Rich blues and pure whites smoothly slip past my eyes.
These eyes which are heavy and sleep laden seem like two metallic ball bearings pushing down into my skull, threatening the sponge soaked brain tissue within.
As I lay with my back against the deck of the boat waiting for the net to fill once more with fish. My eyes lazily track patterns the mast makes as it impotently throws wild punches at the sky.
Somewhere in the distance a glorious existence awaits, but for now white capped waves treat my inner ear to a symphony of soothing embryonic motion.
Rich blues and pure whites smoothly slip past my eyes and reflect the joy I feel towards the ocean.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Human Vs. Hunter
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rdUT0z_elWI
In this song that I've posted the link to above and in the video bar on the right side of the screen. Brandon Flowers of the Killers poses the question "Are we human? or are we dancer?" (intentionally using a grammatical error as a poetic tool, wherein you can find the meaning).
The question above, like most prose of song, can be interpreted many different ways depending on what "paradigmical glasses" are worn. However, as stated in a recent interview Brandon claims that his inspiration for this line derives from a Hunter S. Thompson quote where Hunter claimed that, "We are raising a generation of dancers".
Implying that we are raising a generation of self absorbed, Britney idolizing, night clubbing, socialite wannabees; instead of people who care about humanity and the purpose of their existence.
This choice of inspiration is both interesting to me as well as ironic. Interesting in the fact that the band, "The Killers", was formed in Las Vegas. Rather apropos don't you think considering that Hunter S. Thompson is most famous for his best selling novel "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas".
Was that intentional on Brandon's part I don't know. But what was intentional was to use Hunter S. Thompson's quote as inspiration. Here is where it becomes Ironic.
The question "are we human or are we dancer?" is beautiful. He states in his song that he is, "on his knees looking for the answer". Are we here for true learning, growth and the betterment of mankind? Or are we simply here to gain self absorbed, worldly, pleasure until our knees give out from following the rest of the puppet like dancers around us.
Great thought no doubt, but Hunter S. Thompson it turns out was a bit of a "Dancer" himself. His style of writing and journalism is known as Gonzo journalism, where the writer becomes so absorbed in what he is reporting, that he becomes a central figure in the story. A little self absorbed don't you think?
On top of this Hunter S. Thompson committed, in what is in my mind, the most self absorbed act anyone can commit. Suicide. It's not just that he committed suicide but he did it while he was on the phone with his wife, child, and grandchild. It is reported by his wife that they could clearly hear the cock of the gun and the ensuing fatal shot through his skull over the phone. Talk about leaving an inheritance of emotional baggage.
Choice of inspiration aside. I love this song and I love the question it is asking us to take. The fact of the matter is we are all self absorbed, and I am sure there were many tragic and difficult crosses that Hunter S. Thompson bore in his life leading up to his tragic mistake.
In closing I will leave you with the note Hunter S. Thompson left the world after his self imposed death. I find it both interesting and devastatingly shallow. His note was entitled, "Football Season is Over" (before you think that's deep, realize that he really did just like football. He was an avid sports gambler")
"No More Games. No More Bombs. No More Walking. No More Fun. No More Swimming. 67. That is 17 years past 50. 17 more than I needed or wanted. Boring. I am always bitchy. No Fun -- for anybody. 67. You are getting Greedy. Act your old age. Relax -- This won't hurt."
In this song that I've posted the link to above and in the video bar on the right side of the screen. Brandon Flowers of the Killers poses the question "Are we human? or are we dancer?" (intentionally using a grammatical error as a poetic tool, wherein you can find the meaning).
The question above, like most prose of song, can be interpreted many different ways depending on what "paradigmical glasses" are worn. However, as stated in a recent interview Brandon claims that his inspiration for this line derives from a Hunter S. Thompson quote where Hunter claimed that, "We are raising a generation of dancers".
Implying that we are raising a generation of self absorbed, Britney idolizing, night clubbing, socialite wannabees; instead of people who care about humanity and the purpose of their existence.
This choice of inspiration is both interesting to me as well as ironic. Interesting in the fact that the band, "The Killers", was formed in Las Vegas. Rather apropos don't you think considering that Hunter S. Thompson is most famous for his best selling novel "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas".
Was that intentional on Brandon's part I don't know. But what was intentional was to use Hunter S. Thompson's quote as inspiration. Here is where it becomes Ironic.
The question "are we human or are we dancer?" is beautiful. He states in his song that he is, "on his knees looking for the answer". Are we here for true learning, growth and the betterment of mankind? Or are we simply here to gain self absorbed, worldly, pleasure until our knees give out from following the rest of the puppet like dancers around us.
Great thought no doubt, but Hunter S. Thompson it turns out was a bit of a "Dancer" himself. His style of writing and journalism is known as Gonzo journalism, where the writer becomes so absorbed in what he is reporting, that he becomes a central figure in the story. A little self absorbed don't you think?
On top of this Hunter S. Thompson committed, in what is in my mind, the most self absorbed act anyone can commit. Suicide. It's not just that he committed suicide but he did it while he was on the phone with his wife, child, and grandchild. It is reported by his wife that they could clearly hear the cock of the gun and the ensuing fatal shot through his skull over the phone. Talk about leaving an inheritance of emotional baggage.
Choice of inspiration aside. I love this song and I love the question it is asking us to take. The fact of the matter is we are all self absorbed, and I am sure there were many tragic and difficult crosses that Hunter S. Thompson bore in his life leading up to his tragic mistake.
In closing I will leave you with the note Hunter S. Thompson left the world after his self imposed death. I find it both interesting and devastatingly shallow. His note was entitled, "Football Season is Over" (before you think that's deep, realize that he really did just like football. He was an avid sports gambler")
"No More Games. No More Bombs. No More Walking. No More Fun. No More Swimming. 67. That is 17 years past 50. 17 more than I needed or wanted. Boring. I am always bitchy. No Fun -- for anybody. 67. You are getting Greedy. Act your old age. Relax -- This won't hurt."
Saturday, November 29, 2008
I sit, surrounded now
Belly of a thougt
I sit in the Belly of a thought the smell is rancid and cool.
The Dark veil of sleep begins to envelope me.
The sound of water lapping up and down rocks me slowly to a state of completeness.
Absence of Light
I sit in the absence of light in a state between dreams and thoughts of a new day.
As the water warm and clean breaks off chunks of dirt and sleep;
a pool of anxieties form around me.
Carina
I sit across from earthy tones of a golden brown.
A spark of light breaks through the forest of silken strands of bark.
I stare into a thousand streams of possibilities.
It is dark outside but warm within.
Adam
I sit with a ball of happiness swimming in my lap.
The smell is sweet and new.
Ray's of light reflect off a pool of greens and shades of blue.
I am surrounded now.
I sit in the Belly of a thought the smell is rancid and cool.
The Dark veil of sleep begins to envelope me.
The sound of water lapping up and down rocks me slowly to a state of completeness.
Absence of Light
I sit in the absence of light in a state between dreams and thoughts of a new day.
As the water warm and clean breaks off chunks of dirt and sleep;
a pool of anxieties form around me.
Carina
I sit across from earthy tones of a golden brown.
A spark of light breaks through the forest of silken strands of bark.
I stare into a thousand streams of possibilities.
It is dark outside but warm within.
Adam
I sit with a ball of happiness swimming in my lap.
The smell is sweet and new.
Ray's of light reflect off a pool of greens and shades of blue.
I am surrounded now.
Drones
Low drones of machines keep my lonely brain at bay.
Lines created by the road give my eyes a sullen dream to follow and read.
The stale air inside my cabin disguise the passage of time and day.
As the sun slowly kisses the earth, gentle reminders of cities past help my lungs to breath.
Exhale now, good. Exhale the exhaust of salivating specters tracking my every mistake.
Maybe if I can go fast enough and far enough they just might leave.
Breath now they've fallen behind me now; or at least as far as I can see.
Maybe if I can go fast enough and far enough they might just leave.
Lines created by the road give my eyes a sullen dream to follow and read.
The stale air inside my cabin disguise the passage of time and day.
As the sun slowly kisses the earth, gentle reminders of cities past help my lungs to breath.
Exhale now, good. Exhale the exhaust of salivating specters tracking my every mistake.
Maybe if I can go fast enough and far enough they just might leave.
Breath now they've fallen behind me now; or at least as far as I can see.
Maybe if I can go fast enough and far enough they might just leave.
Friday, November 28, 2008
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Thoughts from A Sacred Grove
I locked my door one too many times and for a second the car horn broke the stained glass vision before me. 
I am now tranquilized by the quiet newness the rain creates.
I am now tranquilized by the quiet newness the rain creates.
The smell of fresh rain and cold bark seems to penetrate my mind and cleanse the assaulting memory of work the day before.
Somehow this grove is made that much more sacred by the lack of leaves not found on the trees this cold fall day.
Rain always reminds me of the atonement.
As I walk through these naked trees longing for spring, I feel at home. Sometimes it takes time to see time and right now I see time.
My imagination is carried away to thoughts larger than me. Could it have been there where he proved that the, "same yesterday today and forever" isn't just a clever sales gimmick?
As I watch each drop explode into a thousand questions of how, I am filled with a thousand tears of gratitude as to the reasons of why.
I am told it was like a wine press, I am told it was for us all; I was told a lot of things but as I sit on the rain soaked ground feeling is all I need to know.
Even those who don't believe still connect at moments with the King of the king-less and the Father of the lonely and oppressed.
He carried it well. I was there we all were, shouting and crying unabashedly as the painting of truth was found in the brush strokes of each foot as he climbed that hill.
For too long those acidic, electric sirens have torn down mansions built from the cardboard walls of insecurity and broken promises.
Oh to be like these trees strong and clean with the backbone of simplicity, a farm boy saw god.
A farm boy saw god here! I believe.
And I will continue to believe until the first tick of time has been found and the last tock of eternity has been counted.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Faces In the Ceiling
I just saw the ceiling move! That's impossible. I stare at the white, popcorn textured, ceiling in my bedroom that my parents gave my brother and I. I look towards Adam but he's gone for some reason that night.
More movement. It's a face and it's screaming at me. Although I can't hear anything. It looks like a face trying to push itself out of a barell full of black tar while gasping for air at the same time.
Scientist's say only believe what you see, and right now as a seven year old boy I am seeing many, angry, snarling tar faces screaming silently at me from a void unknown in my ceiling.
Cover up! hurry! shut your eyes tight. If you can't see them their anger won't be felt. After all they're silent.
But I can still feel them staring at me, laughing at me as they mouth silently a name I've never heard before but which seems eerily familiar.
O please make it stop... They are morphing now into one great face. Moving and pushing and clawing forward with the urgency of a drowning man swimming toward the surface of a frozen lake.
Now it's K-9 like mouth is opening up it's black tar teeth; I can feel the heat radiating from the evils hungry breath.
Just as a serpentine tongue makes it's way through the cover of darkness to the top of my blanket I hear a voice. "Aaron?"
The beast is startled now and it's darkness is being called back into the ceiling by whatever owner.
"It's Ami"; I think to myself. A wave of relief cools the pools of acid that were forming in my anxiety laden guts.
Just then my door opens and a river of righteous light fills the room melting the wax faces from my ceiling.
"Ami where were you?" I asked angrily. "Well when you fell asleep I went over to Jen's house for like five minutes to say hi".
I could've gone on with my being angry at her but it is never wise to feel contempt towards your only source of salvation. Only adults would do something stupid like that. But when your seven years old and afraid of the dark your grateful for the prayer that was answered by the light of a sisters voice.
I'm sorry I got scared Ami.
It's ok Aaron I still get a little scared when I am by myself.
Good night Ami, I love you.
Good night Aaron I love you too.
Ami could you leave the door open with the bathroom light on...
More movement. It's a face and it's screaming at me. Although I can't hear anything. It looks like a face trying to push itself out of a barell full of black tar while gasping for air at the same time.
Scientist's say only believe what you see, and right now as a seven year old boy I am seeing many, angry, snarling tar faces screaming silently at me from a void unknown in my ceiling.
Cover up! hurry! shut your eyes tight. If you can't see them their anger won't be felt. After all they're silent.
But I can still feel them staring at me, laughing at me as they mouth silently a name I've never heard before but which seems eerily familiar.
O please make it stop... They are morphing now into one great face. Moving and pushing and clawing forward with the urgency of a drowning man swimming toward the surface of a frozen lake.
Now it's K-9 like mouth is opening up it's black tar teeth; I can feel the heat radiating from the evils hungry breath.
Just as a serpentine tongue makes it's way through the cover of darkness to the top of my blanket I hear a voice. "Aaron?"
The beast is startled now and it's darkness is being called back into the ceiling by whatever owner.
"It's Ami"; I think to myself. A wave of relief cools the pools of acid that were forming in my anxiety laden guts.
Just then my door opens and a river of righteous light fills the room melting the wax faces from my ceiling.
"Ami where were you?" I asked angrily. "Well when you fell asleep I went over to Jen's house for like five minutes to say hi".
I could've gone on with my being angry at her but it is never wise to feel contempt towards your only source of salvation. Only adults would do something stupid like that. But when your seven years old and afraid of the dark your grateful for the prayer that was answered by the light of a sisters voice.
I'm sorry I got scared Ami.
It's ok Aaron I still get a little scared when I am by myself.
Good night Ami, I love you.
Good night Aaron I love you too.
Ami could you leave the door open with the bathroom light on...
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
An Awkward Light
An awkward light shown from the stair well above me.
It told me to sit still and believe what I am told.
But when you're in the cellar all you have is the people above you.
The school teacher professed that I was too bold.
The Drill Sergent said that I had to much dirt on my left shoe.
"I didn't know my enemy was so afraid of cleanliness", I stated.
A round peg in a square hole is more than just a metaphor for me.
It's a way of life.
Still though as I glide quietly across that sun soaked pond from my youth, my memory takes a breath.
I still run to keep myself in shape, but the dream of flying is dead.
Why was flight so appealing to me in the first place? Maybe to me, stillness equaled death.
I watched as my grandfather struggled to get out of the car. Death is the last great mystery he said.
Maybe like my fathers from Norway who came before me all I have to cling on to is that one next paddle.
One can always be reassured that the answer to the question; What's over that next horizon? lies in the shoes you wear on your feet.
Or the wind that is captured by your sails
Or the fuel that is in your jet.
Or the courage one takes in life's next step.
It told me to sit still and believe what I am told.
But when you're in the cellar all you have is the people above you.
The school teacher professed that I was too bold.
The Drill Sergent said that I had to much dirt on my left shoe.
"I didn't know my enemy was so afraid of cleanliness", I stated.
A round peg in a square hole is more than just a metaphor for me.
It's a way of life.
Still though as I glide quietly across that sun soaked pond from my youth, my memory takes a breath.
I still run to keep myself in shape, but the dream of flying is dead.
Why was flight so appealing to me in the first place? Maybe to me, stillness equaled death.
I watched as my grandfather struggled to get out of the car. Death is the last great mystery he said.
Maybe like my fathers from Norway who came before me all I have to cling on to is that one next paddle.
One can always be reassured that the answer to the question; What's over that next horizon? lies in the shoes you wear on your feet.
Or the wind that is captured by your sails
Or the fuel that is in your jet.
Or the courage one takes in life's next step.
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