Who I am Hates Who I've Been

Sometimes I fear I will be rescued from this bored life . . .

And then I found out that even after all of the things that I am not, I still am. As the man said, I think therefor I am. You cannot argue with logic like that.

And I remember the partridge in a pear tree.

Time consumer, time consuming, time consume me.

After all that has been said of Mice and men, are none of us agents?

Where is the fiery fire? Scream loud, scream sianara, sweet Josephine, will you follow me home? But I cannot follow the wanderings of Claudio. I do not have the super-secret codex.

And thus I muse my useless musing as one in the morning. Good night, Seattle.

Istanbul was Konstantinople

Even old New York once New Amsterdam. Why the changed it, I can't say. People just liked it better that way. So take me back to Konstantinople, no you can't go back to Konstantinople. Been a long time gone, Konstantinople. Why did Konstantinople get the works? That's nobody's business bu the Turks.

. . .

Every gall in Constantinople

Lives in Istanbul, not Constantinople

So if you've a date in Constantinople

She'll be waiting in Istanbul

. . .

There's a picture opposite me

Of my primitive ancestry

Which stood on a rocky shores and kept the beached shipwreck free

Thought I respect that a lot

I'd be fired if that was my job

After killing Jason off and countless screaming Argonauts

It's been a big day for those I know

Today La Nena finally set sail. It will be a long voyage there and back, may she be more sea worthy than she appears.

Columbus got his long deserved promotion and proudly bares the tile of captain, though he will likely be in dry dock for quite some time. While Jude Law flounders in a storm of papers.

All will be well. All is well.

"Everything, It Must Belong Somewhere"

This is, as has been said, the first day of the rest of my life. The rest of my life being defined as the part of my life starting with today. It will be busy, I suspect.

Let the past stay there, I say. The lake should not be dragged unnecessarily.

Leave the bright blue door on the whitewashed wall

Leave the death ledger under city hall
Leave the joyful air in that rubber ball today

Just leave the lilac print on the linen sheet
Leave the birds you killed at your father's feet
Let the sideways rain in the crooked street remain

Leave the whimpering dog in his cold kennel
Leave the dead starlet on her pedestal
Leave the acid kids in their green fishbowls today

Leave the sad guitar in its hardshell case
Leave the worried look on your lover's face
Let the orange embers in the fireplace remain

Leave the ocean's roar in the turquoise shell
Leave the widower in his private hell
Leave the liberty in that broken bell today

Just leave the epic poem on its yellowed page
Leave the gray macaw in his covered cage
Let the traveling band on the interstate remain

Leave the secret talks on the trundle bed
Leave the garden tools in that rusted shed
Leave those bad ideas in your troubled head today

Just leave the restless ghost in his old hotel
Leave the homeless man in that cardboard cell
Let the painted horse on the carousel remain

Leave the old town drunk on his wooden stool
Leave the autumn leaves in their swimming pool
Leave the poor black child in his crumbling school today

Leave the novelist in his daydream tune
Leave the scientist in her Rubik's cube
Let the true genius in the padded room remain

Leave the horse's hair on the slanted bow
Leave the slot machines on the riverboat
Leave the cauliflower in the casserole today

Just leave the hot bright trash in the shopping malls
Leave the hawks of war in their capitols
Let the organ's moan in the cathedral remain

In truth the forest hears each sound
Each blade of grass as it lies down
The world requires no audience
No witnesses, no witnesses

But I do.

Alone, I am not.

Like Schrödinger's quantum mechanics I don't exist if I'm not observed.

Sooths

I saw the Saturday Evening Ghost. She plays the cello for a band called Iso Principle.

I learned that an airplane that has slowed down in it's assent does not cease to fly.

balls of fire burning in the blackspace

Imagine for a second a river of fire.
You've probably thought of something like a river a lava. That's not what I want exactly. That's really just a river of rock. Really hot rock, and it is sometimes on fire, but it's not quite a river of fire.
Now, imagine a river of fire. A river of flames. It rushes and roars like a jet engine. Buffeted from side to side by the rocks. The torrent of fire rushes along the winding floor of the canyon. Wide curves seem to be straining to hold the fire in it's path while sharper corners violently deflect and redirect the river int a new direction. From above, the chared rock and soot that extend halfway up the canyon walls make the canyon look deeper than it really is. The river is brilliant red against the black backdrop, but in the sunlight it seems to flicker. The smell of burning permeates everything, and the breeze dose not drive it away. At night, though, the wind shifts, bringing sweet. The dirtiness of the soot is invisible in the black of the night and the clouds all around are lit by a red glow from below. The river is a ribbon of violent red weaving through the canyon bellow and eventually out of sight around a bend. Whatever the river does not illuminate is pure darkness.

The Riddle

I got two strong arms.
Blessings of Babylon time to carry on
and try for sins and false alarms
so to American the brave wise man save.

Near a tree by a river there's a hole in the ground.
Where an old man of iron goes around and around.
And his mind is a beacon in the veil of the night.
For a strange kind of fashion there's a wrong and a right
But he'll never never fight over you.

I got time to kill.
Sly looks in corridors without a plan of yours.
A blackbird sings on bluebird hill.
Thanks to the calling of the wild
wise mens child.

I got plans for us
Nights in the scullery
And days instead of me
I only know what to discuss
Oh, for anything but light
Wise men fighting over you

It's not me you see.
Pieces of valentine
And just a song of mine.
To keep from burning history
Seasons of gasoline and gold
Wise men fold.

Near a tree by a river there's a hole in the ground.
Where an old man of iron goes around and around.
And his mind is a beacon in the veil of the night.
For a strange kind of fashion there's a wrong and a right
But he'll never never fight over you.

I got time to kill.
Sly looks in corridors without a plan of yours.
A blackbird sings on bluebird hill.
Thanks to the calling of the wild
wise mens child.

The View from Aloft

It's all about the mountain. I always said it was. Beside the mountain there is nothing. It doesn't matter if you go up, live there, or dig caves into it where bears live. The mountain is all that there ever was. And all that will remain after. I have always said that. There is nothing that compares to it, nothing that can take it's place, and nothing more important. If I say so, why is it that I do not go up? Character.

The world's your oyster shell, so what's that funny smell. You eat the bivalve anyway, you're sick with salmonella. Get your PhD, how happy you will be when you get a job at Wendy's and are honored with employee of the month.

Ripe with things to say, but the words rot and fall away.

Rebels of the Sacred Heart

But it`s time I`ll take before I begin
Three sheets to the wind, Three sheets to the wind
. . .
Terrified of the open road
Yeah, where it leads ya never know
. . .
So you saved your shillins and your last six pence
Cause in God`s name they built a barbed wire fence
Be glad you sailed for a better day
But don`t forget there`ll be hell to pay

Disclaimer:The content on this site is provided as general information only and should not be taken as investment advice. All site content, including advertisements, shall not be construed as a recommendation to buy or sell any security or financial instrument, or to participate in any particular trading or investment strategy. The ideas expressed on this site are solely the opinions of the author(s) and do not necessarily represent the opinions of sponsors or firms affiliated with the author(s). The author may or may not have a position in any company or advertiser referenced above. Any action that you take as a result of information, analysis, or advertisement on this site is ultimately your responsibility. Consult your investment adviser before making any investment decisions.

So, I've been hanging out down by the train's despot. No, I don't ride, I just sit and watch the people there, and they remind me of windup cars in motion, the way the spin and turn and jockey for position's, and I want to scream out that is all is nonsense, your life's one track can't you see it's pointless. Just then my knees give under me, my head feels weak, and suddenly it's clear to see it's not them but me who's lost myself. I dare not be, as I hide behind these books I read while scribbling my poetry like art could save a wretch like me with some ideal ideology that no one could hope to achieve, and I'm never real, it's just a sketch in me, and everything I made is trite and cheap and a waist. Of paint. Of tape. Of time.

It's not as bad as all that, really.

Bone stucture screams . . .

Don't forget

No regrets

Except maybe one

Made a deal

Not to feel

Gosh that's dumb

-BNL

If to me in honesty

you dispel incredulity

You know the things that I need

So say the truth and set me free

Men and beasts to see or eat

The cold despair of false defeat

Standing tongue and lying feet

Watch and deny the flying sheet

-William de Worde

To be is to do -Socrates

To do is to be -Sartre

Do Be Do Be Do -Sinatra

A bear do I be? Well, maybe I do. If not, what do I be? And what do I do?

Corners

"Jerry, I'm at the corner of first and first! I'm at the nexus of the universe." Well, not actually first and first, but close. Perhaps I am at the corner of first and amistad. Could be. Hope so. Can't tell. The signs are abiguous, if not actually contradicting. Either way, this is a better corner than any I've been at in a long time. There is not any sort of feeling of a man hiding behind it waiting to swing anything heavy at head level. There still might be. It's hard to tell if he's there, because if he was, he'd be hiding. Close your eyes and take a step.

I am not O'Brien. I will not pretend to be O'Brien just for a ride in a limo. If they will take me as I am, a plain George Costanza, then I will go.

There were these turtles, see

In Pirates of the Caribbean 3: At World's End Jack Sparrow's father brings out the Codex to consult the Code of the Pirates as set forth by Remus and Bartholomeus, or some such. The book is locked and needs a key. The old man calls the dog who has been seen at several points in all the movies, always holding a key. The dog that never comes for anyone comes for him immediately. The alternatively intelligent pirate with the wooden eye is well acquainted with this dog and exclaims, "How did you . . . ?" The wised pirate barely looks up and remarks, "Sea turtles, mate." Obviously that's all the explanation that he intends to give. Very reminiscent of Captain Sparrow's description of how he escaped from his exile. Mr. Turner also claims these Sea Turtles as the means of his sudden arrival on the tropical island where they find the dead man's chest. Discarding out of hand the idea that this is merely a not so wonderful joke drawn out more than it deserved, it must be that these sea turtles are more than they appear. They are an embodiment of overcoming impossible odds. The represent the same sentiment expressed in the expression, “When life gives you lemons, take them, make grape juice, and let the world wonder how you did it.” You see, turtles.

-I Rival Webster

Brand New

"I've seen what happens

to the wicked and proud

when they decide to try to on

the thrown for the crown"

in the months I spent waiting for the lady in waiting.

And I know that "the jester played for the king and queen in a coat he borrowed from James Dean." but "the court room adjourned, no verdict was returned."

Sometimes I think I might believe Douglas Adams when he said, "The population of the universe is zero, and anyone you might meet there is the figment of a deranged imagination." Because so many other people who I supposedly encounter in this world where I abide don't always seem to find that it contains the same things that I do. For example, it seems that no one else thinks that this world contains a masked moose. Isn't that odd?

autos, pistas and autopistas

I venture tentatively into the foot hills searching for the the masked moose. The moose is very cleaver. Sometime I wonder if the moose is not really hunting me. Sometimes I think I will not ever get close to this moose. Sometimes I think if I ever do, I'll be gored. I am not skilled at the game of snakes and foxes. Either the snakes get me, or the foxes do. They say that you cannot win against them. At least not if you play by the rules.

Remembrancer

Oh, Rememberancer, tell me waht you see.

Lirael tells me that some thing never change.

Clayr tell me that it'll never be the same.

Sabriel tells me with word that ring like a bell

That it is over. And all is well.

At work today, I saw a bunny. He was sitting in the middle of the lawn. (innut she cute?) I was watching her, and she was watching me. She thought she was hiding, dark brown fur on green grass. She stayed perfectly still until the last minute possible. She only ran away when it was that or get run over. Silly rabbit. Tricks are for kids.

It's kind of a funny story

Note to self: avoid getting sucked into books that begin, "It's so hard to talk when you want to kill yourself."

Where is Cherlock Homes now? Who can follow the paper trail. I know it hasn't gone anywhere yet, but perhaps a carful analasis of the dirrection and speed, taking into acount outside vectors and and internal stresses, it might be possible to findout where the arrow lands. It's about dead reckoning. The winds on above, the currents underneath, where you meant to go, where you go regardless.

As they say, up, up, and away.

Phoenix Fawkes

I am Fred. And Fred is free. And I will tell Frank. And he will say, "Nice."

But I don't really get the visual arts. After all, I am William de Worde. I can't tell the melody from the beat, I don't notice the camara work or the blocking. For me it's all about the plot, the diolog, the lyrics. What is said bares greatly on me. And it erks me greatly when what is said does not match up with what is done.

I sware I meant what I said. And I really do do what I say.

I usually say little enough that I can manage it.

Hey, Jude (Law and a Semester Abroad)

Well, you know it is a fool who plays it cool by making his world a little colder.

Note to self: do not stay up late at night to play the game of snakes and foxes.

The cat is a pickup truck

Schrodinger proposed a scenario with a cat in a sealed box, wherein the cat's life or death was dependent on the state of a subatomic particle. According to Schrödinger, the Copenhagen interpretation implies that the cat remains both alive and dead until the box is opened. So you see, it's not about what you can or cannot fit into the box. This is because the box contains a dead cat. Which would have been much better of let out of the bag in the first place. Think outside the box.

We play the ancient game of snakes and foxes. And I am hunting the masked moose.

-William de Worde

last night i swallowed liquor and a lighter and this morning i threw up fire

and I am grateful that someone actually received the prize that was promised by all those fairy tails that drugged us and still do me i'm sick lonely no laurel tree just green envy will my number come up eventually like love's some kind of lottery just scratch and see what's underneath it's sorry just one cherry play again get lucky

Crow sways 'FREEDOM'

"I fell asleep next to a lair, and I woke up with a shiner"
"She's in an all girl band, her futon's second hand"

I feel like someone starving in the desert for days, after the hunger and the thirst and the sunburns and all the pain blend together and it's possible to forget exactly why there is so much pain. As if it had always been that way. An then getting a taste of something, say and apple. Suddenly getting hit with the realization of just how much another apple would be appreciated. Or maybe some orange juice or even some Mexican food.

When wounds are deep enough, they never really go away. They simply close up and scar over. Sure they stop hurting, but later on, when you least expect it, when the weather changes or when you're under a lot of stress, they flare up, and you can feel them twinge. Not real pain, but something you can feel. It worries more than hurts.

You get to the next one down the line

I am going away. I feel oddly good about this. Today I am OK. I saw a photo of the Nena. She appeared happy. I am glad that she is happy, but I am not happy because she is happy. I am happy of my own accord. Today, at this moment, I feel OK about not seeing her again. First time that that has happened. It is a good feeling, although fleeting it may be. At piece with the world.

Now it is time to get to work.

I have three little books about a little witch.

I saw a ghost the other night. It was scary, and I ran away.

People need to be needed. All the people I needed learned to not need me at all. They had to. I was never here. Reality is ruining my life :). It's just the way thing apparently are. unfortunately are.
one more day to give my love and repay debts . . .
And Nena will not notice when I am gone. Why should she? She took no notice when I was here.
The future is out there, stubbornly hopeful. There is hope because it will be different, and in being different there is a chance that it will be better.