They stuff your heads with cotton-fluff-brainwash,
dreams of pens and ink and paper.
But why does it really matter at all?,
if I don't do my homework? or Why does it matter,
if I don't write my research paper?
Why does it matter if I haven't showered in three days,
if I'm not dressed "smart-casual", and all my clothes stink,
if I skip breakfasts, and
if I skip lunches?
A success (singular noun):
is to be able to read at a bookstore, or write a day away,
or laugh steam in the winter air, marching defiant, punching sky,
or lie down in the sordid, car-exhausted snow when you are tired of walking
when you are waiting for buses at bus stops on spring mornings,
and wish on contrails drifting, falling across in the empty blue afternoons,
and hear the whir of fans and dehumidifiers alone late, late at night,
to hang out with friends, and play music at clubs, for the rest of your life
And everyone and the world tries to make it so hard!,
and a bird with clipped wings and a missing toe!,
and I worry my day away
--how much really matters at all?
Showing posts with label fantasy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fantasy. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Escape stuff
I often lay in bed at night thinking about escape.
The school is surrounded by walls--barbed wire along the back and embedded glass shards along the right. I'm not too sure about the left side. The front, from where I'm, typing, is a safe way to go, but the iron fence, I presume, is protected by the man in the booth to the very far right. On the very far left, I could climb over a gate because a metal bar running across the middle would make a good foothold, but I suppose he would see me. There is an alarm light on top of a pole attached to this gate.
The doors to my dorm are rigged to trigger alarms after lights out, so if I were to escape, the best time would be during the day.
However, if I were just to escape for the sheer fun of it, that would be far too easy.
I would consider the barbed wire the greater (and more satisfying) challenge. The barbed wire is attached to poles that slant in, so if I were to have a ladder, I could easily make it over. Finding the ladder, of course, would prove far too difficult.
The glass shards present another opportunity. I suppose with rubber soles, I could climb on there. From there, I could climb on to the wall directly in front of it and jump over. Of course, this risks going past the front gate, where the security guard watches.
I believe that was about all I got last night before I began considering other things.
I know how to get past the wall dividing the dorm and the school by means of the food disposal containers. I could climb over there at night should I ever want to go ghost-hunting on this campus.
And the roofs of the high school are another possibility--I could climb on from the stairs leading to the ministry room...
Ah, I think it's about dinner time... perhaps I'll write a bit more when I return.
The school is surrounded by walls--barbed wire along the back and embedded glass shards along the right. I'm not too sure about the left side. The front, from where I'm, typing, is a safe way to go, but the iron fence, I presume, is protected by the man in the booth to the very far right. On the very far left, I could climb over a gate because a metal bar running across the middle would make a good foothold, but I suppose he would see me. There is an alarm light on top of a pole attached to this gate.
The doors to my dorm are rigged to trigger alarms after lights out, so if I were to escape, the best time would be during the day.
However, if I were just to escape for the sheer fun of it, that would be far too easy.
I would consider the barbed wire the greater (and more satisfying) challenge. The barbed wire is attached to poles that slant in, so if I were to have a ladder, I could easily make it over. Finding the ladder, of course, would prove far too difficult.
The glass shards present another opportunity. I suppose with rubber soles, I could climb on there. From there, I could climb on to the wall directly in front of it and jump over. Of course, this risks going past the front gate, where the security guard watches.
I believe that was about all I got last night before I began considering other things.
I know how to get past the wall dividing the dorm and the school by means of the food disposal containers. I could climb over there at night should I ever want to go ghost-hunting on this campus.
And the roofs of the high school are another possibility--I could climb on from the stairs leading to the ministry room...
Ah, I think it's about dinner time... perhaps I'll write a bit more when I return.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
The gig, the afterparty, and paradise engineering
cThat band with all the nice people held their first concert last night,
at this arts contest. They served dry-ice drinks.
The guys who ran the gig wanted us to dress "smart-casual." I really didn't like that, so I decided to walk in with my thinnest tee and tight jeans. Unfortunately, I left all my just-washed clothes on my bed the night before, and I put my feet on them as I slept, and in the morning, they were all stinky and sock-smelly, but I guess it was worth my sticking-it-to-the-man. My friend then arrived in shorts and a super-thin tee as well, and he said they had to let him in, because his I.Q. was quite a bit above average. He said he'd donate all 50 NT of change to Haiti. They let us in.
Then the performances that night were pretty good, I thought, especially the first band (they had to censor a line in their song where they mention suicide, but the awesome vocalist decided to sing it anyway, repeating it maybe 7 o 8 times).
But then my friend thought most of them were pretty horrible.
I sort of agreed with him to make him happy, but I always feel so bad about criticizing anything, especially good things that I like.
(My friend, he was there was because he and his friend had submitted a film about a rock who was hired to do cool stuff.
His friend also created one about a cube who falls into a hole which sets off a switch for a disco party.
Right up until the end, it looked like they would win, because most of the other films were pretty horrible. One was about some guys doing stupid stuff like snorting cinnamon and burning themselves with hot water and pulling their flesh with clips and stuff. But then that one guy with a dying, cancerous brother created an absolutely astounding music video where a guy on a chair travels all around the city, and he took around 200 shots for this. )
The cool band was last.
They played Marley's "Stir It Up," in honor of his birthday, but they hadn't prepared any other songs, so they did an improvised guitar solo for like five minutes.
As they walked off the stage, the audience wanted them to play a third song. They thought for a while and played "Blitzkrieg Bop," only they didn't know the words (except the "Hey, ho! Let's go!), so the guitarist pretended to sing really quietly, but really he was just singing nonsense.
Then the judges stepped up and unanimously decided the music video would be the best in its category.
That band, of course, was the best musical performance.
Some random video about a sleepover and a horror movie won first place and best overall.
Each got a cash prize of 1000 NT.
We left the gig at around 9 to go to McDonald's.
My friend complained to all the people leaving about how low the frame rate was for his video, but they all told him it wasn't that bad.
His friend, he told us how nobody in the audience really understood the artistic merit of his disco cube film.
On the way to McD's, we met up with the band again. They were also going to McDonald's.
When we got there, they spent their prize money all in a night, on several trays of fries and ice cream.
After we got back at 10, we wasted some time in the billiards room. One guy joked about stuff like how girls always think you're looking at their boobs, even when you're not. (Quite odd: I hadn't actually ever noticed them acting like that, even in the many instances where I am).
And then my friend got into an argument about economics with two other guys. One was really just upset at the unfairness of it all, but the other wouldn't admit defeat and said the reason those poor people were so poor was because they wanted to have so many fucking children. I joined in on my friend's side, but my logic wasn't nearly as good, so I didn't add a whole lot.
I don't like conflict, anyway.
At around 11, they all left and my friend and this other cool guy and I were left all alone in the pool room. The cool guy, I really like him.
He's an ISFP.
He's wonderful.
I told him if everyone were like us three guys in the room, I was sure we wouldn't need any rules. In a world of just us three guys, nobody would give a damn about stupid stuff like taxes and poor people and other people taking credit for your works and showing your boobs and best friends forever and stuff. We'd just do what we all wanted, and we all had good intentions, and nobody would hurt anybody else. I thought covering up your body with clothes, especially, was pretty pointless.
My friend said he wasn't so sure. He would sometimes push other people out of his way to get what he wanted.
So I told him then we could kill everyone like him, and it would just be people like me and that other guy.
My friend told me I sounded like a cult leader.
at this arts contest. They served dry-ice drinks.
The guys who ran the gig wanted us to dress "smart-casual." I really didn't like that, so I decided to walk in with my thinnest tee and tight jeans. Unfortunately, I left all my just-washed clothes on my bed the night before, and I put my feet on them as I slept, and in the morning, they were all stinky and sock-smelly, but I guess it was worth my sticking-it-to-the-man. My friend then arrived in shorts and a super-thin tee as well, and he said they had to let him in, because his I.Q. was quite a bit above average. He said he'd donate all 50 NT of change to Haiti. They let us in.
Then the performances that night were pretty good, I thought, especially the first band (they had to censor a line in their song where they mention suicide, but the awesome vocalist decided to sing it anyway, repeating it maybe 7 o 8 times).
But then my friend thought most of them were pretty horrible.
I sort of agreed with him to make him happy, but I always feel so bad about criticizing anything, especially good things that I like.
(My friend, he was there was because he and his friend had submitted a film about a rock who was hired to do cool stuff.
His friend also created one about a cube who falls into a hole which sets off a switch for a disco party.
Right up until the end, it looked like they would win, because most of the other films were pretty horrible. One was about some guys doing stupid stuff like snorting cinnamon and burning themselves with hot water and pulling their flesh with clips and stuff. But then that one guy with a dying, cancerous brother created an absolutely astounding music video where a guy on a chair travels all around the city, and he took around 200 shots for this. )
The cool band was last.
They played Marley's "Stir It Up," in honor of his birthday, but they hadn't prepared any other songs, so they did an improvised guitar solo for like five minutes.
As they walked off the stage, the audience wanted them to play a third song. They thought for a while and played "Blitzkrieg Bop," only they didn't know the words (except the "Hey, ho! Let's go!), so the guitarist pretended to sing really quietly, but really he was just singing nonsense.
Then the judges stepped up and unanimously decided the music video would be the best in its category.
That band, of course, was the best musical performance.
Some random video about a sleepover and a horror movie won first place and best overall.
Each got a cash prize of 1000 NT.
We left the gig at around 9 to go to McDonald's.
My friend complained to all the people leaving about how low the frame rate was for his video, but they all told him it wasn't that bad.
His friend, he told us how nobody in the audience really understood the artistic merit of his disco cube film.
On the way to McD's, we met up with the band again. They were also going to McDonald's.
When we got there, they spent their prize money all in a night, on several trays of fries and ice cream.
After we got back at 10, we wasted some time in the billiards room. One guy joked about stuff like how girls always think you're looking at their boobs, even when you're not. (Quite odd: I hadn't actually ever noticed them acting like that, even in the many instances where I am).
And then my friend got into an argument about economics with two other guys. One was really just upset at the unfairness of it all, but the other wouldn't admit defeat and said the reason those poor people were so poor was because they wanted to have so many fucking children. I joined in on my friend's side, but my logic wasn't nearly as good, so I didn't add a whole lot.
I don't like conflict, anyway.
At around 11, they all left and my friend and this other cool guy and I were left all alone in the pool room. The cool guy, I really like him.
He's an ISFP.
He's wonderful.
I told him if everyone were like us three guys in the room, I was sure we wouldn't need any rules. In a world of just us three guys, nobody would give a damn about stupid stuff like taxes and poor people and other people taking credit for your works and showing your boobs and best friends forever and stuff. We'd just do what we all wanted, and we all had good intentions, and nobody would hurt anybody else. I thought covering up your body with clothes, especially, was pretty pointless.
My friend said he wasn't so sure. He would sometimes push other people out of his way to get what he wanted.
So I told him then we could kill everyone like him, and it would just be people like me and that other guy.
My friend told me I sounded like a cult leader.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
I must write!
"For a school music festival, I want to play a silent air guitar concert under the band name Heavy Metal Jesus, complete with facepaint and scripture tattoos. Towards the end, I'll breathe air-fire and rip off my air-shirt and stage dive...
The lyrics I'll submit for approval:
My only two fears are the crowd won't get the satire and think I'm a horrible lyricist, or else they'll get it and deem me blasphemous...
It's funny... these humorless Christians can't joke about God or Satan... "
See, I 'd been meaning to post this since 3rd period today...
I kept trying to stop chatting with the people, but the people there didn't want me to go, so when I finally got on Blogger, it was 10:28... when the bell rang, I felt like bursting into tears... I really care about my writing! Everyone in the lab talks when I write... I wish they would all be quiet... I really want to write... I don't think anyone gets how much I care about it.
The lyrics I'll submit for approval:
"Apocalypse of darkness!
Decry thy ancient Son!
Jesus Christ above!
He shalt make thee one!
Cast upon thy name!
Thou shall never die!
Sinners scream his name!
He shall heed their cry!
Heed thy Savior!
City of ashes and rats!
Thy sinners and darkness destroyed!
Satan laughs from hell!
Heed the sound of bells!
Cast upon thy name!
Thou shall never die!
Sinners scream his
name!
He shall heed their cry!
Heed thy Savior!
Power of thy God!
Time before thy light!
Suffer thy heathen foes!
Evil unto night!
Cast away thy night!
Apocalypse thy night!
Cast upon thy name!
Thou shall never die!
Sinners scream his
name!
He shall heed their cry!
Heed thy Savior!
<8-minute>
My only two fears are the crowd won't get the satire and think I'm a horrible lyricist, or else they'll get it and deem me blasphemous...
It's funny... these humorless Christians can't joke about God or Satan... "
See, I 'd been meaning to post this since 3rd period today...
I kept trying to stop chatting with the people, but the people there didn't want me to go, so when I finally got on Blogger, it was 10:28... when the bell rang, I felt like bursting into tears... I really care about my writing! Everyone in the lab talks when I write... I wish they would all be quiet... I really want to write... I don't think anyone gets how much I care about it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
