Overextended Meta4

Two-Way Funhouse Mirror

2009-02-05T12:28:00.000-08:00

'For whom is the fun house fun?'
John Barthe, Lost In The Funhouse

The waddling crowd,
silver glossed uneasy smiles.
Flashes of beauty wished,
glimpse of deformity cursed.

Behind the smoke mirrored,
The beautiful and the grotesque,
disgusted and vengeful, removed by
thin silver optics fractured and twisted
by the hot sea of blank eyes.

The crowds unease builds to resentment,
In the dark, unseen disgust builds to cruelty.

Cracks spider web and universal panic spreads.

The self-proclaimed heirs to
the pre-dawn builders of mirrors,
the ambitious repairmen of all sides,
go about their quiet work unnoticed.

On The Mountain Top

2009-01-29T02:42:00.001-08:00

Was this the mountain top the good doctor spoke of?
Lonely but always the steep sides his friend.
Standing alone, without even the granite as comfort
Cold wind and a precipice on every side.

A memory of this fear from the foot hills years ago.
Now the precipice is real not imagined.
Self doubt a nearly unaffordable luxury
The sleeping and fearful tyrant in everyman’s heart stirs in his
The soaring heart of the hopeful hero in hopeless fight
Now a fond memory.

“Humility tempers the tyrant
Love steadies the feet upon the crest”
He whispers, half believing
half hoping it’s true.

word rainbow running round skulls

2008-06-25T07:24:00.000-07:00

word rainbow running round skulls
death-boring fingers and this tree
myopic diatribe, a caricature of red wing toys
the sadness of willows and babys
in trees' eye lids heavy with out the flavor of summer
covered in flourenct lights, gummed neck joints
thoughts of "here"
this launguage uses me i dont
comand nothing, to choose a word
the thought may be mine but the word is not
and here we always end
up at the bottom of the gutter
far from the stars

Blame Fat People?

2008-05-16T07:49:00.000-07:00

The BBC Reports "Obese Blamed for World's Ills".

"Obese people are contributing to the world food crisis and climate change, experts say."

Wow, I thought. I was thinking it was all the criminals running the White House. Guess not, its fat people! Now, I hate fat people as much as anybody but blaming them for the coming Apocalypse? A bit of stretch, no?

I do believe people should take responsibility for their own health. Just because that mystery meat burger at the golden arched bistro is a dollar doesn't mean you should buy it. But there is another side to the issue. That 99 cent miracle of argo-chemical engineering shouldn't exist in the first place. And why does it? In this lazy BBC reporters attempt to fog over the issue we find a clue.

"First of all the increasing demand for food, drives up production.

This means that agricultural processes are using more oil to meet demand, which contributes to the rising cost of fuel."

Which came first? The insatiable appetite that drives up production, or the incredibly sweet, salty, fatty garbage on the shelves at our grocery stores? My guess? The Twinkies came first. How could I want a Twinkie if I never had one?

Its kind of like cocaine. I know I will love it if I try it. Thats exactly why I stay the fuck away. But just like the Twinkie somebody had to bring cocaine across our borders. For Twinkies, the border between real food and agro-chemical Frankensteins. So why did these agricultural George Jungs do it? For the money, of course.

Just like blow, they take cheap commodities, do a couple of chemical cart wheels then bam! mark it up a thousand percent, sell it to poor ignorant people and walk away millionaires, with a wake of destruction behind them.

To the millions locked up for drug charges we say "Hey, you had a choice. You chose to shoot up" And thats right. They chose to consume a dangerous chemical that we've decided was so dangerous that we need to spend billions of dollars and thousands of lives on stopping its production, importation, and consumption. And despite all our efforts people still smoke crack, do line of blow and, god forbid, smoke a doobie.

Unlike the politically unpopular drug traders, the incredibly politically popular "Big Agro" actually receives money from the government to produce the garbage that pollutes our grocery stores, destroys our environment and kills us one gram of high fructose corn syrup at a time.

Here is an example of the kind of legislation that is causing these problems.

But thats another issue (A Really Huge Fucking Issue) but not as the other big issue glazed over by our buddy at the BBC World Service, read again.

"This means that agricultural processes are using more oil to meet demand, which contributes to the rising cost of fuel."

As detailed by the brilliant Michael Pollen in "The Omnivores Delimma" The world experienced a seismic shift in agricultural production when it became possible to turn petro-chemicals into fertilizer. Before this, we were dependent on the time limited energy of the sun to produce the energy we need to grow our plants. Over a given period of time, only so much sunlight can be absorbed by plants that turn those rays into the chemically bounded energy that fuels all of life.

But with the advent of petro-chemical fertilizers we had a huge supply of cheap easy to produce instant energy to fuel the growth of our plants and to fuel the expansion of our waistlines.

The sun was no so last millennium. Who needs it?

Coupled with terrible government policies we can now produce monstrosities like Twinkies for dirt cheap. I don't have the facts but I would guess that the total cost of the basic material that goes into a Twinkie is less then 5 cents. Five cents of flour and corn syrup and some chemical that mimic "flavor" Mix together in some shiny machine, wrap it up sell it, get rich. Then take your excess capital and invest in Lane Bryant stores and get even richer.

People are not starving because fat people are eating to much. People are getting fat in well-off countries because garbage food is dirt cheap. People are starving in poor countries because they can't even afford the cheap garbage.

The problem is not an unequal distribution of calories. It is a massively unequal and unjust distribution of wealth.

While we should all agree that people should take personal responsibility for the size of their own ass, some extensive reforms in our agricultural policies would go a long way to solving both the world food crisis and the obesity epidemic.

Three Words

2008-04-21T18:31:00.000-07:00

I kiss you on the brain in the shadow of the train
I kiss you all starry eyed, my body swinging side to side
I don't see what anyone can see in anyone else but you
~ The Moldy Peaches

Three words float
in my cupped hands

A dandelion's clock
grasped slowly from the late summer breeze

The setting sun's rays through
the gaps between light fingers
turning white feathers into warm gold

Peaking between thumbs
every other moment
with the excitement of child

With those three words

To write you a song
and sing to the world

To open my hands, my arms wide
and blow the golden seeds to the world

I am not a musician
I know two chords

I am not a song writer
I sing only three words

So, talentless, in my hands
these priceless seeds
light as air and warmed by the sun
and watered by my skin
will grow

Charlton Heston Dead

2008-04-06T01:59:00.000-07:00

I was in a coffee shop one day, the day William F. Buckley died. Not that Buckley dieing was very significant. Well I guess thats the point. This guy in the coffer shop talking to his buddy goes:

"Hey, did you hear William F. Buckley died?".

"Yeah, thank god".

Thank god? I asked myself. Who the fuck cares about William F. Buckley? He is some blow hard right wing intellectual, not some Fascist dictator. All he did was write in a magazine and had a show neither of which I read or watched, nor very many other people.

Of course as a budding left wing intellectual I have heard of him, have actually read some of his articles on the web through the Yahoo News service. And I knew he was the patron saint of right wing conservativism here in the US. Well lets be clear, the patron "intellectual" saint of conservatism. Conservatism in the US has many patron saints but not many intellectual ones. And that brings me to why I had an interesting reaction to what this guy said. I found his comment stupid and cruel.

He is a human being, sure you may disagree with him because of his "conservative" viewpoints but he is just a human being and one of little consequence to most people. Sure he is a major influence to major people like Ronald Reagan (according to the New York Times in their obituary on Buckley) but is his death worth celebrating because you disagree with him on some political and moral positions? I find myself feeling shy about comparing Buckley to Socrates but I bet many people celebrated Socrates' death. And for what? Because of his ideas. I would hope whatever our philosophical foundations might be, wishing someone dead simply for their ideas is universally distasteful and unjustified.

Remember that I am discussing an off hand comment made by a guy in a coffee shop. If he knew Buckley personally he wouldn't say something like that, regardless of any philosophical disagreements. But you see? Thats what bugs me about the guy's comment. His celebration, as inconsequential and limited to so few words as it is was is simply based on this guy having a disagreement with Buckley ideas. The comment further bugged me because this guy was on my team. I, as a fellow mid-west semi-intellectual lefty(1), was no fan of Buckley's stance on the issues. Did I reserve for Buckley the level of hate required to celebrate his death? No I didn't. If Buckley caused me offense it has been injury due to ideas. Injury due to ideas is a never an offense worth any resentment toward it's author. The things other people do with those ideas, or what the author himself does with the ideas may lead to offenses worth resentment and celebration upon their death. But not ideas themselves.

When I saw a head line from the New York Times that Heston had died I recalled his starring role in Bowling for the Columbine, the movie made by Michael Moore that brought the lefty film maker into a wide audience. Before seeing Bowling for Columbine all I knew of Heston was that he was a has been actor from the 70's who played Moses. But after seeing Bowling, I knew him as a right wing gun toting lunatic. Well that may very well be true. However that comment by the guy in the coffee shop makes me sure that someone is celebrating Heston's death tonight. I find that idea to be repulsive. To celebrate the death of a human being because he is right wing gun toting lunatic who played Moses seems to me a bit of an disproportional response to someone with whom you have disagreement.

Have I celebrated the death of people with whom I disagreed? Yes I have. Like my fellow lefty in reaction to Buckley, when Reagan died a few short sentences of minor celebration escape my mouth. Through that man's comment and my reaction to it I've come to realize why a disagreement based on ideas should never lead to a celebration of death or lead to death itself. And my minor and inconsequential celebration of Reagan's death? A celebration of man's death because of his ideas. Some may disagree and I may not fully understand what Reagan did while in office but in the society I wish to live in a President is a man of ideas and my disagreements with him are based only on ideas and thus my celebration is fully unjustified. This is a Utopian vision I suspect.

I don't want to live in a society where anyone would feel compelled to celebrate the death of anyone with which you had a philosophical disagreement. Nor would I want to live in a society in which anyone would feel compelled to celebrate the death of someone who believes in certain ideas and acted upon them. And of course this is not the world we live in. People have ideas which lead to injustices even if those injustices are not truly compatible with the ideas from which they came. This is not the world we have but this is the world we should want and should create.

(1) (Note: The author has determined that if you are on the left and have even heard of Buckley, this qualifies one as a "semi" intellectual.)

A Piece of Pi

2008-03-23T22:45:00.000-07:00

Over an excellent martini at Moscow on the Hill...

I love that place

Yeah, its pretty cool. Anyways, a good friend tells me that there is no such thing as a perfect circle. Sure, we have an idea for a perfect circle. A perfect circle will have a ratio between its circumference and diameter equal to Pi. If you recall, Pi, is the symbol for that number that starts out 3.14 and goes on forever with out any pattern. Well, the problem is there is no such thing in the universe as a circle with that ratio. It doesn't exist. Why? Its pretty simple; try creating the most perfect circle in the world. If there is one more atom on the left side of circle then the right, sorry, you don't have a perfect circle. Even if we could create a perfect circle, we wouldn't be able to measure it to see if it was, in fact, perfect. If our caliper is off one atom our measurements will show something not quite a perfect circle.

So?
So we have an idea of something which does not exist. I can have an idea of a tree that does not exist, but trees do exist. Circles do not.

Well, circles do exist, they are just not perfect.

I argue that there is no such thing as an imperfect circle, an imperfect circle is not a circle, its a loop or maybe an ellipse.

Ok, fine, in the physical universe circles do not exist. Big deal, what's your point?

Right now, all I'm trying to convince you off is that we have an idea for something which does not exist. We have "knowledge" of something which does not exist in the physical world.

Like I said before, big deal. George Lucas dreamed up Star Wars yet Tie Fighters and Darth Vader don't exist.

Well, actually they do. Prior to George Lucas they didn't, after him they did. I dont think anyone believes Darth Vader has a social security number, they understand he is a character. He does exist, as a character with a real physical presence at least at one time on the film set.

Christ, whats your point?

Well, I really don't give a damn about circles. I do give a damn about things that we have ideas for and supposedly have knowledge that actually don't exist. Take WMDs in Iraq for instance.

What the fuck does this have to do with Iraq?

Nothing, never mind. I'm just saying, this isn't about circles. William Carlos Williams said there "No ideas but in things"

I love that poet, his is brilliant. What does that quote supposed to mean?

Well a circle is an idea which is not a thing. I think what Williams is getting at is that all ideas come from things, things that actually exist. So if thats the case, what the hell is a circle?

A circle is just a mathematical abstraction of something that approximatily exist in the real world.

Ok, yeah, I agree. You're following me now. I guess what I am interested in is that line between mathmatical abstraction and existence. You agree that perfect circles don't exist, but we know what a perfect circle is, right? Well do think there are other things for which we have ideas which do not actually exist?

Ghost. I don't believe in Ghost, a complete crock of shit.

Yeah, I don't believe in ghost either, but, they have real affect. Ghost regardless of whether or not they actually exist scare the shit out of people.

Just like Pi is used in math but doesn't actually exist. We launch rockets with it, make computers with, everything.

Exactly! Well I am trying to get at something on the edge of my mind, so bare with me. I think there something really important about this phenomenon of ideas of things that do not exist having a real effect on the material world. Some mechanism allows our minds to experience reality, and recombine it our minds and create things which do not exist. I think most of its pretty harmless. Like Santa Clause or twinkies (well, they do, but they shouldn't)

Hey, I love twinkies.

But there is something special about the idea of a perfect circle. A perfect idea, Pi, that we cannot truly know, that we don't fully understand and which, if you buy it, doesn't really exist. There is a lot of human emotion invested in Pi. People spends year memorizing as many decimal points as they can. They have competitions to who can recite more. I suspect that number fills them with a sense of mystery and power. Its something perfect and perfectly unknowable and by memorizing more and more decimal places that can get closer and closer to perfection. But it doesn't exist.

Whoa, you are losing me. Why are you looking at the ceiling?

To a caveman Pi wont fill his stomach but a crude and imperfect sharpened stick will. I think there something connected between the idea of a perfect circle, a perfect abstraction and the idea of a perfect and omnipresent god.

What the fuck dude? What does this have to do with god?

I dunno man. I mean, if there is a god and we have eternal souls and those souls have some innate knowledge about perfect forms and the one and perfect god then bam, no problem. It means there is something beyond the reality we see. But start with the assumption that there is no god or soul or any of that stuff. What the fuck is a circle? How did we arrive at the idea of god? Well I am saying that whatever in our minds, and our experience on this planet allowed us to conceive of the idea of a circle that is the same thing that allowed us to conceive of the idea of a perfect god. I just don't have the knowledge or skill to look under the sheets to see how exactly those ideas are connected but I have more then a hunch that they are.

I don't really get the point. Pi is just a symbol for an idea.

Which doesn't exist.

So God is a symbol for an idea that doesn't exist?

Maybe, but thats not the important part.

Huh? What the fuck? I thought we were talking about god.

Well yeah but...

(Stairs off at the slow rotation of ceiling fan in the distant corner)

The important part is that human being have the capability to construct abstracts idea removed from reality that motivate people to do very real and very terrible thing. And yes good things to. It's not just about god. Look at the Communist, atheistic by definition but believed to much in their ideas they were willing to starve and murder and start wars. Thats a bit of broad stroke but still, I think the point is relevant.

And Pi?

Pi is just an example of something totally abstract and irrelevant which I think illustrates this capability of human beings to construct abstractions which no basis in material reality. Pi is apolitical and godless, a pure and universal abstraction. Which does not exist, like WMDs in Iraq. Kidding...

You don't make any fucking sense.

I'm working on that.

Untitled

2008-02-16T17:38:00.000-08:00

Her laughs fades into the warm drone of the shower
I pull off the Chinese lettered lamp covering my face
and toss it in on the naked hotel water bed.

I look down at my knee high socks, red stripes
and pull the long neglected menthol to my lips,
inch length ash, crumbling, falling to the stained carpet.

She left the door open, the curtain
I see her fading reflection in the bathroom mirror.

I bury the cig between Ecclesiastes 1 and 5:2,
and twist the right end of my mustache
staring at the image the steam intends to obscure.

the censor finally wins, i brush off the rice paper and wire
and fall to the bed, riding the rubber ripples
till they fade into a gentle rock and wait for her return.

Valentine's Day is Stupid

2008-02-15T14:25:00.000-08:00

to M.

Our love has no day

Yesterday we celebrated our love with smiles
Today we celebrate our love with flowers and silly poems
Tomorrow we will celebrate our love with laughs

Yesterday I loved you
Today I love you
Tomorrow I will love you

Our love has no day

Our love is all days

Obama!

2008-02-02T20:25:00.000-08:00

Lunch at Mickey's

2008-01-25T17:17:00.000-08:00

to M.

My eyes, distant
Your hands, touching
My hands, cold
Your eyes, searching
Finding nothing.

Your eyes, down
My hands, pocketed
Your hands, flat
My eyes, searching
Finding you.

My hands, clasp
Your hand, warm
Your eyes, raise
Our eyes, searching
Finding each other.

2008-01-24T12:48:00.000-08:00

Hear everything.

Here,

everything.

Hear Everything

2008-01-24T12:37:00.000-08:00

A child believes everything he hears, a fool hears everything he believes and a wise man hears everything.

Capitalism

2008-01-21T22:34:00.000-08:00

Capitalism is the unequal distribution of cruelty.

11 Aphorisms: Liberty, Love, Life, Death, Drugs and Courage.

2008-01-10T12:37:00.000-08:00

by Brandon Toner

The modern person is confronted with two options: consume dangerous drugs or consume dangerous ideas. The former threatens to destroy their bodies, the later the very society which necessitates the former.

Mercy is the most noble act, vengeance the next. Punishment and forgiveness are for those in chains.

True liberty is the power to be merciful toward those who cause you injury.

Never fear to think, it is a confrontation with your self. If you cannot confront your self then you will not be able confront others.

Dangerous ideas are much more exciting and deadly then dangerous drugs.

The bored are the breathing dead.

Love can be the most charming of tyrants.

Euphoria can be bought, courage cannot.

'Life or death' is a false dichotomy.

Materialism is valuing what you do not have and not valuing what you do have.

Aphorisms are widely read but often narrowly understood.

Bastard Insurance Companies: Another Angry Rant (AAR)

2007-12-21T12:03:00.000-08:00

Conservatives against universal health care argue that we shouldn't let the government make decisions about our health care.

So instead we want some greedy bastard insurance company making these decisions instead? Check out this story. This insurance company in Philadelphia denied a girl in California a critical procedure because "there was a lack of medical evidence showing the procedure would work".

So if I follow correctly the insurance company deemed that this young girl was going to die anyways so...why fork over good money?

Who the f*** is the insurance company to decide if a procedure will work or not? My bet is that the doctor watching this girl die would be in a much better position to make that decision; not some money grubbing assholes thousands of miles away.

Folk this is wonderful invisible hand of capitalism working at its best. How could anyone continue to defend this ridiculous system?

Capitalism works great when you're selling useless crap like iPods, not so much when comes to the things people need to live (like a liver).

Lieberman Endorses McCain

2007-12-17T09:07:00.000-08:00

Lieberman endorses McCain. When I read this my first thought was “Lieberman, what an asshole” Is he doing this just be a prick? I continued reading the article. Lieberman’s argument: “[we need] a leader who can break through the partisan gridlock," and "The status quo in Washington is not working." Which on both points I firmly agree. The status quo, period, is not working.

Then I began to realize something. Both of these politicians have been all but scuttled by their respective parties. They have followed policies and supported actions not popular with their own party. They have pissed a lot of people off. Lieberman has certainly pissed me off.

And why? Because they were doing what they thought was right. Not that I agree with their version of what right is, I fully support any politician to do what they think is right. The “partisan gridlock” Lieberman speaks of and the status quo is general is created by a whole lot of people doing what some else tells them what is right, be it lobbyist , party leaders, or small noisy constituencies. Lieberman is on to something.

(Even as I type that I get bad taste in my mouth. Sure i respect Lieberman, but I still think he is an asshole).

A Rare Flower

2007-12-05T11:58:00.000-08:00

to M.

Asleep on the soft petals of a beautiful flower
I am awakened by the buzzing of others
“What is this flower? What do you call it?” They ask.
“A flower of unmatched beauty and nourishment” Obviously

And they, confused bees
hopping flower to flower, ask:
“but is it yours?, is it your flower?”

Perplex by these odd questions,
annoyed at such a rude awakening,
I answer curtly
“This flower is no more mine
then the sun is yours” Go away.

“But, but, what do you call it?” their voices shake.

“As you call the sun what it is,
this rare flower is.
as the sun welcomes you,
this flower welcomes me.
as you do not choose the sun
I choose no other flower.
For who are we, us little bees
to pick and choose
that which gives us life?”

Perception of Others and The Self

2007-11-28T06:43:00.000-08:00

dedicated to S.G. "not a dime store psychologist"

Here is a bit of dime store psychology that bubbled up to the surface of my mind the other night.

I suspect that for many people much of the qualities one sees in others is more of reflection of one's own qualities and not the other person.

I fashion my self a honest person. Also, a person that, on a good day, tries to see the best in people and, on a bad day, tries to see nothing; to with-hold judgment.

My thought is is that my own predispositions strongly affect how I see others. I have a tendency to assume that people reciprocate these same feelings I feel towards them; that people assume I am honest and non-judgmental and that I see the best in them.

I remember a time, as a typically confused and depressed teenager, that I believed most people to be miserable fucks and if they appeared to be happy they were probably bullshitting themselves.

I am the same person as that confused teenager. Human nature hasn't changed in 10 years What has changed? Me of course and consequentially my view of people.

Now I am not saying that how one views others directly mirrors how one sees oneself. If a person feels stupid that person most likely does not think everyone else is stupid, by definition this person will think everyone else is smarter.

The point is, is that this person's perception of others has little to do with observed qualities of others and more do with how that person feels about oneself.

Of course this phenomenon would be most prominent with people one knows the least.

Do you want to test your own predispositions? How do you feel about some people the first time you meet them? If you like them its probably because there are some qualities in them that reflect positive feelings you feel about yourself.

If after the first meeting you don't like them, through their behaviors you perceived qualities about yourself that you are not too fond of, but the source of those feelings is the person who don't like. Thats why you don't like them.

Thats not to say those qualities you perceive in others are non-existent. If I "perceive" someone to be an asshole that doesn't mean they are not an asshole, that does not mean "its all in my head". What I am saying is, is that whatever qualities one perceives in another person that led one to judge them "asshole" or any such label, is very much related to one's own personal qualities, and perceptions of self.

A room of ten people may all come to the conclusion that the eleventh person is an asshole but I suspect they will all have at least subtly different reasons for judging that person as such.

So whats the point of all this? How might knowing this relationship between perception of self and perception of others, if it has any validity, change how one treats people? Well the very act of perceiving people will become an act of self-perception. To put it another way, it will be an act of self-reflection.

How one perceives people will reflect back to how one perceives oneself. How one treats other people will reflect back to how one treats oneself, and vise versa. If one is more aware how one treats others I suspect one will treat others better.

This idea takes the golden rule a step further. Treat others as how you would want to be treated, perceive others how one would want to be perceived.

If you perceive everyone is out to bullshit you and take advantage of you how could you possibly treat others how you would want to be treated? You will treat people will suspicion. You might engage in dishonest manipulation yourself, assuming everyone else is dishonest and manipulative.

But do you want to be perceived (by yourself or others) as full of shit, exploitive and manipulative? Probably not. And I argue you wont be able to avoid both the behaviors and those nasty little feelings you feel about yourself if you continue to perceive those qualities in others and treat them accordingly.

Like I said before, the very act of interacting with others will become an act of self-reflection. How do I treat others? How do I perceive them? What does this say about myself?

And through this process of self-reflection one will have to confront oneself and through confrontation with oneself come out the other side a better person, treating people more as they would like to be treated (Not to mention having a bit higher opinion of them).

You see, I am predisposed to self-reflection. Consequently I have come up with a little BS amateur shrinkery that reflects my own predisposition. Fancy that.

For snow, we suffer cold

2007-11-09T06:46:00.000-08:00

the first flakes fall
and our hearts rise

I nearly died last night

2007-11-05T08:00:00.000-08:00

to M.

I nearly died last night.
it was a non-event.
no, nothing happened, but something almost happened.
a dark night, a fast bike
a missed stopped sign
a white van a few paces faster
a fast bike a few paces slower
a broken man on the dark cold pavement
bleeding and dieing alone.
no consolation, with no hope.

my lips still warm from your kiss.
I thought of you
and my cold poison words still dripping through your ears
I want them back.
to pull them out of your ear out of the air
back into the pages and into my head.
where they can die the death of a rotten seed
and I can die the death of a grateful man,
a broken body, a mangled bike, cold asphalt
and a beautiful fall night

Celebrate your Deathday!

2007-10-15T11:31:00.000-07:00

For those of you who hate birthday(I'm ambivalent myself) here is a thought: instead of birthdays, which are so egocentric and self-important, we should celebrate our death day. Now it sounds morbid on the face of it but listen: we pick a day of OUR choosing and celebrate our eventual death.

When you are born you have no choice as to when where and to whom you are born. But our death day, we get to choose. We choose not as dependent infantile human beings but as autonomous and free and beautiful people.

And on this day we reflect joyfully and with a good deal of sarcasm on our eventual death. Instead of a birthday where you go "one more year closer to death" on your deathday you reflect back on the year you had and say "fuck, I am alive and i had a pretty decent time of it, I wonder what this year will be like? I hope it doesn't suck..." And then you take another shot of tequila.

You see, a celebration of death is more of a celebration of life then a celebration of birth. But its not supposed be all that serious. Someone's death day is a day for morbid jokes, and laughter, and irony. Looking at how fucked life is and laughing at it with friends and drinking too much, laughing too much, talking too much, life in excess on the day your eventual death. And the whole idea of having a "deathday" on the face of it is morbid and hilarious and ridiculous and flies directly in the face of this stupid institution called the "birthday". Oh, and no gifts on deathday! On your death day you give gifts to your friends; gifts low in monetary value but high in sentimental or intoxicating value. (ie handwritten letters, framed pictures, shots of tequila ect)

The B Sides

2007-10-02T22:21:00.000-07:00

Ah shit... now I have two blogs. The new blog, Overextended Meta4 is strictly devoted to poetry. I have a feed on this blog linking to material on the new blog. So when I post a poem it should automatically update this blog with a link to the new poem. So...instead of keeping track of two blogs you only need to track one. Pretty slick I think, if it works...

Oh and you can now just go to www.meta44.com to get to this blog. Yeah, I'm a nerd, I got my own domain, but hell ,it was $7.00 for a year. Why the hell not?

September 11, 2007

2007-10-02T21:42:00.000-07:00

I sit in one of the cafes
On positively fourth street
Too certain with no fear
Reading Machiavelli
Like this Sunday’s editorial
“the state will collapse”
When god dies and fear revolts

God is grasping for breath and we have nothing to fear
Our parents have felt the seams of society come loose
So they dare not ask us for a sacrifice
With their wealth they don’t need our bodies
But we will need the bodies of our unborn children

We have no memory of the altar
Never had to make the choice
To burn, to run, or to fight and die
With anxious but spotless minds
We ask our lambs to sacrifice
But they will not fear a dead god
They must fear us
If they refuse to ascend the steps
they will at knife point
but fear will revolt and the knives
will be at our throats
and with our blood a new god will rise.

...

inspired by W.H. Auden's September 1, 1939

Knots know

2007-10-02T21:40:00.000-07:00

No knot, not knows
nothing. Sum things
know things nautical,
some not articles.
Knot art tickles
cots caught
gnarled cuticles,
tickles cut.

Raccoons in His Eyes

2007-10-02T21:38:00.000-07:00

Raccoons in his eyes
Squirrels in his heart and
Bees in his blood
And folds of skin
like warm wax

He opens his mouth to laugh
The squirrels pierce the ears.

Another drink, and another.

“How long have you been…”
Raccoons dance
and dart,
rolling folds find their proper pose

Another joke, more squirrels, another drink

And the bees begin to infect my blood
And the skin on my face disconnects from my soul

Temptation Divided by Torpidity

2007-10-02T21:37:00.000-07:00

Temptation divided by torpidity,
split asunder by academy's devior.
tepid rivulets carving time's soil
to conjugate 'nief the light of a city

Telephone Poem

2007-10-02T21:36:00.000-07:00

Sitting here at work
bored.
Time's death,
held off by ten short lines.

Her
blue words, are a cure for

beige.

The Solipsist

2007-10-02T21:34:00.000-07:00

The solipsist reads her words
and “cringes at the sight”.
Not to be discouraged
He diggs into the verses’ blue soil.
Stained with ink and confusion,
He comes back up for air.
And covered in words not his
he looks into the mirror
and recognizes himself.

Escape

2007-10-02T21:33:00.000-07:00

Dust pumps slowly
through the narrow veins
in the crux of my arm.

Dry air leaks
from a dozen small holes
in my chest,

and beige thoughts crawl
around the florescent lit knots
on either side of my head.

My yellows eyes rest
on the pithy quote that adorns
my cloth lined cage

“Bureaucracy is a circle
from which one
cannot escape”

And I smile.

Comments: So yeah this the first poem I have written that I am not completely embarrassed to put out there. Not sure how comfortable I am about writing about work. I mean, shit, I already have to be here, not sure if i should be spending time writing about it. Unless of course...i write about work while i am at work. Yeah i guess I am ok with that. Oh, quote by Karl Marx.

Because I Don't Want to Study

2007-09-25T16:48:00.000-07:00

Latest Random News:

- I bought a bike from my buddy Carl over at Everyone Is Dumb It is one of those hip single speed bikes. Its super light, very fast and my chances of making it to the age of 24 are slim. I love to go fast and I am an idiot. It doesn't look good folks.

- I am the newest employee of Dakota Jazz Club. This my first real job in the restaurant biz and I am excited. My friend Melinda over at My Roommate Has a Beard has some experience in the resturant biz and has been cluing me in. According to her working at a restaurant is like high school but with even more sex and cocaine. This job is gonna be fucking awesome.

An actual reproduction of a text message conversation between Melinda and I after I scored the job:

Me: Got the job at the Dakota. Holla!

Mel: Yes! Awesome, congrats! When do u start? I can't wait for all the coked-up sex hi-jinks stories! When do we celebrate?

Me: Me and the boss just did 4 grams off the snare drum and I feel like god. i love this job!

Mel: OMG, so dude im totally in class right now, the teach is lecturing and I just burst out laughing. So great.

Me: Yes!

- I just bought a iPod Shuffle. It's awesome, and I love it. I am not a fan of consumerism or brand names but if Apple made cliffs I would probably jump off 'em. That doesn't make any fucking sense. My friend Sarah over at Sarah's MySpace Blog has the exact same model and color (orange).

- My friend Frances over at Frances Lost in Space is in Venezuela being a total bad ass doing bad ass shit. She is 22 years old, in the middle of the Venezuelan jungle near the border of Colombia teaching University level classes on socio-economics and getting harassed by the government (actually more harassed by bed bugs then the government but yeah... a total bad-ass)

Thats enough for now.

Privatization of Violence

2007-09-22T08:44:00.000-07:00

I am never enthusiastic to support any kind of violence however I do believe that in a democratic society it is the government, accountable to the people, who should hold a monopoly on over its use, not a private for-profit company like Blackwater, whose name Stephen Colbert pointed out is "cartoonishly evil". Check out their logo:Wow, if that doesn't scream "amoral greedy lawless mercenaries who do the governments dirty work" then I don't know what does.

These guys creep me out. What's even more scary is the implications. The one thing governments, for all times, have had a monopoly over, the thing that might even define them as governments, is the ability to legally enact violence, either on its own citizens or another state. Like so many other government "services" it is being privatized and outsourced, to be held accountable not by citizens but by shareholders.

Here is the latest story on Blackwater from the New York Times:

Another Probe Involving Blackwater

A report on Blackwater by The Nation's Jeremy Scahill

Raccoons in his Eyes

2007-09-21T14:53:00.000-07:00

Raccoons in his eyes
Squirrels in his heart and
Bees in his blood
And folds of skin
like warm wax

He opens his mouth to laugh
The squirrels pierce the ears.

Another drink, and another.

“How long have you been…”
Raccoons dance
and dart,
rolling folds find their proper pose

Another joke, more squirrels, another drink

And the bees begin to infect my blood
And the skin on my face disconnects from my soul

I need to get out of here.

The Battle for St. Paul: 1 Year Away

2007-09-18T18:04:00.000-07:00

This is a trailer for the Republican National Convention Welcoming Committee, a group of anarchist organizing protests against the Republican Convention coming to St. Paul August 31st.

These are the guys at protest who will be lighting shit on fire and grabbing canisters of tear of gas with their bare hands and throwing it back at the cops.

Side Story: At the last protest I was at I stopped a group of these guys from taking apart this huge float-like puppet thing so that could use the wooden support beams as weapons against the cops. See, while the rest of us are protesting peacefully these guys start shit with the cops and then everybody gets tear gassed and shot with salt pellets. Not very fun.

Point: These guys are nuts. However they do have a sense of humor:

I guess some of these guys were involved in the recent clash between police and the activist group Critical Mass.

The Star Tribune reported that the normally peaceful monthly bike protest was "infiltrated" by protesters who sought to provoke police. I will put money on it that it was some of these guys. However the City Pages write up about the incident made it seem pretty clear the cops where out to beat some ass (anarchist or no anarchist).

While I have political sympathies with them I don't buy into the anarchist ideology or their methods. If I am going to swallow the pill of any radical ideology its going to be Marxism. Meanwhile I will just stick with my incoherent jumble of ideas I lazily call "democratic socialism" and stick to non-violent direct action (no Molotov cocktails for me...)

When a group is vastly out-gunned, be it by the cops on the street or society at large, it is their moral authority that is their source of power. Engaging in violent direct action only allows the authorities to strips us of our liberties beyond legal doubt and strip us of our moral authority in the eyes of the masses. To think one can engage in direct action with out consideration to how it is perceived by the sheepish masses watching us get our asses beat on television is to be either naive or to be a "True Believer"

True Believers: people who want to escape a flawed self by creating an imaginary self and joining a compact collective whole to escape themselves.

Why we are miserable.

2007-09-09T12:52:00.000-07:00

Check out this article by David Wong at Cracked.com. It is a great piece about friendships in the age of text messages, emails and Facebook. He has some interesting points about text messaging (I am personally on the verge of boycotting them) and emails. I suspect the point about emails is that they are so quickly and poorly written. Email seems cheap, fast and informal and our writing reflects that. In my long email exchanges with friends overseas I have been trying a bit harder to write with greater clarity and proper punctuation but I am not usually sober when i do so my efforts have been falling a bit short.

7 Reason the 21st Century is Making you Miserable.
by David Wong

#1. We don't have enough annoying strangers in our lives.
#2. We don't have enough annoying friends, either.
#3. Texting is a shitty way to communicate.
#4. Online company only makes us lonelier.
#5. We don't get criticized enough.
#6. We're victims of the Outrage Machine.
#7. We feel worthless, because we actually are worth less. (my favorite one)

The Secret: Self-Help Books and Nietzsche

2007-08-20T12:30:00.000-07:00

Walking to the elevators to head down to the cafeteria for lunch I saw my friend Sarah sitting on a bench near the windows reading a book.

“Hey, what’s up?”

I asked her what she was reading. She looked a little self-conscience. I read the title “Life is Now” or something like that. Oh… a self-help book.

“Hey, don’t laugh at me. I know I know. But it’s really good”

“Hey hey” I tried to console her. “As long as you are not reading THE SECRET”

“uh…Brandon…I have something to tell you”

“No, no don’t. I like you too much. I don’t wanna know”

“Somebody gave it to me…so yeah I read it” She said with an embarrassed smile on her face. “But it sucked…it’s so selfish, its all about money and success, not about making the world a better place”

We discussed about why The Secret sucked, and basically anything that puts financial success as its central value. We came to a broad consensus: Whatever you buy into, compassion for others has to be the main idea. We parted and I went down to grab some food.

I reflected on her embarrassment at me seeing her read that book. I thought about the reputation self-help books have among the cynical over-educated and over caffeinated. Then I realized as a member of this illustrious group I too was an avid reader of these types of books. However my self-help books are not written by Dr. Phil but by Karl Marx and Frederic Nietzsche. I am sure a few bodies are rolling in a few graves at making a connection between the soft-headed dribble of self-help books and the works of these preeminent thinkers. But I think for me at least, in the role they play in my life, there is a connection. We go to self-help books for help; For clarification when we are confused, for consolation when we are in pain.

I turn to Nietzsche for the same reasons. When I feel weak and lost, when I feel nihilistic, I turn to Nietzsche for not just answers, but for consolation. For consolation that there are, in fact, answers. Maybe even these pages and this author may not have the answer to whatever questions I have but reading the genius of his words gives me hope that humans can find answers. For much of his life Nietzsche, by all accounts was a miserable fuck. In constant pain and ill health but he wrote some of the most noble and beautiful words ever written and saw farther into the human condition then anyone ever had. But my hope does not come from his specific words or ideas, I am no worshiper of false idols, Nietzsche is no saint for me, but my hope comes from the recognition that Nietzsche, or Marx or any other great thinker was just a man- a bag of bones and chemicals. And look what they could achieve!

But there is another connection I failed to mention that is more flattering to the so called “soft-headed dribble” of self-help books. The basic premise of any self-help book is to provide instructions on how to live. How, as humans, do we live, how should we live. This is one of most fundamental questions of philosophy and a question underlying all studies of humanity, even those areas which deny any premise of seeking normative values. (talk about dribble, this is the academic sort). The very act of studying humanity weather it is through psychology or art or any other field is normative in its self. Through the very act of studying we are implicitly saying we should study psychology. The very act of study is a way we ought to live. But back to the point, a fundamental question of philosophy is “how do we live?”. That is the same question that self-help books try to answer, and it could be argued that they often times are more effective then even the most brilliant words of Plato. They key for self-help books, I suspect, is that they communicate something that can be understood by a more general audience. Sure when you really put the ideas under a microscope they disintegrate like wet toilet paper, but whose to say they have less pragmatic value then some of Freud’s incomprehensible theories? Does my supposed latent desire to fuck my own mother really tell me how to live my day to day life? Not really.

Like theory, I am sure there are self-help books that are more fundamentally sound then others. Consensus between Sarah and I was that The Secret, with its sole focus on personal self-interest, was not fundamentally sound, where as a devout Muslim, who reads from one of the grand-daddy of all self-help books, who tries to reach across boundaries of faith and form inter-faith communities, is operating on some fundamentally sound soft-headed dribble.

Updated: 15 minutes later...

So my friend Sarah read this post and came over with the book that started this discussion "The Power of Now". She pointed out a passage which address Nietzsche proclamation that "God is Dead" and then flipped to another page and had me read a passage she found especially interesting. I read and then flipped through a book I happen to have of Nietzsche's "On the Genealogy of of Morals" and tried to find a relevant passage. I found and aphorism which ended with a quote from some guy named Master Eckhart "I ask God that he rid me of God". Sarah came back over and ask me what I thought. I thought it was pretty interesting- that I agreed generally with it. Then I looked at the spine of the book a noticed the guys name- Eckartt Tolle.

Wait a sec. I flipped back to that random passage I had found with the quote from Master Eckhartt. I read the footnote "Master Eckhartt (1260-1327) was the greatest German mystic of the Middle Ages" I pointed it out to Sarah. "Weird, yeah, i just sent you a wikipedia link about the guy, I don't think its his real name" What a weird coincidence.

So I checked out the wiki page and turns out the guy is from Germany and of course took the name of the famous mystic that Nietzsche quoted, who in turn quoted Nietzsche and wrote a book that my friend read that started this whole conversation. I thought that was pretty weird and one hell of coincident.

A Saturday Night

2007-08-16T13:19:00.000-07:00

So I went down to the Luce Blockalypse music-beer-and-pizza thing. Met up with some friends (Melinda, Ben and Andrea).

Ben had his first show with his new band the other night at Stasiu’s.

Band Name: Sneaky Pygmy.

Best Song (so far): Auto-Erotic Asphyxiation.

For the bridge Ben read out this text book “Auto-erotic Fatalities” he found in a dumpster at the U. As his band mates jammed he read in this low droning voice a medicalized description of hanging oneself while masturbating. I thought it was pretty cool. It reminded me of my Sex and Culture class. Pretty much everything reminds of that class.

Back to the Blockalypse: I purchased 20 meal/drink tickets (a dollar a pop). I ended selling a few back to Melinda and Andrea. I got a couple beers and stole a slice a pizza. I don’t think anyone was impressed. I guess sneaking off with food isn’t as impressive as it was when you were 16. It’s funny, I would have never have done that at 16, being a very serious 16 year old.

I wasn’t sure about Andrea or Ben but Melinda and I were there to check out the Alarmist. Melinda had told me good things. It was time for them to hit the stage so Melinda and I head towards the stage temporarily losing Andrea and Ben. I am always for getting right up to the stage, I don’t go to too many shows so when I do I want my ears to ring for days. Melinda is usually game but our other friends didn’t seem as enthusiastic. No big deal. The Alarmist were not that big of a deal anyways. So we held back and watched some of the more entertaining audience members.

A middle aged balled guy in a huge neck brace. He looked very serious and very uncomfortable having the fat under his neck pushed up through the bottom of his jaw. I imagined him head banging in his brace. Instead of bending at the neck, having to bend at the waste, and his arms up, fist and finger making the devil horns. I had a few laughs and passed the observation on to Melinda- I get a chuckle.

To the right- a slim well dressed graying couple in there late 50’s. “Oh she is drinking white wine” Melinda observes “Some lucky guy is getting head tonight”. I crack up.

A couple layers of people ahead of us is another 50 or so year old woman. Slim, dressed all in black with old beat up chucks. She is dancing like a mad woman. Some kind of punk/mosh dancing. Pretty much just bouncing around like a fool. We made a few cracks but I think we (at least I did) had some respect. She looked like she was having a great time. A lot better time then the guy in the brace or the stale, white wine drinking couple to the right. This lady could probably party harder then any of us and by the looks of it has been doing just that for many years.

The clouds looked like rain and soon enough produced. I was fine getting wet and rocking out but Melinda was dressed up and wasn’t down for getting soaked. Plans were quickly made: To the Red Dragon.

Ben and Andrea drove together; Melinda and I would meet them up there. It started raining pretty heavy so before we headed out I suggested we grab a couple of city pages to help stay dry. With the Pages over our head we started down the ally.

The paper wasn’t doing much. More of homage to the desire to stay dry then a successful attempt. Something caught my eye- behind a gray metal trash can was big piece of folded foam board. I tossed the Pages in the can and grabbed the board

“Here take this” I said to Melinda holding up one side of the foam board over her head. No hesitation from her, just surprised and approving laughter “Good idea!”, she hoist the board above her head and we walk down the ally looking like complete fools- albeit very dry fools.

After a few wrong turns and some confused looks from others on the stree we find her car. We ditch the foam board, pile in and head to the Dragon. A few drinks and a few eggs rolls there and then on to Liquor Lyles.

Turns out it was two for ones that night. Not a bad deal at all for a Saturday night. The place was pretty full and seemed like people were having a good time. After a few rounds of g&t’s, and cheap beer we became restless once again. Where too? Tiffany’s, St. Paul. Why? No clue. But it was an idea and our lazy minds attached. We got back into our various cars and to St. Paul we went. Ben and Andrea arrived there a few minute before us and called me. I guess there was a $6 cover and they were just going to head home. $6 cover? Bullshit.

So new plans began to form. To Goby’s- the ol’ standby. We arrive and ten friends are there to greet us. What a great place right? A round of shots (Melinda), a round of discreet puking (Sarah), and a pool cue into an eye (Sarah again…ouch).

The lights turn up and it’s bar close. Where too now? To Annie’s to drink some more and pass out. Thankfully Annie’s was walking distance. We go there, cracked some Mic Golden’s and Melinda orders a pizza from Luce. It all comes back around right? We started the night with Luce and ended it with Luce.

Things we getting late and we were not getting any more sober. Annie crashed in her bed around 3:30. A few wardrobe malfunctions later Liz soon followed with Melinda not to far behind. It sounded for awhile like they were fighting for bed space but soon enough all went quite. Out of curiosity I went and checked on them- nope, no lesbian orgy…damn!. So in disappointment I throw some pennies at them that were lying on Annie’s dresser. Nothing, they were out cold. After a visit to the john, I fell on the couch and started talking god with Sarah. After a few minutes of slurred pseudo-philosophy we let the late hour and intoxicants take over and quickly fell asleep.

Two minutes later Melinda comes out the bedroom, fully awake. “Ok lets go” Wait what? I passed out around 4:00am. I didn’t realize the sun comes up at 4:02. Fucking Christ. Oh, its 8:00. “the fuck is wrong with you?” I yell at Melinda. “Go to bed”. She laughs and grabs her keys. Fuck. We stumble into the car, laughing like idiots. It’s a curious feeling. Waking up drunk- not sloshed or anything, but drunk and its early in the morning. We are delirious- things seems really funny, if a little too bright. We drive back to Uptown and find our cars. A couple half drunken jokes and a few high fives and we go our ways and to our own beds to sleep the after noon away.

Some Poems, Vol. I

2007-08-02T21:36:00.000-07:00

The Solipsist

The solipsist reads her words
and “cringes at the sight”.
Not to be discouraged
He diggs into the verses’ blue soil.
Stained with ink and confusion,
He comes back up for air.
And covered in words not his
he looks into the mirror
and recognizes himself.

Telephone Poem

Sitting here at work
bored.
Time's death,
held off by ten short lines.

Her
blue words, are a cure for

beige.

Temptation Divided by Torpidity

Temptation divided by torpidity,
split asunder by academy's devior.
tepid rivulets carving time's soil
to conjugate 'nief the light of a city

Escape

2007-07-18T15:12:00.000-07:00

Escape

Dust pumps slowly
through the narrow veins
in the crux of my arm.

Dry air leaks
from a dozen small holes
in my chest,

and beige thoughts crawl
around the florescent lit knots
on either side of my head.

My yellows eyes rest
on the pithy quote that adorns
my cloth lined cage

“Bureaucracy is a circle
from which one
cannot escape”

And I smile.

Obama

2007-07-01T16:56:00.000-07:00

Obama came to the International Market Square on Friday. I was standing about 5 feet to the left of this guy who shot the video. After the speech I got to shake his hand. I have yet to wash my hand.

L’Étranger

2007-06-30T14:41:00.000-07:00

Messing around when i should be studying for class...

Life, Death, and Milk Duds

2007-06-22T15:36:00.000-07:00

You know when your are snacking on a bag Skittles or maybe a box of Milk Duds, you put the wrapper down thinking its empty. A few minutes go by, candy forgotten, then remembered. You are sure there isn’t any skittles left but you check any way and be hold…one or two last pieces of candy are clinging to the inside of the packaging. Your wrestle the last few pieces into your mouth and for some reason they are the best tasting pieces in the whole bag, in fact probably some of the best tasting piece of candy you have ever eaten

I hope that is how my life ends, with the same kind of feeling. Maybe laying on my death bed thinking of the ups and down, the successes and failures and like that bag of candy, you are feeling pretty good about the whole endeavor. Then maybe a few moments before the wrapper is discarded, a few last jewels are discovered. You had been perfectly content with what you have been given- but look hear…one or two delicious morsels you never expected, never even asked for, are there for you to enjoy before it all goes away, and those will be the best tasting morsels of life you have ever had. That would be pretty cool.

Party Crashers: Rock Star Suite @ The Chambers Hotel

2007-06-13T09:58:00.000-07:00

Saturday night...
My friend Melinda and I have been bar hopping all night and we end up on the top floor bar of the Chambers Hotel.

Hanging out on the patio, we see on the other side of the hotel a private party on the top floor suite. There are around 20-30 hanging out having drinks on the patio of what seems to be a huge hotel room. We talk about how cool it would be to throw a party like that, we guess how much it cost. Our guess is between $800 and $1200. Through the glass windows of the walkway connecting the two buildings we see people going back and forth, to and from the party.

Some gears begin to click, well oiled by cheap vodka, and an idea comes: “We could walk right in”. “Yeah we could” Melinda agrees, now her well oiled gears turning. We briefly mull over the delicacies of the purposed operation “…like we know what we are doing….”. We get a serge of confidence and agree to go for it. We walk out of the bar, drink in hand and head toward the walkway and on to the room. We get to the end of the hallway I in the lead, and the door is propped open. “Lets do it…strait to the patio” I open the door and walk in, not looking around, like I have already been there the whole night, and Melinda follows me out to the patio. I lean against the rail, cool and calm, she does the same.

We turn to each other, hunching our shoulders and start giggiling like little school girls. “Holy shit, we are in…all right be cool, be cool” We calm down a bit and my partner in crime suggests we start talking to people, gather some info, incase somebody starts asking questions.

She starts chatting with a couple of guys and she introduces me. They completely ignore me and focus all there attention on her. Perfect. After some empty chatter and feeling a bit more comfortable I suggest we grab some drinks. This is the next challenge. Like before we walk back in to the room, like we own the place, and go strait to the booze. I confidently and cool scoop up some ice into my low ball, grabbed one of the 5 bottles of grey goose like I bought it myself and began making a vodka tonic. Melinda mixes her self a drink and I suggest we chill on the couch. We sit down a begin to take stock of the room and the people “Holy shit, this place is nice”

For next few hours we hang out, mixing drinks, dodging polite questions about how we know Nick, and what we though of his comedy. Nick who? At some point a server came up with 4 gourmet pizzas in those platters with the metal tops. I’m pretty sure I ate one all to my self. By the end of the night it was me, Melinda, this professional cage fighter, his girl friend and his buddy. At one point cage fighters girl friend pulled out a Polaroid camera (provided by the hotel I think) and started yelling at the two guys to start taking their cloths off. They obliged her request, cage fighter falling short of complete nudity complaining of some shrinkage, but his buddy not all shy showing us it all. We and Melinda are looking at each other, laughing, giggling and mouthing numerous “Holy Shits” Time to go. We say our good byes, shake some hands, both guys still in their underwear. We walk out at cool as we walked in. The door closes a safe distance is reached, and the giggling commences. “Holy fucking shit…that was awesome”, “Dude, we could do that every week” Melinda suggest. “Why the hell not” I respond. We walked out, well oiled and high on our adventure. A couple of high fives and a hug and we parted ways.

The morning after…

The next morning, curious, I called the hotel, asking to reserve the room we were at last night. “Oh the Rock Star Suite?” The Rock Star Suite? Holy Shit. “Yeah, I guess that’s the one, what’s the price on that?” “Hold on sir while I check on that…for that room the price is $3240” Once again, Holy Shit.

Then, curiosity not sated, I cross reference some bits of info from last night with show listing for last night. Turns out the room belonged to this comedian Nick Swardson who just had show that night at the State Theater. He is originally from St. Paul, but now in Hollywood doing movies with Adam Sandler. Cool, My new favorite comedian. So, yeah. That’s that.

Chambers Hotel: Rock Star Suite

2007-06-10T09:35:00.000-07:00

I got drunk with this guy last night.

Details coming later...

Its Thursday, I'm in a cubicle, I'm full of useless knowledge, and I'm trying to quit biting my nails.

2007-05-24T12:02:00.000-07:00

Am I alive or am I Dead?

Some verses floating through my head at the moment. Maybe they can float through yours. If nothing else, at least that entry about the dog moves down the page. Yep...

At my job I work in a cubicle and barely speak
to anyone all day. The human wolves don't even see me.
They fear me not.

~ James Tate, The Promotion

You hear a whistling overhead
Are you alive or are you dead?
It's only Thursday
You feel a shaking on the ground
A billion candles burn around
Is it your birthday?

Tomorrow never comes until it's too late

~ DJ Shadow, Six Days

Now I wish I could write you a melody so plain
That could hold you dear lady from going insane
That could ease you and cool you and cease the pain
Of your useless and pointless knowledge

~ Bob Dylan, Tombstone Blues

this isn’t our song
this isn’t even a musical
I think life is too long
to be the whale in a cubicle
nails under your cuticle

~ Andrew Bird, Plasticities

Little Jack

2007-05-17T09:02:00.000-07:00

Two brothers taking care of the thirds dog. He is away, in jail, for third DWI, the dog gets out, hit by a car, I hear the scream, a dogs at first then a human child, then a dog again, god the pain, the suffering, I run around from the back, I see the brother coming towards the dog, I see the dog screaming limping away from the cold concrete, its back legs bloody, not moving, it crawls, 15 feet, why is it crawling?, it must hurt so bad, it continues to crawl, it back legs crushed and bleeding, it find the cool grass and lies down, it crawled 15 feet, 15 torturous feet across black street, our streets to get the grass, to lie, and to bleed, to die? Who knows its a damn small dog. The third brother, Dave, Christ such a nice man, not a smart man, but a nice man. His dog is going to die. The brothers, one begins to cry, they both have long grey hair. Working men. Beer and classic rock men. That damn dog crawled 15 feet without back legs to lie in the grass. That beautiful green grass. It could have stayed in the street but it would not. What could have been going through it tortured little mind? Fuck, Dave, Dave is going to be crushed. That dog looked pretty messed up. Even from a 100 yards away I could see the bloody lower half. Fuck, Dave is such a nice guy, and such cool little dog. He loved that dog. His only constant companion, unmarried. The dog still lives, I can hear its moan. Well I heard its moan about a minute ago. Fuck, Dave is gonna be crushed. He is the can, and he is gonna learn his dog has died. I hope the dog lives, I hope the dog wants to live. That little fucker crawled, his lower half crush, crawled 15 feet to lay in the grass and bleed. Crushed by a car, crushed between rubber and cold concrete. Jack. Little jack.

The youngest brother cradles him in poncho in the back of a pick up truck, the other brother flipping through a phone book. “find a place yet?” No crying, jack, no sounds out of jack, eyes seemed to be closed. Unconscious hopefully, not suffering. The truck leaves, I turn on Miles, I open up to Tate’s Promotion, the one about the dog who lives a charmed life, slowly quietly dies and then is reincarnated into a cubicle bound man. I think of rewriting this poem. Jack a charmed life, and violent death (he still lives as far as I know) reincarnated as what? Another miserable man, maybe a man who paves roads, who is hit by car that stops for a second, flips out a cigarette and moves on, on a beautiful spring day.

Of Finals and Convertables

2007-05-08T21:04:00.000-07:00

A blog in bullet points and dot dot dots...

- Finals are done, I have a whole 2 weeks until summer classes start. Loving that...
- I think i might have actually passed Spanish. Thats pretty awesome...
- Its lightning out, I love lightning...
- I Mormon missionary approached me today, I asked him what he thought about Mitt Romney, he said he is not allowed to watch television so he doesn't really know, that was kinda funny...
- I drove home with the top down enjoying the beautiful weather, then sitting at my computer, i heard the unmistakable patters of rain outside my window, oh rain i thought, how nice...FUCK!!!, and i ran out to my rain soaked car and put the top back up amidst rain, lightning and hail, i am an idiot...
- So yeah...

Good Weather

2007-05-04T14:36:00.000-07:00

The forecast for this weekend looks great. All grey clouds, rain and misery. I only wish it was going to be 20 degree colder. While the rest of you are sitting around stuck to the TV, or reading dumb books instead of playing outside, I will be in front of the computer, my healthy tan fading back to February White, bleached by the glow of computer screen, writing another miserable paper about some miserable dead political theorist. All least my own misery will be ameliorated by the knowledge that no one else is outside playing in the sun, enjoying a beautiful spring day. Misery <3 company

D.F. Wallace

2007-05-02T10:28:00.000-07:00

Speaking of DF here is a commencement speach by the man. It's pretty good, i think, i dont know, I didnt read it, well some of it, but he is good so his speech is most likely good. Maybe somebody will read it and tell how good it really is.

Oscar-Meyer

2007-05-02T07:52:00.000-07:00

A Quote from Oscar Wilde: (which might imply that I know something about the man or that I am familiar with his work, which I am not, this quote coming off some Google “quote of the day” page, I wouldn’t want anybody to get the wrong idea, like I know what I am talking about or anything. I am currently reading D.F. Wallace so I am really pushing this whole “meta” thing, which is of course referenced in the title of my blog “Meta .44”) Oh yeah, The Quote:

“A great poet, a really great poet, is the most unpoetical of creatures. But inferior poets are absolutely fascinating. The worse their rhymes, the more picturesque they look. The mere fact of having published a book of second-rate sonnets make a man quite irresistible. He lives the poetry he cannot write. The others write the poetry that they dare not realise.”

I was going to make some comments about it but I no longer want to. What do you think?

Seasonal Depression

2007-04-30T10:11:00.000-07:00

Seasonal depression does not take place during winter. No, seasonal depression happens when you have to sit in a biege cubicle when the sun is shinning, and a cool spring breeze is blowing.

A poem...

The Promotion
By James Tate

I was a dog in my former life, a very good
dog, and, thus, I was promoted to a human being.
I liked being a dog. I worked for a poor farmer,
guarding and herding his sheep. Wolves and coyotes
tried to get past me almost every night, and not
once did I loose a sheep. The farmer rewarded me
with good food, food from his table. He may have
been poor, but he ate well. And his children
played with me, when they weren't in school or
working in the field. I had all the love any dog
could hope for. When I got old, they got a new
dog, and I trained him in the tricks of the trade.
He quickly learned, and the farmer bought me into
the house to live with the family. I brought the farmer
his slippers in the morning, as he was getting
old, too. I was dying slowly, a little bit at a
time. The farmer knew this and would bring the
new dog in to visit me from time to time. The
new dog would entertain me with his flips and
flops and nuzzles. And then one morning I just
didn't get up. They gave me a fine burial down
by the stream under a shade tree. That was the
end of my being a dog. Sometimes I miss it so
I sit by my window and cry. I live in a high-rise
that looks out at a bunch of other high-rises.
At my job I work in a cubicle and barely speak
to anyone all day. The human wolves don't even see me.
They fear me not.

Moyers and Stewart.

2007-04-29T19:17:00.000-07:00

Here is an interview by Bill Moyers with Jon Stewart of The Daily Show.

Moyers is pretty awesome. I guess he was this bad-ass reporter from back during the Vietnam war. They brought him back from the dead because our generation of journalist are too busy giving road head to Bush while he drives us off the cliff.

I guess with all the swearing and sexual references this isn't a blog for the kids.

Moyers interviews Stewart

First Post

2007-04-29T16:21:00.000-07:00

This is going to start as a place to keep track of my thoughts, of news stories i think people should be reading and maybe some photos and other art (my own and others) that i like. Maybe it will evolve into something interesting, something worth reading, but most likely not. I have been flirting with the idea of blog for awhile and have made a few abortive attempts (if you cant count myspace as an actual blog). I guess i finally decided to commit to a blog because myspace and facebook and Microsoft word was unable to really fit my needs of tracking the news of world and my thoughts about it.

I am really trying to avoid apologizing for my blog. I feel like i dont have the talent or the creativity to produce something interesting so i shouldn't even bother, or have the audacity to think somebody will actually read this, but I came to a conclusion: Fuck it. If i actually want to produce something interesting, and add a worthwhile voice to the public discourse, i wont do it worrying about how I stack up to others, or worrying about criticism of my ideas, or spelling and grammar mistakes. Who gives a shit.

I think thats an apology for my blog. Damnit...

Oh, a shoutout and thank you to my friend Jessica at UofM Feminist for encouraging me to start a blog and otherwise making a concerted effort at emasculating me for not doing so sooner.