sephon

After many hours of focused endeavor I have managed to whittle my waiting stumble links to just shy of a hundred. Srsly.

molded, poured overflowing
crushed glass powder bones,
roped muscle, swollen fists
shaking, indignant at
mute, shadow draped gods
no puppet, no plaything this
no, terribly knowing
pains, perversion, peace
intermittent sleep hazy
white noise nights
surface, drift awake to
realization, pad foot creeping
idols and lovers and
us led astray

An apology: restrained when caring would cure; oblivious as opportunities to offend grow slick and fat, burst with orphaned words. A shout: warm and wet at the base of the skull, warning: stop being fine, stop getting by, matter, damn you. A sigh: resigned to contend as death settles in the bones and whispers friend. A silence: a godless believer, waiting for something unfathomable to worship, something ungraspable to hold close, something broken to love.

And lo, sephonicus did returneth to his homeland. Entering his abode, he spake. "Foul pants, your yoke shall be upon me no longer!" And thus did he proceed to droppeth trou. And there was much rejoicing.

Then, he did senseth a powerful hunger issuing forth from his stomach. Looking upon the recently purchasethed gummy bears, he saw that they were good, and did eateth them, yellow first but red he did save for last. For it amongst all the gummies did pleaseth him the greatest.

Something clicked and I'm driven again. Will conquer science; thinking grad school's in my future. Possibly the realization that I'm not meant to exist in the outside world drives this. Probably better that I watch from the windows.

Jack Johnson came up on random and was quickly deleted. How do people walk around with no souls?

Particularly excited this year of Halloween's approach, though unsure why. Tempted to go as a frat boy, or a marketing exec, or a politician. Mayhap I'll just strap a large mirror across my chest.

Yesterday me and the Brodieliphanie (Brent, Jodie, Eli, Stephanie) commemorated the 6-year anniversary of 9/11 by drinking twin beer towers at La Charreada.

We then celebrated the one-week anniversary of last partying with Jodie by having her attempt to get us to take shots of Jim Beam after we'd already had too much beer. I'm reminded of those images wherein the devil is proffering vices. Luckily I am not easily tempted these days.

Today I threw an Aerobie, which is one of those ring shaped frisbee devices, for the first time. They go way too far. Alongside that we had this giant hula-hoop-covered-in-spandex thing, about 3 feet in diameter. They go way too near. This discordant duo made finding the correct spacing interesting (and lots of running requisite).

My eyes burning and body aching tell me it's time for sleep, and I'm happy to oblige at this point. It's been an exhausting week.

After a long day at work, there's nothing quite like a brimming bowl of Cap'n Crunch with a gummy bear chaser. It is a soothing balm unto my soul. It is the sun upon my face for a thousand years.

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I've been filled with rage lately. I've also felt satisfied that I'm living my life well lately. I ponder why these two disparate items seem to feel the need to cohabit my skull.

Tired today, which made work less bearable; though I did get to work with radioactivity, which is one part frightening mixed with one part exhilirating. Working with dangerous shit makes me happy, yet I'm enough of a hypochondriac that I probably don't need anything to boost my thoughts of tumors. I want to take our Geiger counter down to Kirkwood and pass it over randoms on the sidewalk, or perhaps walk into the outdoor dining section at Kilroy's and start passing it over people's food. If only we had a haz-mat suit in the lab...

Played tank wars for the first time yesterday after Jodie picked up Wii Play or whatever that game bundle is. Fucking awesome (though the other games in the bundle were trash).

Bike rides home across town after midnight: also fucking awesome. Even in Bloomington everything's dead after midnight. I love riding at night, the world dark and neglected. It's like being the only one in the world, meandering through edifices of a forgotten civilization.

Maybe that's why I like post-apocalypse set books and movies.

Finished the Harry Potter books on Saturday. Despite half the people I know talking shit about the series and wrinkling their noses when they found out I was reading them, they turned out pretty good. The first and second were too kiddy, but only about 300 pages. The endings to all were good, but sometimes wading through the several-hundred page lead in got boring. This was especially the case with the fifth book, the longest of all at 800-some pages. The fourth, sixth, and seventh books were all good though, and the conclusion of the story was done well (if only the same could be said for the Dark Tower series). In the end, I wouldn't tell anyone to drop what they were reading and start immediately on the series, but its entertaining and has some definite high points. Now on to the Dune series...

All these stories of people living life to the fullest once faced with imminent death.

But shouldn't we live as we want regardless, not sacrificing wishes to doubt and apathy?

Shouldn't we shun the small deaths, the minutes and hours spent compelled by outdated instinct, winding down without even feeling it?

Shouldn't we quit thinking that we'll have another chance?

Shouldn't we stop being bored and start forgetting there's a tomorrow?

Life's so dreadfully long 'til it's over, and then we'd sell our souls for one more mundane minute.

And yet you can't feel inspired all the time.

You can't appreciate without absence.

You can't live without dying.

Life was good enough at the start of the week that I didn't feel compelled to write. Life's been bad enough toward the end of the week that I don't really feel like talking about it. I'm tired of myself, and therefore of what I say. Two weeks ago I thought it was good that I'd been posting so much, even if it's stupid, because whatever the quality, it's me. Now I feel like erasing it all wouldn't be a bad idea. Hopefully that will change. I guess I'm just tired of seeing the same patterns repeat over and over in my life; it makes it hard to be hopeful. I need to think that I can change. Yet... there are stretches of happiness in every cycle. And I might as well make the best of things; spiraling down isn't an option, so why bother flirting with descent? I'll just have to do the best I can with what I've got.

Another 14 hour day on Thursday/Friday, putting me in the lab 'til around 3 am. I contemplated going in at the usual time on Friday, but thought better of it. Fuck overworking myself... I showed up at around one in the afternoon, got things set up for next week and went back home. 3 hour workdays are much nicer. I discovered I can be lazy, but only after first overdoing it.

Friday I cleaned house and made some pad thai (for the record, I fucking love cilantro - I want to marry it and have like 10,000 of its babies). After that there was pool at The Cue and then tequila at The Vid, which was fucking awesome except that after many beers and several shots of Petron people might not be as cautious when jumping over fences as they should. So, Stephanie fell on her ass (but no harm done); sadly though, Brent wasn't so lucky. Just as I was thinking, "we should be careful with this", Brent swings over the fence and does a freefall onto the concrete with no shoes on. His ankle was not pleased. Drunken nightswimming was great though. I love the water, I love being out at night, so the two combined were glorious.

After swimming, nachos were enjoyed by all and Jodie kept feeding me beers 'til I finally passed out on the couch. Morning brought an early trip to Promptcare to get Mogis some crutches, followed by breakfast, followed by biking, followed by sitting in the park reading and napping, followed by frisbee, followed by coming back home to relax for the rest of the evening. Fucking sweetest. day. ever.

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On my bank statement, I noticed that Bucceto's Smiling Teeth gets truncated to Bucceto's Smiling Teet.

strive so hard I burn myself away every day pulled so many directions nothing's left down the middle clenched so tight nothing touches a straight face doesn't cry when desired but it's alright no end in sight a house crumbling while being built despite the will to find the place the face I dreamed before darkness closes me a never finished book looking up so's not to seem down as the answer arrives I continue to strive so hard I burn myself away

I put in about 14 hours at work yesterday/today (I was there 'til 2 am). Now I'm taking a mid-day break since the cultures I'm working on take 6 or 8 hours to grow up.

I tried to sleep but it didn't work; my mind keeps running. It seems like I'm coming up with a lot of insights, but sometimes I wonder what the point is. It takes so little to make me happy, yet what I want always seems so far away. Tired me = incredibly lonely me, apparently. I'm caught in a kind of spiral. I put forth enough effort to ward off descent, but not enough to really progress. I have some block to freedom, some splinter of nameless regret and unworth that lodged in my heart, long ago. I feel it would be so easy to realize my potential, if someone would just remove it; I've pulled for so long but it hasn't budged.

She doesn't walk in our world; the air around her belongs elsewhere. It envelopes her, lubricating her passage through the mundane. Her world is possessed of some untouchable mystery, removed from ours; her prison sanctuary. A world composed of subdued notes whose harmony elicits insight into the worlds quiet secrets; it is dark and beautiful. Touching her, its tendrils climb you, not hungrily, but with a sentient patience. Soon you can feel her world, cool on your skin. It plays on your tongue, rings in your ears. As you let go, it fades like the mist at dawn; not suddenly, but with an imperceptible slyness, so that in its absence you're left wondering if it was ever there at all.

There's a fine line...

It's good to be proud of who you are and what you believe in. Still, there's always the danger of doing so sans justification. Instead of rising up, there's a tendency to lower the bar in order to feel accomplished without having to strive.

If you're country, that's cool. Driving trucks can be fun, and I'm sure there are positive qualities to country music that I just haven't discovered yet. In any case: your lifestyle, your choice. If being proud to be a redneck means that you're proud of these things, then great. But if being proud to be a redneck means saying that being the asshole homophobic racist that you just might be is ok, then that's not so great. If taking an unfairly applied pejorative term and weakening it by applying it to yourself voluntarily diminishes its power, then great. But if people are calling you that because you really are a piece of shit, then maybe you shouldn't make yourself ok with what you are. Maybe you shouldn't be proud of it.

On a side note: Is there any reason to own anything with a rebel flag on it other than to let other racist assholes know that it's ok to say racist asshole comments around you? Or is there some legitimate reason that I'm not privy to?

Mo'nique from Charm School has a show now called F.A.T. Chance, where she invites overweight women to compete to walk the runways of Paris. If you're overweight because of some glandular problem, then I feel for you. And you should never let your physical appearance determine how you feel about yourself as a person. But being obese isn't good for you. Not getting excercise isn't good for you. It's ok to be ok with yourself, but using it as an excuse to be lazy and unhealthy is dumb.

Last but definitely not least, if nothing makes you prouder than to show off how much faith you have by ignoring facts or twisting meanings in order to make statements like "the world is 6000 years old" or "evolution is just a theory" with a straight face, then maybe faith isn't such a good thing. Having a spiritual life is ok, and there are a lot of good things that come out of religion (though whether it outweighs the bad I'm still not sure). But being proud about blindly following what just doesn't make sense...

On a side note: My parents went to the Creation Museum over the weekend.

I read the first Harry Potter book in its entirety yesterday. Spending so much time reading must have conditioned my thoughts, because I read many of my dreams as they occurred. I would be walking through a hallway, while a separate, detached part of me would sound out, "I wandered through a strange hallway toward a destination unknown". Having your experiences contemporaneously narrated is a little strange.

Though I still think a life soundtrack would be fucking sweet.

Once again a great weekend was had, and once again I remain exhausted from it.

I couldn't sleep Thursday night; I don't know why. It's the most infuriating variety of insomnia, knowing you're missing sleep for no clearly defined reason. Perhaps the obligatory life contemplation that occurs with each birthday played a part. I also knew I had a lot of work to do on Friday (it turned out to be an 11 hour day), though I wasn't particularly concerned. In any case, eventually I said 'fuck it', arose and showered, ate breakfast at the VD, and walked into the lab at 7:30 with burning eyes and aching body.

Work sucked.

Afterward, I lay in bed for about an hour until Eli got into town. Later at the Crazy Horse I felt tingly, off balance, close to passing out. Food and beer helped. Having more friends stop in, and many start calling, also helped.

This kicked off the weekend, and it turned out to be really good. I saw almost all of my friends (several I hadn't seen in months or even years), and much of my family. My mom cooked from 6:30 in the morning until 2:30 in the afternoon on Sunday; I'm still trying to finish the leftovers. I felt really close to everyone, which was nice, as for me this waxes and wanes. My esteem for friends and family never really fades, it's just that many times there's this distance between me and people as a whole.

As for my birthday, I know it's really just another day. But having one point during the year where you really contemplate what you've been up to in life, where you've come from, where you're going, is really useful. It's too easy to fall into routines. It's too easy to neglect the people you care about. It's nice to have a chance to realize you've had a lot of good times and survived a lot of bad. That you're not yet dirt in the ground, and that all of the beautiful times past might still find counterparts in future events.

Thought I'd say thanks to the B-town detachment of the Pistol City Massive (with special guest Shobiz). Helping people move their weighty belongings has never been such an enjoyable experience, and I also appreciate the excuse to drink for the second weekday in a row. I hope things go well in the new abode.