Yay! roadside debris is now updated!

AAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGH! I just found out my parents sold our record player when I was out of town. I am NOT pleased. In the least.

I've created a new blog, Apocalypse (for) Now! I won't say what its about (so go there and look!), and there's not much up there right now, but soon, soon...

Also, a hearty congrats and thanks to all those who blogged in or sponsored in the Blogathon!

And Eperdu said, "Let there be a spatula", and there was a spatula. And Eperdu saw that the spatula was angry, and Eperdu separated the spatula from the coffee stirrer. - Thank you, Random Surrealism Generator!

P.S. I have no idea who, or what, Eperdu is. The Random Surrealism Generator put it there!

I'm working on updating my poetry archive, because there are now 4 or 5 poems which aren't on it, but angelfire's being weird and not letting me log in. I'll try again tomorrow, and if it doesn't work I'll sign up for an account again. Bleh.

Alright, new poetry. The person responsible for me writing this is Sarrah. So thank (blame) Her.

i cannot wait for fall
when
all leaves and
memoreas
fold up and die -
and in death doing
radiance and mind favors
with beauty
(fire kicked up by wind
of passing
fancies and breaths
of intertwined&combined
individyoualls)
in preparation of
bit(ter/ing) blindness
of blankness.
From that tundra of
field and soul
they showandglow
in contrast to
skeletons
of trees and hopes.

Random Original Poetry, courtesy of M(e/yself), and unoutFluences.

ALL YOUR HELL'S ANGEL ARE BELONG TO US! - Thank you, Random Surrealism Generator!

I guess this is a poem...lacking in many things...but its got the texture I want. So there.

i'm sorry
.and.
i know and knot what i said
was mudhdsehled
mudhdsled
muddled
much
.but.i.
loveandtouch
andtearand(en)fold
down.
please forgive me,
for this is in vein(inblood)
andtruth -
I am here.

Random Original Poetry, courtesy of M(e/yself), and unoutFluences.

About freakin' time! Things are looking much better around here...at least I think so. What do you think?

Working on template changes...moving slowly. I think the blogger server needs to be drop-kicked.

"What I need is a strong drink and a peer group." - Ford Prefect, Life, the Universe, and Everything by Douglas Adams.

hehe.

Not much to report now either. New link colors, that's about it.

Went to the Dave Matthews Band concert tonight...good, but very long, and I wasn't in a Dave mood. Eh, tomorrow I'll probably wake up and realize I had a great time.
--------------------------------------
The next day: I realize I had a decent time, as expected.

Nothing new to report. Ciao.

Not much going on 'round here. Saw Final Fantasy the other night. Ok story, great visuals. Today I bought Guster - Parachute. I figured I owed them, since I burned their other 2 cds. That's all for now.

The culmination of experience marches inexorably towards assisting the definition of being and identity (or lack thereof). Looking at a person, not seeing everything, but noting impressions, depressions, elations. Missing repressions, nervous ticks when backsareturnedandeyesareclosed, and casting sideways glances (while the viewed cast internal shadows) in hopes of glimpses and asking pointed questions that manage to cut deep yet expose little, like slamming your foot down on a nail (and occasionally the nail is attached to a board and you've crucified yourself). Where to go, to tread (and where to stomp and t i p - t o e), to retreat. Attempting to find lines to read between and predict. UnkNOwn. Here, failure is not an option. It is an absolute. (Re)Solutions lie in interpreting failure and crowning oneself with thorns, making sure your feet are firmly nailed to the ground, and standing. Not necessarily firm, because as return questions are stabbed, you best be damned sure to dodge the spear. What good is a fucking martyr?






Ok, I think I've got it out of my system.

Want to write.

Don't know what to say.

Ow.

Damn.

Well, I don't think she meant to, but Rachel inspired this with her last post to my guestbook. The first two lines are courtesy of her, everything else that follows is mine. Enjoy!

quivering like a candle on fire -
feeling instead of being.
not acting but unacting
(not reacting).
folding to fickle fortune's
bent hand, crooked spine,
and foul breath.
unreacting and in so doing
not radiating glow
but charring burn.
without light,
candle is heavy,
and all that stays is
burnt embers, and
whisps of smoke
from fingertips
of fortune's bent hand.

glow on
(with me).

Random Original Poetry, courtesy of M(e/yself), and unoutFluences.


Also, today I found out my grades for summer session if you care...A in Calc I, and B in Chem 2 (which is a freakin' miracle).

"Your mother was a train ticket and your father smelled of acupuncture needles."

Thank you Random Surrealism Generator!

all i want
is to lay in(to) arms
with blades or serenades.

i cannot do
love without blood
or
blood without love.

Random Original (half-formed) Poetry, courtesy of M(e/yself), and unoutFluences. Maybe this will be developed more. Maybe not.

"Aww, turn that frown upside-down! HEY! That's a smile, not an upside-down frown!" - Tap dancing instructor on The Simpsons

You know, back in the day, I really DID forget how to sneeze. I sneezed so much from allergies it became an annoyance, so I started to supress them. I did this for years. After awhile, I figure I'd stop repressing them. It took me a year and many bad, painful sneezes before I got it right again.

Back in the day,
I was youngandnaive.
Sickness kicked in,
And I'd cough and I'd sneeze.

Not very good -
nose a huge runny mess;
not a great sight,
so the sneeze I'd repress.

Some years later
my folly soon realized;
sneezes I need -
release pressure inside.

It took some time
to recall how to sneeze.
There was much pain
before pressure relieved

Back in the day,
i was youngandnaive.
Sickness kicked in,
and i'd weep and i'd sleep.

Not very good -
nose a huge runny mess;
not a great sight,
so the tears i'd repress.

Some years later
my folly soon realized;
tears i need -
release pressure inside.

Its taking time
to recall how to seep.
There will be pain
for pressure soon relieved.

Random Original Poetry, courtesy of M(e/yself), and unoutFluences.

Well, I didn't intend to finish Requiem For A Dream so quickly. I woke up today with 66 pages read, and I started reading. I didn't stop until I ran out of pages. At least I didn't have anything important planned for today.

Slight color changes around here...more to come as soon as I figure out what the heck I'm doing.

...and so he Smiles and Grins,
making sure the Knives stay pointed in.

Bleh...finally fell asleep at 5am yesterday. On the upside, my lease for next semester is signed, and the apartment looks great. Can't wait. Also, I am bored. Hence this brief, rambling post. I'm currently listening to Ben Harper - Fight For Your Mind...an excellent, excellent, excellent CD. Speaking of music, I bought Faithless - Outrospective two days ago and I am thoroughly pleased with that CD as well. That's it for now.

Bah! I can't sleep! Its 3:43 in the morning, and I've been trying to fall asleep for over 1 and 1/2 hours. Oh well, guess I'll go try again. I have to get up at 8:40 to drive to Orlando for the day. Adios.

Hey hey hey...not much going on. I got a haircut today. That's about it. However, I did manage to be slightly productive, and I have put my last 2 poems into my poetry archive, aka roadside debris. On top of that, I actually managed to date all the poems, and they are now in chronological order. Some of the dates may be off by a day, but I figure you'll survive.

PLEASE!!! do yourself a HUGE favor, and reread The poet I mean is not refined. At first posting, it was underdeveloped and malformed. It has just now been fixed...so please, scroll down, reread, and regain faith in me. Gracias.

Hey hey hey! Sorry it's been awhile since I posted...not much has been going on, and I've been lazy. However, I now have new things to report!

First and most important by far, the much beloved and cherished Rachel paid to have my banner ads removed from this page...thanks forever/ything. And all you readers (1 or 2) out there can thank her for the faster load time now found here.

Second, today I participated in capitalism, and purchased the novel Requiem for a Dream by Hubert Selby Jr.. As I was getting ready to strut out of Borders with my purchase, I spotted The Ultimate Hitchhiker's Guide by Douglas Adams, the complete collection of the Hitchhiker series. So I'm now home, and armed with Literature. Watch out!

Third, I'm tired. I had a calc 1 test and a chem 2 test today...bleh. At least they're over, and I think I did well on them.

Thanks for listenin' to my babble. Adios.

As promised, here is the original e e cummings poem I based my last creation off of. I love this one!

the boys i mean are not refined
they go with girls who buck and bite
they do not give a fuck for luck
they hump them thirteen times a night

one hangs a hat upon her tit
one carves a cross in her behind
they do not give a shit for wit
the boys i mean are not refined

they come with girls who bite and buck
who cannot read and cannot write
who laugh like they would fall apart
and masturbate with dynamite

the boys i mean are not refined
they cannot chat of that and this
they do not give a fart for art
they kill like you would take a piss

they speak whatever's on their mind
they do whatever's in their pants
the boys i mean are not refined
they shake the mountains when they dance

e e cummings

the boys i mean are not refined...its an opening line to a great e e cummings poem which I will post later. I used this line to write my latest bit of poetry. I hope you have as much fun reading it as I did writing it...little bit of self-excoriation never hurt anybody. Enjoy!!!


The poet I mean is not refined;
he sticks a feather in his shit
and hems and haws calls it wit.

With pointless rambles
and verse in shambles
and not much scheme to speak,
the words do wobble and topple and fall
creating laments of weak.

Should un-leaden pens upon paper fall
with no regard towards meaning's all,
he sits and smiles with a frown
'til's turned a word to up-side nwod.

When scheme doth fail
and imagery flail,
he inserts a letter,
such as with f(l/r)ail.

No primary message is ever concieved,
the poet is oft to willingly cede.
Lines are but words - arranged on a page;
misguided by passion and fashion and rage.

When all else fails
(or nothing starts),
bits and parts
of words form art?

The poet I mean is not refined;
just whines and dines and lacks a spine.

Random Original Poetry, courtesy of M(e/yself), and unoutFluences.

"Celebrate the birth of your nation by blowing up a small piece of it." - A store clerk in The Simpsons, before selling Homer an exceedingly large firecracker.

Happy 4th! I know I'll be taking full advantage of the explosives at hand. Huzzah!

Now I must depart, and eatandeatandeatandeatandeat.

Also! Please enjoy the Random Surrealism Generator at the top of this page. I know I do!

Well, took long enough. It's been about a month since something new sprang forth from my fingertips...today it finally happened in Calculus I class. This is also the first time in a LONG time the poem was not created by mashing keys. It is actually scrawled on a page in my calc notes, with formulas for differentials on the other side. Go figure. So anyway, here it is.

dy = y(1) x dx

Oops, wait, those are calc notes. Here's the poem.
(and apologies for once again a lack of cheeriness. If down after consumption, re-read previous paragraph, and Cy's Rant-o-Rama Vol. 3. If symptoms persist, consult the responsible party)(but its not that bad).

LAST U-TURN 1000 FEET
- Backtrack; turn
Before bridges burned.
Repeat + venture potholes
on roads oft travelled.
Save the road less trampled for moments
of indecisivenes
(but what road is less trodden than humility?).
- Run red lights -
sideswiped -
- toodamnfast -
(B/F)i(/gh)t(e/) back the tongue;
S(wa/e)ll(ow/) the soul;
De(f/s)ec(/r)ate the heart.
Head slung
low.

Downshift to undue
LAST U-TURN 1000 FEET
next u-turn i
(away).

Random Original Poetry, courtesy of M(e/yself), and unoutFluences.

I lie, I wait
I stop, I hesitate
I am, I breathe
I meant, I think of me
Is it any wonder I can't sleep?
All I have is all you gave to me
Is it any wonder I found peace through you?
Turn to the gates of heaven, to myself be damned
Turn away from light
It's not enough, just a touch
It's not enough
I taste, I love
I come, I bleed enough
I hate, I'm not
I was, I want too much
Is it any wonder I can't sleep?
All I have is all you gave to me
Is it any wonder I found peace through you?
Turn to the gates of heaven, to myself be damned
Turn away from light
It's not enough, just a touch
It's not enough, just a touch
It's not enough, just a touch
It's not enough, just a touch
It's not enough, just a touch
It's not enough, just a touch

Smashing Pumpkins - Eye...off the Lost Highway soundtrack...damn I love that song (sorry for the recycled material....something new will be appearing sooner or later, I swear).