Tuesday, April 13, 2004

Yeah?

You see the post where it says "Mitch is gay"? I didn't write that, obviously; first off, I'm not gay. Secondly, I don't write such nonsense here. . .what I write here is much better.

I don't know who did it. Was it someone from OB? Was it someone that went on a cookied computer at school?

I guess we'll never know.

Whoever you are, you're a jerk, as well as a coward.
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Bob Dylan- Stuck Inside of Mobile with the Memphis Blues Again

Oh, the ragman draws circles
Up and down the block.
I'd ask him what the matter was
But I know that he don't talk.
And the ladies treat me kindly
And furnish me with tape,
But deep inside my heart
I know I can't escape.
Oh, Mama, can this really be the end,
To be stuck inside of Mobile
With the Memphis blues again.

Well, Shakespeare, he's in the alley
With his pointed shoes and his bells,
Speaking to some French girl,
Who says she knows me well.
And I would send a message
To find out if she's talked,
But the post office has been stolen
And the mailbox is locked.
Oh, Mama, can this really be the end,
To be stuck inside of Mobile
With the Memphis blues again.

Mona tried to tell me
To stay away from the train line.
She said that all the railroad men
Just drink up your blood like wine.
An' I said, "Oh, I didn't know that,
But then again, there's only one I've met
An' he just smoked my eyelids
An' punched my cigarette."
Oh, Mama, can this really be the end,
To be stuck inside of Mobile
With the Memphis blues again.

Grandpa died last week
And now he's buried in the rocks,
But everybody still talks about
How badly they were shocked.
But me, I expected it to happen,
I knew he'd lost control
When he built a fire on Main Street
And shot it full of holes.
Oh, Mama, can this really be the end,
To be stuck inside of Mobile
With the Memphis blues again.

Now the senator came down here
Showing ev'ryone his gun,
Handing out free tickets
To the wedding of his son.
An' me, I nearly got busted
An' wouldn't it be my luck
To get caught without a ticket
And be discovered beneath a truck.
Oh, Mama, can this really be the end,
To be stuck inside of Mobile
With the Memphis blues again.

Now the preacher looked so baffled
When I asked him why he dressed
With twenty pounds of headlines
Stapled to his chest.
But he cursed me when I proved it to him,
Then I whispered, "Not even you can hide.
You see, you're just like me,
I hope you're satisfied."
Oh, Mama, can this really be the end,
To be stuck inside of Mobile
With the Memphis blues again.

Now the rainman gave me two cures,
Then he said, "Jump right in."
The one was Texas medicine,
The other was just railroad gin.
An' like a fool I mixed them
An' it strangled up my mind,
An' now people just get uglier
An' I have no sense of time.
Oh, Mama, can this really be the end,
To be stuck inside of Mobile
With the Memphis blues again.

When Ruthie says come see her
In her honky-tonk lagoon,
Where I can watch her waltz for free
'Neath her Panamanian moon.
An' I say, "Aw come on now,
You must know about my debutante."
An' she says, "Your debutante just knows what you need
But I know what you want."
Oh, Mama, can this really be the end,
To be stuck inside of Mobile
With the Memphis blues again.

Now the bricks lay on Grand Street
Where the neon madmen climb.
They all fall there so perfectly,
It all seems so well timed.
An' here I sit so patiently
Waiting to find out what price
You have to pay to get out of
Going through all these things twice.
Oh, Mama, can this really be the end,
To be stuck inside of Mobile
With the Memphis blues again.
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Mitch is gay
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I'm a reasonable man get off my case.

Wow. I feel tired yet horny at once, as well as passionate and romantic, as well as negative, as well as so many other things, so much more than that. If only you could have something you see.

Too bad I'm stuck here in this institution "learning."

If only I'd been the age I am now in the sixties. . .

On that note, this country needs another sixties. It needs some radical changes, and most are blind of this. The entire world needs a radical change. It needs to understand.

But I'm not the man. All I've got is myself. I can only share myself once at a time, thanks.

I'm just enjoying the counterculture.
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Radiohead- High and Dry

Two jumps in a week
I bet you think that's pretty clever
Don't you boy

Flying on your motorcycle
Watching all the ground beneath you drop

You'd kill yourself for recognition
You'd kill yourself to never
Ever
Stop

You broke another mirror
You're turning into something
You are not

Don't leave me high
Don't leave me dry

Don't leave me high
Don't leave me dry

Drying up in conversation
You will be the one
Who cannot talk

All your insides fall to pieces
You just sit there wishing
You could still
Make
Love

They're the one's that'll hate you
When you think you've got the world all sussed out
They're the ones who'll spit at you
You'll be the one screaming out

Don't leave me high
Don't leave me dry

Don't leave me high
Don't leave me dry


It's the best thing that you had
The best thing that you ever had
It's the best thing that you've ever had
The best thing you ever had
Has gone away

So don't leave me high
Don't leave me dry

Don't leave me high
Don't leave me dry

Don't leave me high
Don't leave me high

Don't leave me dry.

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When the planets hit the sun I saw the face of Allison.

I'm broken. Not to be fixed. Feed me quarters and I'll let you go for a ride. Maybe I'll make you smile. Maybe I'll make you glad. Maybe I'll even make you sad.

Whatever I make you it'll be broken as me. And whatever I try to fix I will see me inside. A stupid child that's broken.

I am obsolete.
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High and Dry

Ignore this. It is crap.

the throat’s
rough full with,
things rotten to say.
mush decay to you, to you to you
to you.
i don’t care what you do.

you heard me
don’t sermon me
the throat’s
closing itself,
going in--
where do i begin?

it begins
on the grin
go on in
going in--
i’m gonna taciturn.
you won’t hear from me
i’m gonna believe
you went straight
as a narrow.

you see them sparrows?
see the pointing arrow?
see the tear hole to my eye?
can you see the line?
why don’t you go waste someone else’s time.
i’m going bout my way fine.
go back in time.
go back in time.

i read the writing
in my mind
i read the fine print.
i know where i’m going
i know where to sprint.
i’ve got lots of running to do
to end up nowhere as nothing to no one.

i read the writing
in my mind
i read the fine print.
i know where i’m going
i know where to sprint.
i’m gonna end up where i began.
so take your ways away from me
and dig your rabbit hole.
i’m gonna be just the same--
swallowed whole like a whale
i’m gonna exhale now
just gonna exhale.

there’s nothing left for me
i feel it die, i heard you gave the time.
well i’ve just come here-- the jail cell’s bars.
the cold steel makes me think of stars.
how dead it is,
how dead it is,
the throat is quiet
the mouth does not move.
don’t you just love this room?
don’t speak too soon.
go back to the moon.
i know where to find my womb.

i’m gonna get myself a life.
buy it all the way,
then get myself a wife.
then i’ll burn my hand,
i’ll be in my plan.
there’s nothing left here
nothing to stand.
i’ll wobble thanks man.

this is it
i’m through
from here it’s back to the act.
the same show keeps playing its way.
my throat’s lodged.
let’s stay the night inside.
mush decay to you.
you’ll realize it’s the truth before it’s through.
how i wear these chains
detest these chains
and how i’m gonna be aside.
i’m just fine.

i’m gonna taciturn.
mush decay to you.
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Monday, April 12, 2004

All these things into position. All these things we'll one day swallow whole. We'll fade out. Again. We'll fade out. Again.

Well said, Ken.
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Comfortably Numb

What 80`s movie are you? Legend

Click Here to Take This Quiz Brought to you by YouThink.com quizzes and personality tests.

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Work in Progress

Lans sat on the curb, rolling the coin. It rolled so nice. The sun’s rays on its edges was nice. It gave it a nice glimmer which sparkled to his eyes.

A small boy with short black hair, Lans was nine years old. When asked how old he really felt he was, he’d say he felt like he was old as his Grandpa Nelson--who was a grizzly fellow of eighty or so. He’d then recall beautiful memories of his Grandpa Nelson, who lived far away from Lans, and wasn’t able to see him much.

The day was a hot and humid morning in the middle of Summer. Ron was with Lans. Ron was a year younger than Lans, but the two got along fine. Also with them was Ron’s older brother, Wilton. He was babysitting. Wilton was a seventeen-year-old youth. He had wild brown hair down to his shoulders, wore tattered shorts, and had a look of bitterness about him that could scare away a lion. Or so Ron said with wide eyes each time Lans asked him.

“So Ron, what’re we gonna do taday,” Lans asked. Lans continued to roll the coin back and forth, back and forth, on the curb. It was as if the coin had mystic powers, the way Lans followed it. His eyes did not sway from it.

“I dunno, watcha wanna do, Lans?” Ron was on the curb too, watching some ants as they trekked by. They caught his interest and kept it. The boys didn’t look at each other as they talked.

“I was thinkin we could go down ta the park, maybe. Watcha think of dat?” The coin glimmered off Lans’s eyes. Back and forth, back and forth back, and forth and back, and forth.

“Sounds good ta me.” Ron nodded in agreement, his blonde hair moving ever so slightly.

“I don’t know bout that,” Wilton said. He crossed his arms. He was standing beside a tree, in the shade, overlooking the curb. His shadow made him seem big. His tattered shorts blew softly in the wind. “You’d hafta ask mama first, Ron. So would you, Lans. You’d hafta ask your mama too.”

“Lans, let’s go ask, den.” Ron stood up. “Let’s go. I’ll ask my mama first.”

“OK.” Lans stood up, pocketing the coin in his jeans.

Ms. Dayle was an old widow. Her husband, Vern, had died five years ago. He had died at a tragic construction accident. Vern had been on the rooftop of the house he was helping construct, when he’d lost his footing, and fell to his death. With a broken neck, if he hadn’t have died, he would’ve been paralyzed the rest of his life.

Inside Ms. Dayle’s eyes, as the children approached, was a sullen coldness. If the eyes are windows to the soul, Ms. Dayle’s windows were full of rain water in the clouds. Water that was going to fall down one day, sweeping everything in its path in a muddy muck.

Ms. Dayle was in the kitchen, the TV on some soap opera she always watched. Ron didn’t know which. He only knew it was mama’s soaps.

The lingering scent of cookies permeated about the room, coming to the childrens’ nostrils. It smelled like chocolate chip from what Lans could smell.

On the TV, a woman and a man embraced each other. The woman’s hands went around the man’s shoulders, the man’s hands around the woman’s waist. Their lips came together, and disappeared into each other as they swept each other head over heels. Then, a door was heard in the distance, creaking open. The woman and the man didn’t hear it. They were too into the moment.

A man walked in. His eyes widened.

“Darla! How could you!” the man said, his eyes getting even wider, anger in his voice, naked shock. “How could you! You--you heartless bitch!” Music played in the background. Music which wrenched and toyed with the moment, loud and wondering. “I just don’t know how you could. How could you, Darla? What about Michael? What‘s going to happen to him? Oh, you bitch!” Now his eyes unwidened. They became angry slits accusing her. “You bitch.”

Their arms still on each other, Darla and the large muscle man took away each other’s arms. Took each other away from their lips. Darla looked at her husband, then to the muscle man. The muscle man’s eyes showed surprise, then looked over at Darla as if for recognition. Darla’s eyes said she wanted a fight.

“I’ve seen what you’ve been doing, Donald. I’ve seen it. And you have the gall to call me a bitch! Oh, you’re lucky you’re not drunk right now!”

“Is this what it’s about, Darla? Is this what it’s about? Me and my drinking?” Donald’s eyes slit even more, became even more accusing. “Me and my drinking.”

“Yes, it is. So am I still a bitch? At least I’m not a drunk, useless excuse for a father!”

“Fine then! You can fondle your man here! See if I care! I’ll just go to the bar, then. Cause if you’re trying to hurt me, I’m going to hurt you right back!” Donald’s eyes retained their slit. He made motions with his hands this time for emphasis. “What do you want, Darla? You want a divorce? Don’t you know I work hard? Don’t you know I go to work each day for you?”

“And don’t you know I watch your little precious for you each day? Or do I just do nothing, Donald?”

“No, you don’t just do nothing. But I work hard, Darla. I’ve worked hard for what we’ve got. You see this house here--this nice house?” He motioned around the house. “You see it? It didn’t come cheap. It costs money, Darla. And you see that nice dress you’re wearing? It costs money, too. It all costs money. And you know where that money comes from? You know where it all goes?”

“It all goes to drinking. That’s where it goes.” Her voice was soft, but powerful. It was like she was going to go from low to screaming at any time.

“No, it isn’t. You know--I’m not gonna take this. If you’re going to be like this, I’m just going to get a divorce. I think it’s for the best. If only you could understand I need a little break after work. I need to cool down. That’s what drinking does.” He put his hands in his pocket, jangling for his keys. “I’m not gonna take this. Goodbye, Darla.” He walked out the door. It slammed shut. The muscle man and Darla got back into each other’s arms. She whispered into his face, her eyes tearing up.

“I just don’t know anymore,” she said. Then the screen went black.

“Silent Return will resume after messages from the following sponsors.” The familiar garble of commercials began playing.

It was just then that the boys came in. Ms. Doyle looked up at the boys as they walked in. She tucked away her feelings the soap had given her, and flashed them a smile. Her hair was just graying, the natural blonde color looking more dirty blonde than it was blonde. She looked weak. But the children saw a strong woman. “Why, hello children,” she said. Her smile created wrinkles on her face, like ripples when a rock is thrown in a river.

“Hi mama,” Ron said. “Whatchin your soaps?”

“Yeah. Oh, and I’ve got some cookies in the oven, too. They’ll be done soon. Fresh chocolate chip cookies! Whaddaya say?”

“Sounds good, mama. Hey, mama. I wanna ask you somethin.”

“Yes, dear? What is it?”

“Lans and me wanna go to the park. Wilt said we gotta ask you first, then Lans’ mama.”

“Why, of course. I don’t see no reason why not. It’s a perfect day out. I bet your brother’s just givin you heck about it cause he doesn’t want to have to go there. That’s kind of selfish of him, I think.”

“I dunno. So when the cookies gonna be done, mama?” Ms. Doyle got up and checked the timer.

“It’s gonna be about five minutes. You children going to wait?”

“Sure mama. I’m hungry. Don’t know bout Lans. But I am.”

“I’m hungry too Ms. Doyle,” Lans said.

“OK then. You kids can sit over there at the table. You’ll be the first to know when the cookies’re done.”

“OK mama.” Ron and Lans sat at the table. Lans took out his coin and began spinning it on the table’s top, watching it closely, trying to guess which way it would spin. Ron watched, his eyes not paying as intent attention.
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