Of course, once again another Sunday rolls around. Each weekend I seem to waste so much time and then I finally start getting to work on my homework. It seems I only focus under stress, and there's certainly a lot of that. But this method doesn't leave me any time to study for 4ap tests. I haven't reviewed for a single one! Whatever shall I do... I know, waste time and cram, cram, cram the night before! It's possible...right?
Well, that's enough procrastinating. Time to get to work! Until next time...
Sunday, April 18
Saturday, April 17
And then I says to the Kaiser, I says...
"YOU THINK YOU'RE THE MAN?! YOU ARE A WORM! A PIECE OF LINT! A SMALL, INSIGNIFICANT FLEA COMPARED TO ME!!!" shouted a rather irate 1-eyed Edward. He held Kaiser Bubba in a triple-loop one handed belly hold that looked about as painful as stuffing your hand in a colony of drunken WASPs and asking if Jesus was black and gay. The Kaiser had had the gall to challenge ole 1-eye to a championship match of epic proportions, meaning that the pyrite-plated belt was up for grabs, along with the tacos and the spare change held by the promoter. And boy was it on!
The Kaiser started out with a punch right to 1-eyed's substantial gut. However, he got stuck. So 1-eyed Edward let out a belch so foul, I thought I had found a dead skunk and stuck it up my nose. The Kaiser reeled straight out of the ring and onto a table. Well, once the Furniture started to be broken, it really started to be broken. The Kaiser grabbed a nearby sofa and hurled it 1-eyed, who barely dodged. Edward retaliated with a barrage of fold up chairs, one of which grazed the Kaiser's cheek. Then the name calling started with the audience. Cries like you wouldn't believe! As children read this, I won't repeat the obscenities mentioned, but they made even the wrestlers blush. Needless to say, the FCC rushed in and violently censored the offenders.
The wrastlers charged each other once they regained their composures in the ring. Their tightly glad spandex a tad too revealing, Kaiser pinned 1-eyed Edward to the floor. 10...9...8...7...6...5...4... Oh! He tapped out! Now 1-eyed Edward has the upper hand. Back and forth, back and forth the two obese giants flailed. And then, God came down from the Heavens on high and proclaimed that all present had witnessed the Second Coming and were now admitted to an eternity of happiness, peace, and joy.
At least, that's what I assume it would have been like had it actually happened in the first place. In reality, I had started in high hopes. I was going to wrastlin' instead of Prom. The parity was brilliant. I popped some Willie Nelson in my cd-player and sped to the armory. But, what's this? A man, handing out papers! The parking lot's closed... And then, all my dreams come crashing down. I flag down Cory and we relate the bad news. No wrastlin' tonight. It'll only make it that much sweeter next week! (Which we're certainly going to try to go to.) Cory, of course, had no other ideas and headed home. I got enough courage up to go see what the problem was. I was handed a paper that said "CANCELLED DUE TO FAMILY ILLNESS." At this time, Morgan pulled up and found out the glum news too. We were quite distraught. But Morgan and I wanted to at least do something to spite all the Prom goers. So the next idea that came to mind was a German movie that might be showing at Downton West. Why not? A German film is still quite a different experience for me. So I switched the Willie Nelson with some Mendleson and headed down there. But at 8:15, all the movies had just started 20minutes ago and wouldn't be ready for another round for at least an hour or two. (Meanwhile, some kid I recognize vaguely from school (Joey, I think) asked us to make a wish on his stuffed, talking animal. I wished to be struck down, right then and there, by lightning. Didn't happen). So we were at impasse. Our efforts fruitless, we parted ways, our once well planned night and efforts all in vain.
Thus, the following poem on disappointment. I'm used to it by now, after it's slowly worn away my self-esteem and confidence to a canyon of immense proportions. But when it brings other hopeful people down with it, me feeling responsible since it was my idea, that's when it gets me even lower. If I had done something else, gone some where, seen some thing, done some stuff it might not have been so bad. But the chain of disappointment continues. I'm not one for conversation or sociality. I can't think of any thing to do or place to go. Other than home. I'd even invite other people here. But for what? It's a small, cramped, filthly place. I don't mind it all that much, but I'd hate to subject others to it. And even then, there's nothing to do.
So I write. And chat to Sara, who is also alone tonight. The first an escape and method of venting, the latter one more place to lament the need for escaping and yet another place to vent. The world is not a bad place. There's so many things to do, so many places to go, so many people to do them with. When others make mistakes, I'm generally quite forgiving. Yet I'm devoid of ideas. A blank. A failure. Joy of joys. Ironically, Prom would have made all this worse. It's a place with people and things to do. And yet, it answers nothing. All that's left is a constant yearning for something not known and not attainable. Only angst.
Hopefully you all had a good time at Prom. I may disagree with it, but obviously my alternatives aren't obtaining the desired end product, happiness. If you can eek some joy and fulfillment from it, who am I to judge? I suppose I'll go and escape into sleep now. Until next time...
The Kaiser started out with a punch right to 1-eyed's substantial gut. However, he got stuck. So 1-eyed Edward let out a belch so foul, I thought I had found a dead skunk and stuck it up my nose. The Kaiser reeled straight out of the ring and onto a table. Well, once the Furniture started to be broken, it really started to be broken. The Kaiser grabbed a nearby sofa and hurled it 1-eyed, who barely dodged. Edward retaliated with a barrage of fold up chairs, one of which grazed the Kaiser's cheek. Then the name calling started with the audience. Cries like you wouldn't believe! As children read this, I won't repeat the obscenities mentioned, but they made even the wrestlers blush. Needless to say, the FCC rushed in and violently censored the offenders.
The wrastlers charged each other once they regained their composures in the ring. Their tightly glad spandex a tad too revealing, Kaiser pinned 1-eyed Edward to the floor. 10...9...8...7...6...5...4... Oh! He tapped out! Now 1-eyed Edward has the upper hand. Back and forth, back and forth the two obese giants flailed. And then, God came down from the Heavens on high and proclaimed that all present had witnessed the Second Coming and were now admitted to an eternity of happiness, peace, and joy.
At least, that's what I assume it would have been like had it actually happened in the first place. In reality, I had started in high hopes. I was going to wrastlin' instead of Prom. The parity was brilliant. I popped some Willie Nelson in my cd-player and sped to the armory. But, what's this? A man, handing out papers! The parking lot's closed... And then, all my dreams come crashing down. I flag down Cory and we relate the bad news. No wrastlin' tonight. It'll only make it that much sweeter next week! (Which we're certainly going to try to go to.) Cory, of course, had no other ideas and headed home. I got enough courage up to go see what the problem was. I was handed a paper that said "CANCELLED DUE TO FAMILY ILLNESS." At this time, Morgan pulled up and found out the glum news too. We were quite distraught. But Morgan and I wanted to at least do something to spite all the Prom goers. So the next idea that came to mind was a German movie that might be showing at Downton West. Why not? A German film is still quite a different experience for me. So I switched the Willie Nelson with some Mendleson and headed down there. But at 8:15, all the movies had just started 20minutes ago and wouldn't be ready for another round for at least an hour or two. (Meanwhile, some kid I recognize vaguely from school (Joey, I think) asked us to make a wish on his stuffed, talking animal. I wished to be struck down, right then and there, by lightning. Didn't happen). So we were at impasse. Our efforts fruitless, we parted ways, our once well planned night and efforts all in vain.
Thus, the following poem on disappointment. I'm used to it by now, after it's slowly worn away my self-esteem and confidence to a canyon of immense proportions. But when it brings other hopeful people down with it, me feeling responsible since it was my idea, that's when it gets me even lower. If I had done something else, gone some where, seen some thing, done some stuff it might not have been so bad. But the chain of disappointment continues. I'm not one for conversation or sociality. I can't think of any thing to do or place to go. Other than home. I'd even invite other people here. But for what? It's a small, cramped, filthly place. I don't mind it all that much, but I'd hate to subject others to it. And even then, there's nothing to do.
So I write. And chat to Sara, who is also alone tonight. The first an escape and method of venting, the latter one more place to lament the need for escaping and yet another place to vent. The world is not a bad place. There's so many things to do, so many places to go, so many people to do them with. When others make mistakes, I'm generally quite forgiving. Yet I'm devoid of ideas. A blank. A failure. Joy of joys. Ironically, Prom would have made all this worse. It's a place with people and things to do. And yet, it answers nothing. All that's left is a constant yearning for something not known and not attainable. Only angst.
Hopefully you all had a good time at Prom. I may disagree with it, but obviously my alternatives aren't obtaining the desired end product, happiness. If you can eek some joy and fulfillment from it, who am I to judge? I suppose I'll go and escape into sleep now. Until next time...
Disappointments
A castle sat upon a hill, a fortress once great and strong.
It ruled over a mighty kingdom that once had known no wrong.
But time passed by and with each sigh another stone was dust.
Nothing could save what Despair did crave as true love turned into lust.
With each new defeat, they would repeat that “next time” they would win;
But after each failed try, they could only cry and fail to win again.
The deluge of tears over the years had worn the great walls down.
And from each drip spirits did dip and slowly all did drown.
Not one great blow from some mighty foe had brought down the castle grand;
Just hit by hit and bit by bit marched the armies made of sand.
The King had tried while his nation died to solve its’ atrophic descent,
But with each new plan he grew more wan; came no answers Heaven sent.
He could only mourn what the Gods did scorn and slowly lose grasp on Hope,
For his kingdom was done, despair had won, no more could the King cope.
“My people dear, I sadly fear our kingdom is no more.
Lament its’ end, every good friend, our defeat I do deplore.
But I am old, my future cold, so tis not for me I weep.
It is for you, you wretched few, for the promises I could not keep.
It is not right to have to fight each day of misery.
There should be joy for each girl and boy, but despair is all I see.
I have failed you again, my enduring sin, more times than I can count.
And now all that remains are sorrows and pains that I no more can mount.”
And with this last cry the King did die and his people let out a wail.
At least he had led, this King now dead, though he could only fail.
“What could have been done,” wondered each one, “to have changed our fate?
Some mistake made, prayers not prayed, a solution not too late?”
But each person knew, and now did rue, that Hope was the one to blame.
They’d believed every lie and could now only sigh at how they’d lost this game.
Each bet they’d cast had been too fast, but they could not stop to change.
And now the goal that the Truth stole was far beyond their range.
The sun rose again in this glum land and the people hoped once more,
But they could not see it for the bomb that grated their very core.
It ruled over a mighty kingdom that once had known no wrong.
But time passed by and with each sigh another stone was dust.
Nothing could save what Despair did crave as true love turned into lust.
With each new defeat, they would repeat that “next time” they would win;
But after each failed try, they could only cry and fail to win again.
The deluge of tears over the years had worn the great walls down.
And from each drip spirits did dip and slowly all did drown.
Not one great blow from some mighty foe had brought down the castle grand;
Just hit by hit and bit by bit marched the armies made of sand.
The King had tried while his nation died to solve its’ atrophic descent,
But with each new plan he grew more wan; came no answers Heaven sent.
He could only mourn what the Gods did scorn and slowly lose grasp on Hope,
For his kingdom was done, despair had won, no more could the King cope.
“My people dear, I sadly fear our kingdom is no more.
Lament its’ end, every good friend, our defeat I do deplore.
But I am old, my future cold, so tis not for me I weep.
It is for you, you wretched few, for the promises I could not keep.
It is not right to have to fight each day of misery.
There should be joy for each girl and boy, but despair is all I see.
I have failed you again, my enduring sin, more times than I can count.
And now all that remains are sorrows and pains that I no more can mount.”
And with this last cry the King did die and his people let out a wail.
At least he had led, this King now dead, though he could only fail.
“What could have been done,” wondered each one, “to have changed our fate?
Some mistake made, prayers not prayed, a solution not too late?”
But each person knew, and now did rue, that Hope was the one to blame.
They’d believed every lie and could now only sigh at how they’d lost this game.
Each bet they’d cast had been too fast, but they could not stop to change.
And now the goal that the Truth stole was far beyond their range.
The sun rose again in this glum land and the people hoped once more,
But they could not see it for the bomb that grated their very core.
Monday, April 12
To Lab or Not to Lab...
Once again I'm confronted with a momental decision. Dare I start my homework early and finish it ahead of schedule? Dare I study for my massive AP tests that loom behind the not-so-distant horizon, just waiting to drown me in self-hate and despair? Dare I disturb the universe? Well, knowing 1/3 isn't bad... I know! I'll write another silly poem instead! I can stop anytime I want to! Really, I can! I..uh..will...um... stop when I'm 18. Really! I mean it!
The Race
I jog upon the tracks so long, watching the runners speed.
I don’t recall why I began, I don’t know where they lead.
I see the muddy footprints of rain and sweat and tears,
And know that I am just one man among a thousand years.
I just keep running, up the hill, and then I stub my toe,
But when I think about it, it’s much, much worse I know.
I’ve now broken my ankle, no, wait, now it’s my knee,
And ,the more I think about it, the broken thing is me!
The runners go on without a glance, and I envy every one!
Their speed, their brains, and their advantage in this race we’ve run.
I try to see the finish, an infinity ahead,
But there’s no way I’ll reach it, I’ll just mope here instead.
I don’t need to win this race, I don’t even need to try
Because it’s obvious that if I do, I’ll keep running til I die.
I’ll lament right here and nurse my wounds, I’ll make them bleed still more;
It can’t be worse than running, for running I deplore.
But I see a pretty flower and on it’s written “Now”,
And I stand up and walk again, it not longer matters how.
I enjoy the stroll, it’s nice out here, the air, the birds, the sea,
The only way it could improve is if someone ran with me.
I don’t recall why I began, I don’t know where they lead.
I see the muddy footprints of rain and sweat and tears,
And know that I am just one man among a thousand years.
I just keep running, up the hill, and then I stub my toe,
But when I think about it, it’s much, much worse I know.
I’ve now broken my ankle, no, wait, now it’s my knee,
And ,the more I think about it, the broken thing is me!
The runners go on without a glance, and I envy every one!
Their speed, their brains, and their advantage in this race we’ve run.
I try to see the finish, an infinity ahead,
But there’s no way I’ll reach it, I’ll just mope here instead.
I don’t need to win this race, I don’t even need to try
Because it’s obvious that if I do, I’ll keep running til I die.
I’ll lament right here and nurse my wounds, I’ll make them bleed still more;
It can’t be worse than running, for running I deplore.
But I see a pretty flower and on it’s written “Now”,
And I stand up and walk again, it not longer matters how.
I enjoy the stroll, it’s nice out here, the air, the birds, the sea,
The only way it could improve is if someone ran with me.
Sunday, April 11
It.
I. Discovery
When I was young I sallied forth into the Great Unknown.
I looked for wonders, truths, and thoughts that I had not been shown.
I came upon a pyramid, a tomb of some great king,
And then I thought I’d venture in, just to see the thing.
I wandered down the flights of stairs, deep and deeper still
I would not turn back despite the risk, and I kept on until
I found a crypt encased in stone, and I could not stop my mind
Thus I moved the heavy slab and within It I did find.
As my terror rose and rose, I glanced above my head.
There I saw a warning, and this is what I read:
“A fool, a Fool, that’s who you are, to open this tomb and come this far
You can’t go back, the seal’s not whole, It shall latch on, invade your soul
You can’t escape, you cannot flee, It’s a part of you for eternity
Now thou art Doomed to live no more, for It’s got you to your very core.”
I realized my error, but not in time.
I’d gone too far and done the crime.
I did not shout, I did not wail.
I did not cry, I only fail.
I turned and ran, but It was too fast.
It haunted my future, It cursed my past.
And for all my years It came with me
For It was my eternity.
II. Pursual
Where could she be? She’s always late.
She should be here! Perhaps It’s Fate?
Oh here she comes! Oh, now she’s here.
I’d wished for more! No more, I fear.
I can’t have more! That can not exist.
Why should I try? I shan’t persist.
And then It struck, and I was hit, I’d forgotten all I’d learned,
And how I screamed, within my mind, and how my heart was burned!
I should not have stopped! I should not have quit! But the damage had been done.
And thus It hit me, once again, and again I began to run.
It followed me still, as I ran, I could not escape Its' wretched plan.
Thus I jumped into the Sea, hoping that Death could protect me.
But It was there in that kingdom deep, my soul It sought so It could reap
And though I swam and fought and tried, even still It never died.
On and on It came until, I realized why It haunted still.
III. Defeat
The tired old man rocked his rocking chair, as he always did.
The child walked up and asked the man, for the boy was just a kid,
“Oh wise old man, what have you seen, in this great world of ours?
Have you touched the sun, rode comets far, and lived among the stars?”
But the old man merely nodded, to this child so young,
And in his tender, tormented voice a dirge is what he sung:
Oh dear child, my lovely boy, how naïve you are.
You just can’t see the terror of that oh so distant star.
You have not see the Sun up close and been blinded by Its' light.
You haven’t tried to fight the sky and been beaten every night.
You’ve got what all these people seek, you just don’t know It’s true.
But you’ll lose the gift, as do we all; that day you’ll often rue.
You wish advice? I have a bit, though It’s difficult to hear
It’s just a temporary patch on a black hole, I fear.
Escape, sweet child, escape escape, escape into your world.
Not mine, not hers, not Its’, but yours, that’s where your joy is curled.
Escape somehow, beautiful child, escape into the sea.
Escape escape escape escape, but don’t stay here with me.
I’m old and tired, cemented here, I can run no more.
It’s coming for me, and now, at last, I can finally lose this war.
I must remain to accept the truth, no matter what the pain,
But there’s still a chance for you, dear boy, so escape from the sane!
Escape into joy, Escape to the sky,
Escape into others, Escape til you die.
Escape forever and a day, escape until the Angels say
That you’ve escaped your life away and no more must you escape, I pray.
Escape to Heaven, Hope, and Lies and laugh until this old man dies.
Escape from all the ‘who’s’ and ‘why’s” escape from all our anguished cries.
‘Escape’ my last advice to you, escape from It, and from me too…
I want It, I need It, I must have It forever.
I shun It, I forsake It, I think I’m oh so clever.
I lament It, I mourn It, yet It cuts me through and through.
Where is It, Why is It, What is It to you?
When I was young I sallied forth into the Great Unknown.
I looked for wonders, truths, and thoughts that I had not been shown.
I came upon a pyramid, a tomb of some great king,
And then I thought I’d venture in, just to see the thing.
I wandered down the flights of stairs, deep and deeper still
I would not turn back despite the risk, and I kept on until
I found a crypt encased in stone, and I could not stop my mind
Thus I moved the heavy slab and within It I did find.
As my terror rose and rose, I glanced above my head.
There I saw a warning, and this is what I read:
“A fool, a Fool, that’s who you are, to open this tomb and come this far
You can’t go back, the seal’s not whole, It shall latch on, invade your soul
You can’t escape, you cannot flee, It’s a part of you for eternity
Now thou art Doomed to live no more, for It’s got you to your very core.”
I realized my error, but not in time.
I’d gone too far and done the crime.
I did not shout, I did not wail.
I did not cry, I only fail.
I turned and ran, but It was too fast.
It haunted my future, It cursed my past.
And for all my years It came with me
For It was my eternity.
II. Pursual
Where could she be? She’s always late.
She should be here! Perhaps It’s Fate?
Oh here she comes! Oh, now she’s here.
I’d wished for more! No more, I fear.
I can’t have more! That can not exist.
Why should I try? I shan’t persist.
And then It struck, and I was hit, I’d forgotten all I’d learned,
And how I screamed, within my mind, and how my heart was burned!
I should not have stopped! I should not have quit! But the damage had been done.
And thus It hit me, once again, and again I began to run.
It followed me still, as I ran, I could not escape Its' wretched plan.
Thus I jumped into the Sea, hoping that Death could protect me.
But It was there in that kingdom deep, my soul It sought so It could reap
And though I swam and fought and tried, even still It never died.
On and on It came until, I realized why It haunted still.
III. Defeat
The tired old man rocked his rocking chair, as he always did.
The child walked up and asked the man, for the boy was just a kid,
“Oh wise old man, what have you seen, in this great world of ours?
Have you touched the sun, rode comets far, and lived among the stars?”
But the old man merely nodded, to this child so young,
And in his tender, tormented voice a dirge is what he sung:
Oh dear child, my lovely boy, how naïve you are.
You just can’t see the terror of that oh so distant star.
You have not see the Sun up close and been blinded by Its' light.
You haven’t tried to fight the sky and been beaten every night.
You’ve got what all these people seek, you just don’t know It’s true.
But you’ll lose the gift, as do we all; that day you’ll often rue.
You wish advice? I have a bit, though It’s difficult to hear
It’s just a temporary patch on a black hole, I fear.
Escape, sweet child, escape escape, escape into your world.
Not mine, not hers, not Its’, but yours, that’s where your joy is curled.
Escape somehow, beautiful child, escape into the sea.
Escape escape escape escape, but don’t stay here with me.
I’m old and tired, cemented here, I can run no more.
It’s coming for me, and now, at last, I can finally lose this war.
I must remain to accept the truth, no matter what the pain,
But there’s still a chance for you, dear boy, so escape from the sane!
Escape into joy, Escape to the sky,
Escape into others, Escape til you die.
Escape forever and a day, escape until the Angels say
That you’ve escaped your life away and no more must you escape, I pray.
Escape to Heaven, Hope, and Lies and laugh until this old man dies.
Escape from all the ‘who’s’ and ‘why’s” escape from all our anguished cries.
‘Escape’ my last advice to you, escape from It, and from me too…
I want It, I need It, I must have It forever.
I shun It, I forsake It, I think I’m oh so clever.
I lament It, I mourn It, yet It cuts me through and through.
Where is It, Why is It, What is It to you?
Saturday, April 10
Public Library #1
So today I got the bright idea that I needed to head to the main, downtown public library. Various reasons were factors in this decision. One, the library will be closed tomorrow as it is Easter. Two, I finished off my father's stack of CDs (most of which were entirely too funkadelic, boring, or downright icky to tolerate; though I found Roy, so it worked out) and also my Ralph Vaughn Williams/other classical music from my last trip and needed to replenish my supply. Thus I saddled up my Golden Chariot (who still needs a good, permanent name by the way) and rushed Downtown.
The Lawson McGhee Library towered over the tiny city of Knoxville like a forbidding tower of knowledge guarded by hobos and no-account librarians who are too lazy to get real jobs. I had one main goal, the fabled "Flower Duet" by Stravinsky. I had heard it existed within the hallowed grounds of the forsaken instituion, but my sources weren't the most reliable. To avoid notice by the sentries, I parked my chariot in a nearby native complex, the likes of which were found throughout the city. It was said that my abode was protected, and that I could rest there for free, as long as I supplied proof of my entry into the "Temble McGhee."
Thus I sallied forth into the dark chambers of the complex. The glaring eyes of the librarians at the front desk made me stop and pause for a few moments. I briefly considered turning tail and fleeing, but I had a goal. Plus I needed my parking validated. So I asked these surly characters where to return the books on tape and cds I had from my past ventures into the Temple. Their cool gazes seared through my soul and sought to expose me for the trespasser I was. But one turned her head and shrieked, "IT'S UPSTAIRS! BEWARES, BEWARES, OF THE THINGS UPSTAIRS!" Needless to say, I hurriedly parted company with these excessively noisy individuals and climbed the arduous climb. The crumbling steps were one way, and at many I was sure I would be trampled by hurrying acolytes rushing down them to do their masters' bidding. But luck was on my side. I deposited.
The Lawson McGhee Library towered over the tiny city of Knoxville like a forbidding tower of knowledge guarded by hobos and no-account librarians who are too lazy to get real jobs. I had one main goal, the fabled "Flower Duet" by Stravinsky. I had heard it existed within the hallowed grounds of the forsaken instituion, but my sources weren't the most reliable. To avoid notice by the sentries, I parked my chariot in a nearby native complex, the likes of which were found throughout the city. It was said that my abode was protected, and that I could rest there for free, as long as I supplied proof of my entry into the "Temble McGhee."
Thus I sallied forth into the dark chambers of the complex. The glaring eyes of the librarians at the front desk made me stop and pause for a few moments. I briefly considered turning tail and fleeing, but I had a goal. Plus I needed my parking validated. So I asked these surly characters where to return the books on tape and cds I had from my past ventures into the Temple. Their cool gazes seared through my soul and sought to expose me for the trespasser I was. But one turned her head and shrieked, "IT'S UPSTAIRS! BEWARES, BEWARES, OF THE THINGS UPSTAIRS!" Needless to say, I hurriedly parted company with these excessively noisy individuals and climbed the arduous climb. The crumbling steps were one way, and at many I was sure I would be trampled by hurrying acolytes rushing down them to do their masters' bidding. But luck was on my side. I deposited.