best i'll ever be able to offer the world..."

Then am I
A happy fly,
If I live
Or if I die.
William Blake

they sing while you slave...

...and i just get bored.

15 minutes

yay--got the other side of the mirror last night. soon i'm gonna put some coffee on and enjoy myself a night of good old zimmerman.

four letter word

i like this picture, not in resentful way, you know--i probably liked it just as much if it wasn't them. i think it makes you shiever which is a good thing.

you can't always get what you want

major itunes arranging tonight. have to get my stones and my beatles in line.

my back pages

so i had quite the dream last night.

i walk into this book store and there's an old guy in there--the bookstore is supposedly my fave one in town, but it's much bigger inside with isles and corners and secret rooms opening behind some of the shelves. anyways i start browsing, and i browse forever (i swear i did--haha i remember, ginsberg's howl was 46 dollars!) anyways finally i tell the old man that i'm looking for dylan thomas. he tells me that they moved the poetry section to the secret room, and he pushes one of the sections, and bam, there's a door. and a room--a dusty room with bunk beds, and books scattered all over. i keep searching for thomas, but no use. i finally go back home, with my arms full of books but when i get home, the books turn out to be cheesy, weirdo, disney plays.

so i took that as i sign and as of today, i'm starting a thomas phase. i had read this one in the states in one of the classes, so i guess since it's the first thomas poem i've ever known, it is only appropriate to quote from it:

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

love you all.

know your fyodor

correct quote as i promised:

"I want to be there when everyone suddenly understands what is has all been for."--Ivan Karamazov