People Still Suck

http://www.cnn.com/2007/EDUCATION/03/02/reading.for.pizza.ap/index.html

People Suck

http://www.cnn.com/2007/US/02/28/city.sexchange.ap/index.html

Fair Weather Weather

I ate my lunch outside yesterday.

It made me happy.

My Writing

Last semester when I attempted to restart regularly posting on here, I am implemented a scheme to post a piece of poetry every Tuesday. The idea did gain what I hoped it would, thinking constructively again about my writing. And for maybe 4 or 5 weeks I came up with a piece every Tuesday.

However, what the scheme also brought about in an unforseen way was a pressure to write (obviously, setting a deadline to publish writing would inherently invite pressure) exactly when I didn't need it. Now, I'm typically one to appreciate writing under pressure. It's the only way I survived university - late night and often last minute wooshes of my mighty pen and fingers. I did it well enough, but this is something of an entirely different animal. I'm already freaked out by my writing and even the possibility of it - just need to take it slowly. I have to write, a delightful statement I'm becoming more and more aware of.

And I will write.

Just with no more deadlines. However, I will strive to not only type but also post what I'm writing. All poetry will get posted. And prose, some prose will get posted. If I actually decide on what to write, I think I'll have a few things to share.

What a frightening prospect.

I Like Andrew

I have a friend who's a mountain of a man.

A mountain of love, musicoscity, snarkiness and ego.

Say hi, Andrew the Great.

"Mumble, mumble, grumble and bumble"

That's the Andrew I know and love.

I have decided upon a dedication of a new tab in my sidebar to Andrew. He has three freakin' blogs, so he deserves one lil' section to himself. And he's a big, jolly man. Big, jolly men deserve special considerations.

Especially when they not only have but record awesome, awesome dreams for us to enjoy.
Read part one of Andrew's dream here.

Reasons, Reasons, Reasons

While I often find myself thinking diligently about what I can and should be writing here, 99 times out of 100 I don't find myself writing at all, here or anywhere. It's been a source of great consternation and, quite honestly, confusion over the past few months since I've started graduate school. The many experiences and thoughts I've had should have given birth to quite a lot of writing, yet only sourced doubt and, as referenced before, a great deal of confusion.

Now as I start the new semester, I very much want to break that cycle of confusion and thought without action. I'm not proud of the fact that I'm often the guy who acts without thinking. But I'd be fundamentally ashamed if I became the guy who thought without acting. So, why do I do this?

I think I have an answer. I believe that more often than not I find myself unable to write basically because I feel pretty inadequate almost every day. And by inadequate I mean intellectually incapable of rising to the challenge bar that's been set before me.

I know I'm a smart guy. Concepts and thoughts have always come easily to me. 95 percent of the time I could bullshit my way through an assignment or abstract thought and do just fine. But this time...there's no way I can do that. To sound like the priviledged white asshole that I am: I've never had to work this hard for anything intellectual in my life.

That's situation which is inherently exciting. It's a cool thing, or would be if I actually knew I wanted to be doing this...this economics. But I don't. So I'm stuck between a rock (my procrastination, legendary) and a hard place (not knowing what I want, or if I can get what I want). I should try, though. At the very least I should try. Right?

I'm buckling down, working harder than I ever have. Though, it's still not very much.

I could resolve to do and be a lot of things. But there's just one thing I'm going to resolve for myself.

I don't want to feel stupid anymore, day in and day out.

Please, Sir

In the past few months of actively not writing in this blog, I have been activiely engaged in thinking about writing in this blog. Every thought that would come to mind (though perhaps not all, as not all of my thoughts are kosher enough for even the most intimately acquainted), would come with the desire to write and write here.

So when it comes that I have myself set down before my computer, the blog pulled up and my heart equating my mind's desire to write (as often it does not), I find myself unable to call upon an idea tonight. Sure, there are many things I could write on. I know all of the topics intimately. Yet none of them strike with the same urgency as when I think of them.

Perhaps this is why I am still not a writer, I have not yet learned to conquest the inability of the heart to move my fingers.

Perhaps, all the more, this is why I do not know what it is I should be doing - or how I should know it - or what I should do about it. That said, it is an easy venture to acknowledge that much else explains the why behind the preceding sentence.

Life is a struggle for me, in more ways than one. Of recent days that struggle has fragmented - yet the utter truth of it remains whole and untainted. We all struggle, I am nothing special because of mine nor is mine unique. A line of thought which I had to learn. I was born an utter egotist - I've had to learn many a lesson of humility - humility which guides an understanding of my place in community, not outside of it.

I remember as a child, running on the streets of my hometown in South Carolina at 5 am, dreaming of finding myself caught up in a mystery or fantastic adventure. There was a hill I remember climbing as I ran which I always felt would be the perfect place to be abducted by some secret organization. That was who I believed I was - someone special enough that circumstance would find me, and I would be ready. In a lot of ways, I still wait for that circumstance.

But as I see my eyes opening more and more into the world, I realise not the pithiness of making one's circumstance, however true that might be. No, I realise...something. I guess I realise that I am still special, unique and with something to offer this world. But that uniqueness, I have to find it - I can't wait, nor should I have ever, waited for someone else to find it. I never quite understood why I got so angry when I was told I would be someone special in this life. Sadly enough I was told that quite often - and by the people who mattered enough that I listened implicitly, all the while cradling my anger which was righteous enough.

I understand now, though. We all must rely on others, must lean on one another, right now. But the thing we can't do, I can't do, is rely on someone to rake a timber in the midst of soul, catch the fire and then lead on as if leading with a torch in the midst of darkness. Poetic language aside, if the fire can be wielded, I must dance with it myself before anyone else can.

I have always claimed to be one with a fire burning in my heart. Now is the time to stop ignoring its presence by only acknowledging the warmth and sometimes heat. Now's the time to stick my head in the fire and breathe who it is I am.

Fire once burned my gloves and the soles of my boots, now its time to let it burn my soul.

(Not nearly as dark as the imagery would have it be read. All I say: time to stop ignoring who I am, find out, and then...live it. I'm poetic, it gets me into trouble more often than not. Happy place, people, I'm in a happy place.)

That's What I Like to See

In the National Football League, the Indy Colts are the much maligned "softest" team of all however many teams (32 I think). And they are so maligned for so many good reasons. Throughout the past 4 to 5 seasons, their number one rated offense, headed by arguably the most efficient and, damn't, the prettiest damn passer there ever was, has always fallen short of parading through the playoffs because their defense is so soft. To enumerate how soft is soft, let's examine the average yards per game given up by the Colts defense this year: 145. That's a lot.

But to be fair, the soft nature of the Colts isn't all on the shoulder of the defense. (Though it should be so as the Colts' head coach was the mastermind behind the defensive behemoth that drove the Tampa Bay Bucs towards an NFL Championship.) Their offense deserves just as much blame. I can't begin to recount the number of times I've seen the Colts line up with 4 downs to get to the goal (score a touchdown) and fail to break through with one of the most productive and stalwart running backs in the league. Not the mention how often I've seen a well put together defense confuse the most impressive defensive deconstructionist behind center (Colts quarterback, Peyton Manning, pictured).

However, all that said, the Colts stepped up on Saturday. They played the Baltimore Ravens in a second round playoff match in Baltimore. Given the history of the Colts, there was no reason for them to survive this matchup. You see, the Ravens defense is legendary. It won them the 2000 NFL Championship. And it is finally back to form - a thing to be well, well feared. But the Colts held on.

The Colts did even more than that. They won the defensive battle. Their defense stepped up and outplayed the Ravens defense. The Colts won in the most improbable of ways. Peyton Manning didn't throw a touchdown, never handed off for a touchdown run. There wasn't even a touchdown scored in the entire game. But there were 8 scores. 8 field goals - which is amazing. Not amazing that such a game happens. However, amazing for one simple fact - the Colts won this game. And won on the foot of Adam Vinetieri (to the right).

I realise this may not be monumental. Especially considering the Colts may face, next Sunday, another huge obstacle in the San Diego Chargers.

But hell, this is time for celebration! Let's go Colts!

The Unstoppable Return

So, I haven't written in a long while.

Hell, I haven't written consistently in an even longer time.

Seems to be a horrible habit of mine. I start a great many things yet fail to finish quite a lot of them. Yet though quite absent, this blog is never far from my mind. In particular, what I have to say through it has been a consistent presence with me.

I'm ready to go again. And as I'm ready to go, reveining my desire to express myself through this blog - I decided to add some pretty colours. Black & blue - pretty doesn't quite begin to describe. Especially when the blue is the blue of my beloved University - the University of the people - the University of North Carolina. (Yeah, I so totally dig getting schooled every day at this place.)

So here comes my mind. I hope everyone finds it oh so very damn sexy.

The O in Owl is for Outstanding

Yesterday at an unknown hour in the later afternoon I received a call from the girl. She had very, very good news in the form of her acceptance into Temple University.

I'm so very proud of her. She is smart, funny, so eager to learn and even sometimes wants very much to go back to school. Arcadia gave her a bridge to Italy but didn't provide the way back to Academia. Perhaps Temple will lay that path. And if not, at least she has something she wanted very much.

The having of a want is always enough to make any journey worth traveling.

I'm proud of her.

Always Say So Little

Good evening ladies and gentlemen. (I'm confident more than one woman and one man reads this blog, so I similarly confident in my address.)

I realise I have not posted a poem for the past two weeks. Wretched of me, I know. However, I wrote today two pages of dialogue to a story I've been thinking about. Exciting! ...and still, the same three poems in my head. One is long, one is pretty terrifying to write, and the third is a rewrite.

I always have so much to write on this blog. Yet I always write so little.

And yet, something to say now.

The girl visited this past weekend. We broke up.

Now, that's rather shocking. But really, it's not. The stress, disatisfaction has been growing for quite a while. And in love there needs to be a lot of grace, wisdom, peace and patience. So I believe, and trust, that the change of our relationship is defined by all these things.

Because, I love her, first and always. And I'm in love with her, second and always.

Oh, and I do have the greatest best friend in the world. Is there a designation before "first"?

There should be.

Delay of Tuesday

I'm sick.

The girl is coming today!

I just finished my last midterm and have a homework assignment to turn in before fall break starts.

And I just finished baking a cheesecake.

I've got 3 poems in mind, but I think I've done quite enough today.

Thank you, Happy Face!

I'm Sick

*sneezes*

And my mommy isn't here to take care of me.

First time I've been this sick since beginning college and my mom isn't here.

That, my friends, is what I call balderdash!

Tuesday's Poem #5

I dedicate this poem to lovers - lost, hurting, sad, alone, together.

And hell, Damion, you were not in my heart as I was writing this but you were damn sure there when I edited it.

"What is Love?"

Love is sacrifice
what would you not give?

Love is joy
to the unadulterated desire, even

Love is perserverance
when it is not always so joyous

Love is anger
for sometimes there is fear

Love is happiness
in the midst of pounding hearts

Love is peace
for such pounding isn't constant

Love is desire
although in the dead of night it may be

Love is selfishness
for what is more selfish in life

Love is talking
than wanting conversation with one

Love is friendsip
to last all the days

Love is toil
in the midst of struggle

Love is faith
to last to the end.

Love is one kiss
That defines a lifetime

Love is hope
who needs more?
Love is hope.

A rose given to you
By one heart, one life
Pulsing fast and true

A banner, this flower
Red and brilliant
Bursting with our power

It waves this signal
See its resplendance
Answer its call!

Beaten and bloody
Oppressed by all things on all sides
- truth, defiant beauty

Stand to protect, weakness surround
To prove as warrior
Devout and bound

Stand as beside
To prove as help and mate
Bursting with pride

Beautiful
Heart, mind, body
Defiant, powerful

Weakness
Heart, mind, body
Frail, yet lioness

Yet...

...fail to define.
Know as I am yours
Love claims you as mine

"If I Were a Christian"

I love riding the buses around Chapel Hill. There is such an immersion into the people that one is hard-pressed to find anywhere else. Snippets of conversations. Sight of folks entering or ending the day - tired, happy, eager, sad, or remote. It's all rather fascinating. Especially so for me because I love to hear people talk. I love to know what people think. The dichotomy of personalities, beliefs, and opinions is so rich and I, as an observer, do love to have my cake.

Of note was my ride home this past Friday. A young man who had picked up a conservative magazine (how do I never find out about these things?) was chatting with a woman he knew from class. I was sitting beside them, so there conversation was quite clear. He expressed disbelief at some statement on the back of said magazine and she joined him with this statement: "If I were a Christian, I would be so upset that someone told me I couldn't be Christian and a liberal." No freakin' doubt my ears were pricked.

And while I would have loved to join in on the conversation, my taciturn belief that that would have been quite rude leashed such intentions. However, what she said gave me a great deal to think about.

Namely, I thought of how judgmental Christians tend to be. Especially when "their own" are concerned. I am reminded of Lizzie's retort to Miss Bingley's assertion - "You're severe upon your sex, Miss Bennet." To which Elizabeth of course responded in kind: "I must speak as I find."

Surely there are many Christians that feel this. Yet in general, should we not respond with Miss Bingley's reply? "Perhaps you haven't had the advantage of moving in society enough." All digs aside, surely there are good, nonjudgmental Christians around and ready to be found, as long as we look under the right rocks.

But this is the fearful thing. Christ said that those without sin should cast the first stone. God alone has the power to judge. Yet what overwhelms the Christian and Far Right society? Judgment. Moral highground. Dirty old men standing atop their precious mountains of righteousness shouting out, "I'm clearer than you! God loves me! He hates you!" all the while clutching some filty rag just behind his back.

We shouldn't have to root around in the underground to find Christians who defy the tide of righteous indignation and actually seek to live by their God's commands.

Actually, we should be indignant ourselves, that so much of the "wrong sort" defines the cultural expectations of what exactly a Christian is. We should be angry. I know I am.

Let's Go Tigers!

A 119 game losing season 3 years ago.

No names, except for one petulant former Texan who can't stand cameras - read Kenny Rogers.

New manager in the form of the ever-loving Tom Leland.

There you have the definition of underdogs. And gosh darn't, if we all don't love the underdogs.

Especially when they beat the Yankees.

No, no, let me rephrase that. Especially when they spank the Yankees.

Which is just what the Detroit Tigers happened to do tonight, defeating the Yankees 8-3, clinching a 3-1 series win. Go home Yankees. Go home!

But the true clincher? The true feel good story apart from a club rebounding from 119 losses 3 years ago and stabbing a dagger into the heart of the hated Yankees? An entire city bursting with pride. Players running down to the locker room to grab some champagne bottles and running back to the stadium to celebrate with their fans. Tom Leland being carried off the field by his players.

Oh, yeah, and Kenny Rogers jumping up into the stands with two bottles of champagne and spraying the fans, even splashing a little onto a cop and then hugging him - rather personable I fancy.

Great pitching always defeats great hitting. Always.

Go Tigers!!



(I think it likely that no one who reads this blogs is even cognizant about how much I know about baseball and pitching, specifically. The girl might have an idea. But really, I could start an entire blog critiquing and advising pitchers. Take for instance winning pitcher Jeremy Bonderman's horrifically low elbow. Do you notice the ulnar nerve literally popping out? When throwing a baseball your arm is put under tremendous pressure. The further you drop your arm (read: elbow) the more stress you pile on. It's simply a recipe for disaster. All that, and Bonderman has probably one of the safter arm actions out there. But do you see how much his neck is straining as he's about to release the ball? Indicative of how quickly he's throwing open his guiding shoulder, putting again even more stress on himself and taking so much power off the ball. Wow, I haven't talked this much about baseball in a while. Everyone can blame Notre Dame boy - Detroit born he is.)

Tuesday's Poem #4

"Here It Stands"

Crucifix.
Altar.
Sacrifice.

Blood.
Guilt.
Offering.

Love.
Sacrifice.
Gift.

Used and twisted
This our hope
Once glorious
Once white
Black now as sin

Sin even
Itself,
Itself!

Hope fades
As image tarnishes
Becomes blacker still

This is hope?
This is glory?

But faintly
- Yes

Look past
Man
Woman
Child
- those who hide

Look at what they hide

See hidden glory
Hidden truth
Hidden hope

Because here it stands,
By faith
Not hand
By love,
- not man

Tuesday's Poem #3

"The Light's Not There"

Twinkle, twinkle little star

Star light, star bright,
The first star I see tonight

I wish I may, I wish I might,
Have the wish I wish tonight.

How I wonder where you are!

Aching neck, he looks again
To the left and to the right
Eyes scanning horizon
From sea to sky
- never finding

Hands rest wearily
Clasping gently rising, falling
Tension coiled in shoulders
Falls the length of arms
Pooling, roaring through fingers
- out into the ocean

A head hangs
Swings right
Swings left
Stretching
Coaxing some peace
- in this nothingness

Facing again, eyes piercing darkness
No light comes
No star, no wish, no gods
The things on high
- remain so silent

No hope shattered
He knew, but he did wish
He looks again
Before making his choice
Choice already made
- 'north, it has to be north'

The dark swallows
Ship without light
Man without soul
Mind without faith
- so he sails.

Tuesday's Poem #2

"Welcome Fire"

Comes to the edge
Long, broken road behind

Everyone fled
None to mind

Scattered gear
The wages of war
- only company

Seen this vast expanse
Now this, this, this

Here the gauntlet falls
Metal will taste
- no success

Helmet joins the ravages
Sword bites the earth

Every piece
- once shielded llife
Now strewn
- before this edge

Naked, standing
Before this edge

Wall of flame
Fire fills the void

War has led
Blood
- the golden brick road

Death and peace
Hell and chaos

None the wiser
But this is end

End in thought
End in fire

End of passion
End of fire

End by self
End by the flame

No question remains
Only the hesitancy
- to jump

A hand passes through
Like the finger of a child
- through the flame of a candle

A hand becomes an arm

Arm the chest

One leg

Then another
- swallowed by fire

A swell of dust
Sole leaves this earth

War left behind
None left to mind

Tuesday's Poem #1

"Ready"

The cauldron
burns and spews
Violent eruption
No ceasing
No end

The cloud
opens and empties
Heavy fall
Immediate beginning
Sudden end

The rain
cascades and tumbles
Gentle, gentle
It may stop
It may end

Collides with cauldron
Meeting with force
Drama
The rain stops
- never ending
Rising again
Far gentler
than it's gentle, violent beginning

The cauldron empties
Not churning
No violence
Though no peace

Hot but never heavy
The cauldron lets go

The cloud waits for the return

Return to grace
Violence to peace
Never peaceful.