Voice of the night air
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twitchy_rambles' LiveJournal:
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| Wednesday, October 14th, 2009 | | 12:06 am |
the sad truth
Today I woke up feeling sad about a girl and love and relationship issues. I immediately listened to songs on AFI's new cd followed by most of their cd Sing the Sorrow. I spent the day wearing a black hoodie and when I went outside wore black cloth gloves and a long scarf. A long of my hair keeps falling into my face. I think I might have to admit that I'm a bit emo. One consolation is that so far I haven't started listening to any stereotypically shitty emo music.... | | Wednesday, September 23rd, 2009 | | 3:34 am |
Time heals wounds, but scars ache in the cold, when it rains, or for seemingly no reason at all
That dull throbbing pain comes back again, somewhere in between dreams and thoughts you have that evaporate as you fall asleep or just wake up. It's the sense that no matter what it's not going to be the same again old and familiar. It's also the feeling that your perspective on the change is itself changing, but never fully for the better. New aspects occur. Memories appear to haunt, to make you smile, to dredge up regret or guilt, simply to be again. Memories fade and the past becomes a vague impression of a life that was and a wonder about an alternate life that exists and self-elaborates in your mind falling over and over again through the fingers of yesterday's outstretched hand. Words do it no justice and confuse the issue. Words are necessary and expression is helpful. Words struggle with each other to be the best representation of feelings. It'll all mean something else tomorrow, but in the end it's the very same thing every day. it's one thing to be nostalgic. To miss certain lost simplicities or joys. Ways of being. I'm not really sure what this is or how to classify it. I know I have to accept and move on and I want to. I just know that even when I do there's something about it that's not genuine. I know this isn't the way it should be....this feels like a stranger's life. | | Sunday, September 20th, 2009 | | 2:02 am |
Where (and when) will he blog next?!
There does seem to be an issue with consistency. One sits down to express some feeling with ingenuity, panache, passion, panassionuity, fruit bats, etc. and finds (it, ones, his/her)self wondering what significance this expression will actually hold to the host of (group, community) potential readers. Thanks to the internet (and possibly privacy settings) it will either reach an unknown, untold, possibly unwanted multitude of bored, interested, or maybe even cat (if the person reading left there(sic) computer on and has such a beast wandering haphazard throughout their domicile) eyes. And yet (and with sentences beginning with and) the one who might find it all most relevant is the cat since the screen is bright and he wonders when the screensaver will come on so that he can bat at the glass/other screeny materials and knows that the significance of the post is truly in it's ability to delay his amusement by its apparent stillness and presence. So what's my point? Isn't that the point? If you're as lost as I am than you're probably feeling the same feeling that I'm feeling but on that side of this screen or that side of that screen and it's probably the right feeling. Remember that feeling. No not that one the one that I was trying to express.(Sorry. My parenthetical explanatory abilities cannot properly translate this inane drivel and I'm moving away to Mexico to invest in my true passion. Passion fruits. They grow there, I think. Maybe not. Who cares, I'm out of here!) Ah ... ahem ... well..... In related comma un actuality: Supposedly, according to anonymous sources in my brain, I may be substitute teaching sooner or later. I may or may not also be getting my proverbial butt in gear 9the favorite of my butts.. the proverbial one because it's always used so colorfully in the language0. See... that guy wasn't kidding. He left me with 9 and 0 for my explanatory text. Unfortunate. Oh right... proverbial butt in gear to write and seek publication. Also, maybe guitar. Definitely biking though. That I've been doing so at least I'll stay mildly? fit. Time to go get in9to?0 my sasquatch pajamas and hoist the sleep tanker into the air dock with my toes. Here, have a sandwich. Oops sorry I lied. The end | | Wednesday, August 26th, 2009 | | 9:32 pm |
| | Saturday, July 18th, 2009 | | 2:13 am |
Guess what (and where) the title is
Mitch winds his watch and comments that 11 AM is
Scientifically speaking
The coffee hour
Sloshing his halfempty cup he slouches in a morning ray
In the chair by the muted radio
In the corner store on the side street
down the block from the world
"Dead center" he says "eleven thirty and here we are
just off center Anytown USA halfway through
the coffee hour"
"Halfway?" I question "How do you figure?"
"Just a feeling" and he tips back his chair, the coffee and
imbibes morning air, the last drop before it's afternoon haze
Before the dawn-brought chill completely fades from our minds
"This coffee hour's over short" he sighs, dries his mouth with a
napkin, and grins,
"Can't wait for coffee hour to slide by again" | | Tuesday, July 7th, 2009 | | 1:24 am |
Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!! >_> | | Tuesday, June 16th, 2009 | | 4:30 pm |
caffiene is bad for my sleep....
Technicolor Gray Nighttime brings clarity Isolated visions of objects by moonlight Or streetlights, against Vague backdrop Colorless world of blurred lines Stillness blending into motion Objects in outline and objects defined Day brings clarity The clarity of things as they seem to be in daylight The senses overwhelmed as light and life bring full Color and motion and cleanse the sense of clarity Hiding in quiet corner The mind works to blend the clarity of night and day Into a technicolor gray (no title as of yet) The color of your smile is always changing The rhythm of my heart, laughing or crying, is The symbol for my status but just a broken apparatus The moments that give us their time unwind the rivers Running straight out into the street a misnomered heart beats Misspeaks Repeats mistakes Leaps straight out from a chest of ..wonders.... Speaks loudly like internal thunder But settles down, or gets held under The rapidly unwinding river Draws out the dawdling moments to hurry them along To bid them sing their song, say their peace and depart Because in the matters of the heart, I am the master of the subtle art of being in a rush to hesitate To paint the face of the clock that never waits In the colors of always a second, a minute, a forever Too late Caw (or alternatively Kcaw) A sound that I've just heard Speaks of ravens and of blackbirds And crows beneath the eaves and evening's ceiling Speaks of beady, watching eyes Perched amidst feathers on the sky Speaks of air taken into lungs Spoken out in ancient tongues Of the crops and seasons' yield Of a lonely, barren field Wings as black as night Greeting rising light Speaks of eating from the dead And spirits taking flight Speaks of a thousand ways to die Under that beady, watchful eye Oh, but don't be so absurd For it's only just a bird still some formatting issues with the poem where it actually matters because the lines are suppose to have no gaps horizantally when they fall to the next vertically but whatever Current Music: 9mm Parabellum Bullet - Vampire Girl (or, "yo vampire girl!") | | Wednesday, June 10th, 2009 | | 4:07 pm |
fire in the sky, hell on earth, and a sad song on the radio
"sissss... sissstop .. stop me ifffyou've heard this one.." "ss sisoness" "onesss a doozy" "I've heard it" "it all" "all before" "ssstop".. ."I've heard it all before" As defined by the light that now defines it all _ whining through the air at frequencies only now seen as audible _ red shifting toward pleasure, acceptance, love, joy, and anger __ blue shifting away - fear sadness memory forgiveness death ___laughter permeating all:as red and blue shifts move through one another: tangling it all up and letting it all out, a burst of light out into, out into the light out into the absurdity of nothing racing just behind and just ahead of and all around each moment "Stop me if you've".. "told this story" .."before" stop me if you've heard it all before stop me so I can see this ever new song of laughter in your... in the light that shines in ... in the light shining into your eyes .." ".. I'll tell you that we played a game of chess again, but not who won. It will remain silent in all but the light racing away, already miles and miles beyond the reach of our simple lifetimes. The pieces stood carved and familiar on a board checkered and familiar in a room crowded but familiar filled with the vibration of life. The night ended in the same missable way, slipping into daylight around houses, cars, and empty streets. "I've heard her only flaw" "a tragic flaw" "I've heard" "her only flaw" "was tragic" "Tragically her only" "flaw was" SHE NEVER "the only story" "the ONLY flaw your story has" "is tragic" "the only flaw your story" "has is" "is that" "that I've heard it" "heard it all" "all before" "a tragedy..." as light, yawned, over the stretch of a laughing face, a crying face, a passive face, across the, face, of the world ... meaning ... the face passed out of sight "the time is" the reflection of brilliant ghostly light, a moment of momentum had washed it, all away, dried it all up parched the hungry throat of "time is" "3 am on a friday" "4 am on a tuesday" "6 pm somewhere" suntime on the sun, or by sunlogic 6 billion and a half past 13 When our minds are all but light and streaking through the darkness through the darkness, planet earth is a blue, memory, a fading shift away, a red echo of laughter, "the inner struggle" "every man MUST OWN!" "in a day" that will "live in infamy" and die "with infamy" the struggle that continues in "the streets will run" with blood "in the homes of every" "americans Who must stand up for" "an afternoon stroll" and as they do ... "and here to play us out.." Out out, the light, out out damn spot, blue speck close the dark lid of space as light itself shines off to slumber in the back reaches of forever well this was formatted much differently on the page but livejournal has no respect for that and now I've lost the formatting I did .. : / | | Friday, May 15th, 2009 | | 4:22 pm |
I write this without feeling
An awful laugh wells up from the bowels of nothing that's in me The sky looks scornfully down as it swallows the earth again and again Every single movement of every single thing is every love, every atroicity, and nothing Dead minds lurch from loud technicolor graves A tree sighs and a bird smashes headlong into the cleanest windshield Life begins and ends, life and death in a constant race to negate the other Only succeeding in feeding a pointless cycle | | Tuesday, April 14th, 2009 | | 4:13 pm |
| | Monday, April 6th, 2009 | | 1:34 pm |
Writer's Block: Grab and Go
Also, who's to say any of the stuff in those databases is the truth about any of the big questions anyway. Seriously I'd rather plan the hack into the database in such a way as not to get caught? | | 1:32 pm |
| | Thursday, April 2nd, 2009 | | 10:51 pm |
| | Tuesday, March 31st, 2009 | | 9:19 pm |
of signs and semiotics
Some say that signs are everywhere you look if you know what to look for. In a sense, that set of letters makes up words in a sentence that attributed a specific meaning has the potential to be correct. Letters and words in and of themselves are signs signaling a mind to access meanings. Images also have this power. Associations are drawn from words to images and images to word threads of thought running between all things observed. I know of course that most people would utter that initial idea with something mystical in mind. That some being or force is handing down a signal in the form of cryptic images or events with some meaning to be patched together by those who have the gift to work out a message. However, all things are experienced through the filter of previous experience and interpretted with a tint, if you will, a coloring of ones perspective. However, removing the mysticism from the idea of signs doesn't take away from their power... A series of images from today. On my way out to work today my mom and I found one of our cats on the road. It's hard to even say what remained of that cat was a cat, but some mockery of nature created by the collision of some heavy vehicle moving at high speeds with a nimble, but fragile product of evolution and the natural world. Not even a death so shocking and sudden comes without it's associations. Life and death meet in the instant of the discovery; one remembers the things one new about the thing that was alive and tries to relate them to what one currently sees. In this case, a mutilated husk of an animal on the pavement. One wonders how it happened. If the person bothered to slow down or not or simply kept on rolling right over the animal. There's anger and disbelief. One wonders (and maybe derives some hope from the possibility) if the amount of damage done also is a sign that there was in fact very little time for the dead thing to have suffered before it died. In this case one also tries as hard as possible not to cry and to stay in control of one's emotions knowing that in a half an hour they'll be at work helping students with their English homework. The first sign: life meeting it's end suddenly in death. The car ride is a quiet one. No one wants to speak because words aren't adequate for having just dragged the parts of your cat off of the road so that at least no one has to swerve around them and no more damage is caused by the event. As a passenger my eyes are free to travel to new signs. We pass a church and their just happen to be cars lined up along the road. From the signs hung from the rear view mirror's you can see that someone's funeral services are taking place. I wonder if it was a sudden death or expected. A young or old person. Man or a woman. The second sign: mourning rituals of the living. As we drive along down an empty stretch of road between two fields I see a lone crow perched on a wire. Crows carry their superstitious connections to death which in the end stem from the fact that they're opportunists. Smart birds who would rather eat a thing then let it go to waste when it saves them the work of hunting down or chasing food themselves. The third sign: the natural aspect of death and nature's own rituals. Finally at some point down the road a small orange shape moves out from the tall grass and begins to run for the road. My mom applies the breaks as an orange tabby moves across the road and reaches the other side safely. My mind inevitably moves to the death under similar circumstances that must have taken place less than an hour ago. The final sign: Some things live while others must die. There is hope for redemption through some acts. Not out of some holy providence, but by keeping one's eyes open and reading the signs. Not as they were meant to be read for their is no meaning behind them. By applying meaning and connecting the things that happen. As a way of coping and therefore as a way of living. One of the many uses of language. The storyteller must put the signs he sees in the order he deems fit to bring about meaning giving peace to the living and breath to the dead. | | Friday, March 27th, 2009 | | 1:46 am |
| | Friday, March 13th, 2009 | | 2:29 pm |
Writer's Block: Really, Truly
I believe these two ideas are diametrically opposed, but I doubt the writer paired them for that reason. True love, in my opinion, definitely exists. There are levels beyond the physical at which someone's mere presence or existence can sustain someone. Everyone has certain definitions of it or certain ideas of what it is. My best illustration to date of what it was would be having come to the realization that even when I felt like just being on my own and I was having my own time I sort of wished I could share it with the other person. Obviously the feelings will manifest in many more ways, but that was a crystalizing moment in terms of realizing "Wow .. this is what this is..." Love at first sight in such a light is just silly. I mean at the very least I've gathered that it's supposed to be love from the moment you see the person and really at that point the information you have about the person is simply what they look like. There's a term for that. It's lust. Love is something much deeper and the idea of love itself is dirtied in my opinion by the idea that it could be formed so instantly based on such shallow perceptions. end rant... | | 1:20 am |
Writer's Block: It's the Little Things
I dunno if it's such a little thing really... I assume you're referring to the fact that I secretly buff their eyeballs with eyedex... no streaking and let's the light through really clear so everything is brighter. The only problem is that birds fly into them. It's troublesome but if you blink in time it hurts less. The price we have to pay for a brigher world. | | Wednesday, March 11th, 2009 | | 1:59 pm |
| | Sunday, February 22nd, 2009 | | 7:25 pm |
I'm totally not feeling right. I hope this passes soon. | | Thursday, February 19th, 2009 | | 11:17 pm |
I've said it before and I'll type it again. I just ... don't get it. |
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