"NOW THE STARS ARE NAILED TO AN EMPTY SKY THE MOON IS PINNED LIKE A BUTTERFLY AND I’M AFRAID TO SHINE TOO BRIGHT SINCE THE DAY THEY TOOK HIS LIFE SO MOTHERS, TEACH YOUR CHILDREN THIS DON’T OVERREACH, DON’T RUN THE RISK HIDE IN THE SHADOWS, DON’T EXPECT YOUR GOOD HEART TO SAVE YOUR NECK"
"IT'D MAKE A MAN OF ANY MAN WHO'S OLD ENOUGH TO CRY SURELY MAKE A LOSER FEEL AT HOME BLESSINGS ON THE CHILDREN OF THE CITY WHEN THEY DIE ONE MORE OVERPOPULATION GONE YOU CANNOT WALK THE STREETS NO MORE, OR LIVE IN TOWN I ALWAYS THOUGHT THERE’D BE SOMEWHERE TO CRAWL WHEN THE SKY FELL DOWN I’M WATCHING MY HORIZON EXPLODING LIKE A SPRING TOO TIGHTLY WOUND SILENCE IS THE ONLY SOUND”
I remember being stopped in my tracks the first time I heard “I always thought there’d be somewhere to crawl when the sky fell down“, like a hammer blow to my chest. It was in high school, preparing to leave for college. I laughed with bitter tears. Six years later, those words still have the same effect.
She’s a hell of a writer. ]]>
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]]>“Grinning lies and a bubbling laugh,
a gleeful villain of some repute,
easy footsteps still on the Paris path,
now stretching out to That Institute,
Your walk is ever a joyous gait,
on steps worn smooth by many feet,
but leave these gentle things of little weight,
and look you now upon a world to greet
A thousand lands are beauties all,
each one amongst a crowd,
where the strangest sights are the most wonderful,
and mysteries unfold in a cloud.
These myriad things you have not seen,
they call to you on bended knee
with waters blue and hills of green,
with desert, story, and wounded tree.
From the window of a plane,
all the world is a canvas,
every dot a story, every line a name,
only among strangers is your true self carved in stone.”
(my gift was a universal power adapter for travel to Europe, Australia, etc.)
–And here’s one about me from a mystery coworker (odds are good on it being Jeanette), which I thought was rather sweet.
“To Andrew, who’s web work is highly fastidious
but in person is funny and generous
Who’s a gent and nerd
Who loves order but ‘flirts’
With traditions, eccentrics and the frankly hideous
To Andrew who doodles quite endless
Who will sketch the most serious and senseless
Who is quick to defend
With a doughnut in hand
The obscure, the insane and the stupendous
To Andrew who can’t help it - a feat
And for observer’s eyes quite a treat
Be it doughtnut or wrap
Be it wings or just crap,
with a knife and a fork he must eat.
To Andrew who likes to be right
Who’s dress-sense is fifties and tight
This gift from St.Tim
You may wish it at whim
You can fill it and keep by your side.”
(the gift was a Tim Hortons doughnut on a fork, a dinosaur pen, and one of their Big-Ass Tim Mugs.) ]]>
This is amazing. Music almost a hundred years old, faithfully preserved to the best of our technology. Forgotten sounds from a bygone era.
Recommendations:
If Winter Comes ( http://ia310940.us.archive.org/2/items/edba-4628/edba-4628_vbr.mp3 )
Under the Double Eagle March ( http://www.archive.org/download/edbw-19/edbw-19_vbr.mp3 )
I think there’s something beautiful in static, something wonderful and lost in audio corruption. Like a surrealist painting in sinewaves, as much the listener’s creation as the performers.
Hee, man, that sounds pretentious, but seriously - listen to them. ]]>
I’m driving in to work this morning, and I stop at a traffic light. And then I see to my horror that a woman is backing her minivan out from parking directly into me. I can’t go forward into oncoming traffic, and there’s a car hedging me in from behind. I honk my horn, I yell, I honk again and BAM she slams into my passenger-side door. She never looked back once.
At least the airbags didn’t go off, I guess. Just fucking great. Andrew’s first day of being 24 is off to a great start! ]]>
In the first Time of All Times, the galaxy lay cold and arid, like a pool undisturbed. From the swirling dust of a young star, arose the First People – and they were majesty and might and miracle across the fertile suns. They strove amongst the heavens and built a kingdom of great joy. Yet there was a sadness in them, for they looked upon the fertile garden, and found no one to share their joy with.
So they searched upon the limpid face of the galaxy, and birthed three lesser peoples, and gave them self-knowing, and raised them as their own children though they were not of the same tree of flesh.
To the First was given the Gift of Knowledge, and they were the Golden Tribe. To the Second was given the Gift of Power, and they were named the Iron Tribe. Last and greatest to behold was the Ivory Tribe, and to them was given the greatest gift, the Gift of Peace.
The First People danced and sang with their newborn children, and shared with them their struggles, their griefs, and the worlds, the winds and the stars. And the Tribes loved them as son loves father.
And in the fullness of time, the First People grew old, and restless, and looked deep and long into the unending blackness beyond the edge of the Stars.
So the First People gathered all their empire of suns, a thousand thousand worlds drawn like chariots by strings of stardust, and bid a proud goodbye to their children.
“Love us.” They said. “Remember us. And in time, raise children of the mind of your own.”
But as they turned, they heard behind them a heaven-reaving shout – and from a world unknown to them, a new Tribe, unaided, announced its fiery birth to the heavens with a mighty roar. The First People gazed in wonder at them, but in their heart of hearts they were made afraid.
To these people they did not give a Name. To these people, they did not give any Gift.
The First People drew together their world fleet and journeyed beyond, but they left their children this message writ across the stars: “Behold the Nameless Tribe. They have fashioned their own Gift, and its name is War – and they will share it with you, if they can.” ]]>
Sketches from a D&D campaign I keep trying to get off the ground. ]]>
I don’t know exactly when it stopped - maybe sometime around February? I think? All of a sudden, it was like someone flipped a switch, and I wasn’t there anymore. I feel like I’m walking in someone else’s half-remembered dream, where every face is blurred and every action faded. Like living in cotton wool.
I stopped drawing - I couldn’t face it. Every mistake was an attack, every misplaced line so broken as to demand I scrap it immediately. All the little voices that told me life wasn’t worth bothering got a lot louder. My childhood sweetheart came back to me, and I can’t let her go.
I packed my computer in a box and gave it to a friend.
I stopped checking my email.
I let my phone run dry.
I wanted to see who I was when I didn’t have a flickering screen in front of me. Unfortunately, I’m still me.
When I went traveling overseas, I was hoping to find myself out on the road somewhere - I found myself, alright, and it was ever the same damn me.
There is little good in me. Little that is redeemable. I think I am kind, but I know I am ineffective. I have no malice in me, but that does not stop me from hurting all those I love. All my cruelties are unthinking, not that intention is any excuse. My actions are only selfish, and do not help an increasingly needy world. My wants are base, and my opinions flawed. My every gesture is a caricature, a stuttering clockwork imitation of a human being.
Even my despair is a conceit - for I do not have half the traumas that many of my friends face daily, or any of their valid reasons for grief. But still it consumes me. There are times I shake convulsively, and wish that I could pass this stage and be done with it. Maybe I’m waiting for a crash, waiting for a sudden flashpoint, a realization of damnation that will somehow galvanize me into self-repair. But I fear the only answer to me is me, and I’m not yet half man enough to fix what I am become.
I am deeply thankful to my friends and family. It’s hard for them to love someone who pushes them away or ignores them, and I deeply appreciate that you care.
Forgive my maudlin whinings - I am drunk with grief. ]]>
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