Second grade was taught by Sister Antoninus, a terminally short, elderly lady whose appearance belied her true demeanor. She was a tremendously kind old soul and a wonderful teacher. I remember getting in trouble for making fun of a kid who'd brought in a go-bot, which was clearly inferior to the transformers. He squealed, the little bitch. Also got a kid to switch schools. He was my archenemy at the time; a bully of unparalleled redneck proportions. He lived in a log cabin, I mean, c'mon. (Actually I wouldn't mind living in one, it would be kinda neat.. but I still would prefer a castle with a moat.. a big moat... make that an island castle... anyway..). We were constantly getting into it at recess, and one day it escalated to the point where we were throwing rocks at one another. Little did he know my dad had been a sniper in the army. I tossed one his way and it hit him square in the eye. His parents transferred him a few weeks later, and that was that.
more to come today if i get unbusy.
20110506
20110506
Still looking for the good side
Search the mirror till it cracks
Eventually there's a turn around
Without turning around at all
Run into unbearable discomfort
An itch from the inside out
From a place just out of reach
Torn apart, raw and hungry
Luckily, there's a cheap fix
These symptoms are not unknown
Prescribed this drug called life
Have to stay on it for years
All I see round are these addicts
It's the interactions that get you
But I can't find a warning label
At least tell me if I'm allergic
Cause each awkward dose hurts
Or at least that's what I hear
Can't get the fucking bottle open
Search the mirror till it cracks
Eventually there's a turn around
Without turning around at all
Run into unbearable discomfort
An itch from the inside out
From a place just out of reach
Torn apart, raw and hungry
Luckily, there's a cheap fix
These symptoms are not unknown
Prescribed this drug called life
Have to stay on it for years
All I see round are these addicts
It's the interactions that get you
But I can't find a warning label
At least tell me if I'm allergic
Cause each awkward dose hurts
Or at least that's what I hear
Can't get the fucking bottle open
20110505
20110505
Funny how you get accustomed
People are far too habit forming
Most of the time it's a drag
Subtracting from your solitude
Pulling in different directions
Start again with the repetition
New friends from the neverafter
Choose to let them make choices
Each an expectant vocabulary
Use the mask they bought you
Free will cast aside carelessly
I'm sure it's for the best
It's like one morning you woke up
And the world revealed itself
Too bright for it's own good
Covered in the usual greens
But today it means a bit more
And perhaps a bit less.
People are far too habit forming
Most of the time it's a drag
Subtracting from your solitude
Pulling in different directions
Start again with the repetition
New friends from the neverafter
Choose to let them make choices
Each an expectant vocabulary
Use the mask they bought you
Free will cast aside carelessly
I'm sure it's for the best
It's like one morning you woke up
And the world revealed itself
Too bright for it's own good
Covered in the usual greens
But today it means a bit more
And perhaps a bit less.
20110504
20110504-3 bio
[5-6 years old - 1st grade]
I feel like I need to take notes on my notes.. random memories keep cropping up. Might as well get the unpleasantness out of the way. Shortly after my grandfather died in 1981, my grandmother sold their home in the city, and moved down with us. My parents built a small house directly behind theirs for her, which of course I affectionally called "grandma's house"... I have to consciously avoid calling it that even today. It was like a permanent vacation having her around; we'd play, she'd make milk toast, etc. That summer she would drive into the city to take me to swimming lessons at the YMCA. One day, she was going to see Lena Horne that night, and playing around in the back yard. I remember coming into the house and seeing her on the floor, half dressed, and thinking she was taking a nap. I still wasn't really familiar with the idea of death, certainly not regarding my grandmother. I went back out to play. Some time went by and I came back in and told my mom. My grandmother never woke up. The ambulance came and I remember them trying to save her, but it was too late. To this day, I blame myself for my grandmother's death. I should have gone to tell my mom something was amiss as soon as I saw her, but I didn't. It might have saved her life, it might not have. I'm crying even getting this down. It was a pivotal moment in my life. This is when the fear crept in, that would dominate my persona and strangle my attempts to reach out. I remember being told by someone that if you stood up straight during the full reading of the passion at mass, you could wish a soul to heaven. I did this in earnest for many years and put all my energy into it, trying to save my grandparents souls. It would take a few more years for the complete disillusionment to set in.
When it came time for first grade, my mom sent me to the same Catholic private school that my siblings attended. Mrs Reynolds was my teacher, and she was fair but strict. I was made fun of and belittled almost from the moment I stepped through the door. I was chubby at the time, my mom bought "husky" pants for me, and I was too smart for my own good. Rather than turn into a bully myself, I usually replied verbally, and it got my mouth washed out a few times. We still had sisters at the school, Dominicans, and they were definitely from the old school when it came to discipline. But I have to say, all in all, I loved them. Maybe that was because I towed the line and didn't get into too much trouble.
One day, after school, I remember walking across the parking lot to my dad's truck, getting in, and seeing a box in the floorboard. Inside was this tiny jet black furball staring at me. My older siblings had had two dogs, Babyface and Snoopy, who I remember vaguely, but this black lab was *my* dog. He was named Colonel Rebel, or Colonel for short, and he shadowed the rest of my childhood. At some point my dad rented a backhoe at made a pond on our property. I'm pretty confident most of my dad's home projects were done in order to make mowing the grass easier. If you look around my parents backyard you will notice almost everything is curved off, there are few if any corners on anything. Also everything inside the house is on wheels. Wow am I the worst storyteller on the planet or what. The point of that was that my dog absolutely loved the water, and would go happily swimming across for no reason and come back to shake water all over me. We actually had some chickens for awhile as well, and I remember picking up a box of chicks over at the co-op on old 78. I got to name them (after smurfs). Not really my best naming scheme decision ever: there were multiple smurfettes.
I remember once, I was having problems with a certain bully, and when my mom came to pick me up, my brother Vince happened to be in the car. He got out and asked me to point the bully out.. he proceeded to walk over there and scare the shit out of the kid. We have had issues relating over the years (I have trouble relating to just about anyone anyway, when you peel back the bullshit) but that incident sticks in my mind. Another memory from that year or very close. My sister had moved into an apartment with a boyfriend who, for lack of a better term, was a piece of shit. Well one day, word got out about something (I'm guessing he was hitting her) and me and my brothers went over there and straightened shit out. I am a total pacifist but my middle two brothers? Not so much. We got her moved out of that environment and things turned out for the best.
So I had been yammering on about getting a computer of my own for awhile, and my parents came through in a big way. I still remember oohing and aahing at Service Merchandise, which btw was the ultimate store for a kid on earth. For the uninitiated, you didn't actually pick up items off the shelves at Service Merchandise. You decided what you wanted, paid, and walked to the back. There, in the back of the store, was this reaaaally long conveyor belt, with a constant stream of boxes issuing forth from the warehouse at the back of the store. To a kid, this was pure unadulterated magic. I imagined an entire cadre of elves getting an order and whisking about to retrieve it. The item in question was the Commodore C=128, with a 1581 disk drive, a 1902 monitor, a 1671 (upgrade!) disk drive, and a thermal printer. I was set for life. Hell even the box was orgasmic, or whatever the age-appropriate term for orgasmic is. My oldest brother, 16 years older than me to be exact, was in college at the time, and his roommate was a huge nerd from the neighborhood, who went on to do computer work for the military. He had a massive collection of pirated Commodore games and utilities, as well as a thick stack of Commodore magazines, which he replenished periodically on his visits back home from campus. I taught myself BASIC and religiously copied the machine code from Commodore magazines like Compute!, Run, and Ahoy to make all sorts of interesting creations. Included with the C=128 was a precursor to DOS called CP/M, which I delved unknowingly into for hours on end. Even got to play around with one of the first GUIs, GEOS. It was fairly useless (hint: UIs still are!).
Also procured from Service Merchandise: the Odyssey/2, an old game system which was pretty entertaining. My friends down the street had their own systems, Johnny had a ColecoVision, and Chris had an Intellivision. Together we conquered many worlds and consumed many a snack. Sweet Tea with approximately a kiloton of sugar from Chris's mom, pepperoni and cheese plates from Johnny's mom, a former new yorker. Life was fairly good back then, I have to say.
I did well in school; I've always enjoyed the act of learning, but I sometimes need to be pushed to start. To be continued!
I feel like I need to take notes on my notes.. random memories keep cropping up. Might as well get the unpleasantness out of the way. Shortly after my grandfather died in 1981, my grandmother sold their home in the city, and moved down with us. My parents built a small house directly behind theirs for her, which of course I affectionally called "grandma's house"... I have to consciously avoid calling it that even today. It was like a permanent vacation having her around; we'd play, she'd make milk toast, etc. That summer she would drive into the city to take me to swimming lessons at the YMCA. One day, she was going to see Lena Horne that night, and playing around in the back yard. I remember coming into the house and seeing her on the floor, half dressed, and thinking she was taking a nap. I still wasn't really familiar with the idea of death, certainly not regarding my grandmother. I went back out to play. Some time went by and I came back in and told my mom. My grandmother never woke up. The ambulance came and I remember them trying to save her, but it was too late. To this day, I blame myself for my grandmother's death. I should have gone to tell my mom something was amiss as soon as I saw her, but I didn't. It might have saved her life, it might not have. I'm crying even getting this down. It was a pivotal moment in my life. This is when the fear crept in, that would dominate my persona and strangle my attempts to reach out. I remember being told by someone that if you stood up straight during the full reading of the passion at mass, you could wish a soul to heaven. I did this in earnest for many years and put all my energy into it, trying to save my grandparents souls. It would take a few more years for the complete disillusionment to set in.
When it came time for first grade, my mom sent me to the same Catholic private school that my siblings attended. Mrs Reynolds was my teacher, and she was fair but strict. I was made fun of and belittled almost from the moment I stepped through the door. I was chubby at the time, my mom bought "husky" pants for me, and I was too smart for my own good. Rather than turn into a bully myself, I usually replied verbally, and it got my mouth washed out a few times. We still had sisters at the school, Dominicans, and they were definitely from the old school when it came to discipline. But I have to say, all in all, I loved them. Maybe that was because I towed the line and didn't get into too much trouble.
One day, after school, I remember walking across the parking lot to my dad's truck, getting in, and seeing a box in the floorboard. Inside was this tiny jet black furball staring at me. My older siblings had had two dogs, Babyface and Snoopy, who I remember vaguely, but this black lab was *my* dog. He was named Colonel Rebel, or Colonel for short, and he shadowed the rest of my childhood. At some point my dad rented a backhoe at made a pond on our property. I'm pretty confident most of my dad's home projects were done in order to make mowing the grass easier. If you look around my parents backyard you will notice almost everything is curved off, there are few if any corners on anything. Also everything inside the house is on wheels. Wow am I the worst storyteller on the planet or what. The point of that was that my dog absolutely loved the water, and would go happily swimming across for no reason and come back to shake water all over me. We actually had some chickens for awhile as well, and I remember picking up a box of chicks over at the co-op on old 78. I got to name them (after smurfs). Not really my best naming scheme decision ever: there were multiple smurfettes.
I remember once, I was having problems with a certain bully, and when my mom came to pick me up, my brother Vince happened to be in the car. He got out and asked me to point the bully out.. he proceeded to walk over there and scare the shit out of the kid. We have had issues relating over the years (I have trouble relating to just about anyone anyway, when you peel back the bullshit) but that incident sticks in my mind. Another memory from that year or very close. My sister had moved into an apartment with a boyfriend who, for lack of a better term, was a piece of shit. Well one day, word got out about something (I'm guessing he was hitting her) and me and my brothers went over there and straightened shit out. I am a total pacifist but my middle two brothers? Not so much. We got her moved out of that environment and things turned out for the best.
So I had been yammering on about getting a computer of my own for awhile, and my parents came through in a big way. I still remember oohing and aahing at Service Merchandise, which btw was the ultimate store for a kid on earth. For the uninitiated, you didn't actually pick up items off the shelves at Service Merchandise. You decided what you wanted, paid, and walked to the back. There, in the back of the store, was this reaaaally long conveyor belt, with a constant stream of boxes issuing forth from the warehouse at the back of the store. To a kid, this was pure unadulterated magic. I imagined an entire cadre of elves getting an order and whisking about to retrieve it. The item in question was the Commodore C=128, with a 1581 disk drive, a 1902 monitor, a 1671 (upgrade!) disk drive, and a thermal printer. I was set for life. Hell even the box was orgasmic, or whatever the age-appropriate term for orgasmic is. My oldest brother, 16 years older than me to be exact, was in college at the time, and his roommate was a huge nerd from the neighborhood, who went on to do computer work for the military. He had a massive collection of pirated Commodore games and utilities, as well as a thick stack of Commodore magazines, which he replenished periodically on his visits back home from campus. I taught myself BASIC and religiously copied the machine code from Commodore magazines like Compute!, Run, and Ahoy to make all sorts of interesting creations. Included with the C=128 was a precursor to DOS called CP/M, which I delved unknowingly into for hours on end. Even got to play around with one of the first GUIs, GEOS. It was fairly useless (hint: UIs still are!).
Also procured from Service Merchandise: the Odyssey/2, an old game system which was pretty entertaining. My friends down the street had their own systems, Johnny had a ColecoVision, and Chris had an Intellivision. Together we conquered many worlds and consumed many a snack. Sweet Tea with approximately a kiloton of sugar from Chris's mom, pepperoni and cheese plates from Johnny's mom, a former new yorker. Life was fairly good back then, I have to say.
I did well in school; I've always enjoyed the act of learning, but I sometimes need to be pushed to start. To be continued!
20110504-2 bio
[4-5 years old]
Around the age of four, my mom had to go back to work, and so she enrolled me at LaPetite Academy for preschool, kicking and screaming. Of course, she cried her eyes out leaving me there each morning, but I ended up adjusting, as I apparently do with other challenges, eventually.
Plenty of vivid memories from daycare. First of all, I loved playing The Three Stooges (why yes, I was Curly in fact) and I hated naptime. I can still remember the blue cots. My spatial memory was already well developed: if you asked me to, I could draw you an exact blueprint of my daycare to scale even today. I can do that with most any place I've ever been; kinda helps in that I never get lost (barring distractions). Mrs McCann was my teacher and was an amazing lady, and Mrs Lydia made this fantastic broccoli casserole that I raved about so much my mom got the recipe from her. Unfortunately this love of food also I was already starting to get chubby even at this point. It's so funny who I remember and who I don't; there are a couple of teachers through the years whose names I'd have to struggle to remember, but not those two. Had my first kiss in Kindergarten. We were on a field trip in one of those stereotypical daycare buses and this girl and I were out of our seats by the big sliding door kissing and got in trouble. That would be my last kiss for around 20 years. I was actually reintroduced to her by my mom at high school; she was in the same regional honors band as me one year. After being introduced, we never spoke again. Also remember being on a different field trip and our driver saw some estranged ex while driving around in the middle of the city, Airways Blvd or close, and we pulled some crazy U-turn and followed them at high speed... fairly confident the person lost their job, but at the time it was exciting as hell, being in some sort of car chase. We went to McKellar Park in Whitehaven a lot; hiked and played around the lake on the trails.. they would just let us roam freely. Also I remember visiting the Chucalissa indian museum/burial mounds a lot, which usually involved the purchase of blowguns and tomahawks. Because of my age, I graduated from Kindergarten twice, so some of these memories may be from age five.
Anyway, I remember geeking out hardcore on the Tandy TRS-80s at daycare. I was amazed that this normal looking tape drive could be plugged into this tv-like device and produce some sort of game. Still remember looking at the manuals and wanting to deconstruct the thing. I am fairly certain I began whining about getting a computer of my own as soon as my fingers touched the keyboard, but it would be a year or so before it happened. My best friends in the neighborhood Brian & Keith (brothers who lived two houses down) and Adam (in a different part of the neighborhood) both had Tandy TI-99/4As, and I remember playing Parsec in Brian & Keith's room for what seemed like hours. I was totally smitten. They'd try to pull me out of there to play a game of Yahtzee (they were always playing Yahtzee there for some reason) but I wouldn't budge. Also remember playing on the slip n slide down their hill. Their dad got a new job elsewhere in the state and they moved, and it totally broke my heart.
Other random memories: my dad's 1972 orange chevrolet truck, which still has a place of honor at their home, even though it's beat to hell and doesn't run. Oddly enough I don't have a lot of sibling memories from this time; perhaps the gulf had already started to grow. I think my brother Vince, the next-youngest, had issues with me replacing him as the youngest. Issues as in he teased me constantly. He is eight years older than me, so it would be awhile before I could hold my own in one of these contests. I definitely remember choking for breath while being smothered by a blanket though.
Somewhere in there I'd lost my grandfather at age four, but I don't remember that one, as well as I remember my grandmother. Her I remember all too well. You may have noticed I only mention one set of grandparents. This is because I grew up with my mom's family being my family. My dad's family, outside of rare visits to his brother, did not exist. I do remember going to his mother's funeral, which was way later, but she had little to no part in my life. I still don't know all the details there really, other than my dad converted from Southern Baptist to Catholic to marry my mom, and his family didn't really support him. I know that he had to hitch rides to get to his baseball games and no one from his family ever even showed up to watch him play. He was a triple star athlete (football, basketball, and baseball) and could have played in the major leagues if he hadn't married my mom and joined the military. As I continue to wade through my adult life waist deep in selfish unhappy people, I realize the enormous sacrifices my parents made for each other and for myself, and I have a limitless amount of love for them. Except for the whole faith thing. But we'll get to that.
Around the age of four, my mom had to go back to work, and so she enrolled me at LaPetite Academy for preschool, kicking and screaming. Of course, she cried her eyes out leaving me there each morning, but I ended up adjusting, as I apparently do with other challenges, eventually.
Plenty of vivid memories from daycare. First of all, I loved playing The Three Stooges (why yes, I was Curly in fact) and I hated naptime. I can still remember the blue cots. My spatial memory was already well developed: if you asked me to, I could draw you an exact blueprint of my daycare to scale even today. I can do that with most any place I've ever been; kinda helps in that I never get lost (barring distractions). Mrs McCann was my teacher and was an amazing lady, and Mrs Lydia made this fantastic broccoli casserole that I raved about so much my mom got the recipe from her. Unfortunately this love of food also I was already starting to get chubby even at this point. It's so funny who I remember and who I don't; there are a couple of teachers through the years whose names I'd have to struggle to remember, but not those two. Had my first kiss in Kindergarten. We were on a field trip in one of those stereotypical daycare buses and this girl and I were out of our seats by the big sliding door kissing and got in trouble. That would be my last kiss for around 20 years. I was actually reintroduced to her by my mom at high school; she was in the same regional honors band as me one year. After being introduced, we never spoke again. Also remember being on a different field trip and our driver saw some estranged ex while driving around in the middle of the city, Airways Blvd or close, and we pulled some crazy U-turn and followed them at high speed... fairly confident the person lost their job, but at the time it was exciting as hell, being in some sort of car chase. We went to McKellar Park in Whitehaven a lot; hiked and played around the lake on the trails.. they would just let us roam freely. Also I remember visiting the Chucalissa indian museum/burial mounds a lot, which usually involved the purchase of blowguns and tomahawks. Because of my age, I graduated from Kindergarten twice, so some of these memories may be from age five.
Anyway, I remember geeking out hardcore on the Tandy TRS-80s at daycare. I was amazed that this normal looking tape drive could be plugged into this tv-like device and produce some sort of game. Still remember looking at the manuals and wanting to deconstruct the thing. I am fairly certain I began whining about getting a computer of my own as soon as my fingers touched the keyboard, but it would be a year or so before it happened. My best friends in the neighborhood Brian & Keith (brothers who lived two houses down) and Adam (in a different part of the neighborhood) both had Tandy TI-99/4As, and I remember playing Parsec in Brian & Keith's room for what seemed like hours. I was totally smitten. They'd try to pull me out of there to play a game of Yahtzee (they were always playing Yahtzee there for some reason) but I wouldn't budge. Also remember playing on the slip n slide down their hill. Their dad got a new job elsewhere in the state and they moved, and it totally broke my heart.
Other random memories: my dad's 1972 orange chevrolet truck, which still has a place of honor at their home, even though it's beat to hell and doesn't run. Oddly enough I don't have a lot of sibling memories from this time; perhaps the gulf had already started to grow. I think my brother Vince, the next-youngest, had issues with me replacing him as the youngest. Issues as in he teased me constantly. He is eight years older than me, so it would be awhile before I could hold my own in one of these contests. I definitely remember choking for breath while being smothered by a blanket though.
Somewhere in there I'd lost my grandfather at age four, but I don't remember that one, as well as I remember my grandmother. Her I remember all too well. You may have noticed I only mention one set of grandparents. This is because I grew up with my mom's family being my family. My dad's family, outside of rare visits to his brother, did not exist. I do remember going to his mother's funeral, which was way later, but she had little to no part in my life. I still don't know all the details there really, other than my dad converted from Southern Baptist to Catholic to marry my mom, and his family didn't really support him. I know that he had to hitch rides to get to his baseball games and no one from his family ever even showed up to watch him play. He was a triple star athlete (football, basketball, and baseball) and could have played in the major leagues if he hadn't married my mom and joined the military. As I continue to wade through my adult life waist deep in selfish unhappy people, I realize the enormous sacrifices my parents made for each other and for myself, and I have a limitless amount of love for them. Except for the whole faith thing. But we'll get to that.
20110504 bio
A friend did this on her blog and I thought it might help me therapize myself. So here goes:
[birth - 3 years old]
My earliest memory is of my mother: she'd taken us to Kroger's and the battery had died in the battleship of a station wagon she drove at the time. It's amusing now to imagine her tiny frame even attempting to command such a beast, but there we were, stranded at the grocery store, until a nice random gentleman (they still had those in the 70s) helped get us started. I was three years old.
I can remember my grandparents' house from this time vaguely; it was the only house around with a basement, and I can remember being scared to make my way down there, even though it was essentially a game room. I distinctly remember the pool table; never understood why my parents had left it when they'd sold the house, but it probably would have been a nightmare to move. I had only a short time with my grandfather, as lung cancer was starting to take a toll on him. He was the kindest soul I've ever known; I remember sitting on his lap a while he cried, saying he'd never get to see me grow up. I am the youngest of five (six actually, my mother's first child was born premature and died shortly after birth) and so I was "the caboose" as my dad put it. He was a lifelong railroad man, after all. Being the youngest in an older family comes with its own perks and drawbacks. Many of the faces of extended family I'd loved were from my grandparents generation, and as I grew I watched that huge, close knit extended family crumble and die off. The other vivid memory from this time was around Christmas. Mom had set up these elf figurines, about a foot tall or so, which plugged into the wall and would light up. I pulled one of the plugs halfway out and touched it, shocked the ever-loving shit out of myself. I can still recall the noise, like the humming you hear near power lines but a thousand times more pronounced and in my head. My mom lost it at the time, threw all the figurines away, before they could hurt her baby again.
I also remember sitting on the window sill in our kitchen and my ass went through the glass and broke it.
Some of my other memories from this time were from my aunt tina's house, where my cousin Neal and Katie and I would play incessantly while the adults did their thing in the den. I remember recording our antics on tape and i'd made them laugh by saying "crapola" into the mic. I can't recall if I got into trouble for that one but I distinctly remember it. I was probably about four.
[birth - 3 years old]
My earliest memory is of my mother: she'd taken us to Kroger's and the battery had died in the battleship of a station wagon she drove at the time. It's amusing now to imagine her tiny frame even attempting to command such a beast, but there we were, stranded at the grocery store, until a nice random gentleman (they still had those in the 70s) helped get us started. I was three years old.
I can remember my grandparents' house from this time vaguely; it was the only house around with a basement, and I can remember being scared to make my way down there, even though it was essentially a game room. I distinctly remember the pool table; never understood why my parents had left it when they'd sold the house, but it probably would have been a nightmare to move. I had only a short time with my grandfather, as lung cancer was starting to take a toll on him. He was the kindest soul I've ever known; I remember sitting on his lap a while he cried, saying he'd never get to see me grow up. I am the youngest of five (six actually, my mother's first child was born premature and died shortly after birth) and so I was "the caboose" as my dad put it. He was a lifelong railroad man, after all. Being the youngest in an older family comes with its own perks and drawbacks. Many of the faces of extended family I'd loved were from my grandparents generation, and as I grew I watched that huge, close knit extended family crumble and die off. The other vivid memory from this time was around Christmas. Mom had set up these elf figurines, about a foot tall or so, which plugged into the wall and would light up. I pulled one of the plugs halfway out and touched it, shocked the ever-loving shit out of myself. I can still recall the noise, like the humming you hear near power lines but a thousand times more pronounced and in my head. My mom lost it at the time, threw all the figurines away, before they could hurt her baby again.
I also remember sitting on the window sill in our kitchen and my ass went through the glass and broke it.
Some of my other memories from this time were from my aunt tina's house, where my cousin Neal and Katie and I would play incessantly while the adults did their thing in the den. I remember recording our antics on tape and i'd made them laugh by saying "crapola" into the mic. I can't recall if I got into trouble for that one but I distinctly remember it. I was probably about four.
20110503
20110503
Our ears never take pity on us
The skies echo our discontent
Cracked open and poured down
Pools of a new god's bloodletting
Record the rain, hear no trace
The only fingerprint left behind
Cleansed by the water
Our voice a thin and wispy cord
The songs echo our whispers
Unsuitable for baiting the hook
No exchanges or substitutions
Record the pain, a pitiful memoir
Unloading the latest garbage
Hidden in the air
Our body a besieged temple
Occupied by perpetual slumber
Hidden and so very grotesque
The wellwishers and naysayers
Record the mileage, pointless
Masterpiece reduced to sketch
Trapped in the earth
Our mind fragmented and broken
Impossible machine beyond repair
Too many threads to number
So numbness becomes the goal
No one can hurt us in our head
Baptized by the fire
Stop the recording
The skies echo our discontent
Cracked open and poured down
Pools of a new god's bloodletting
Record the rain, hear no trace
The only fingerprint left behind
Cleansed by the water
Our voice a thin and wispy cord
The songs echo our whispers
Unsuitable for baiting the hook
No exchanges or substitutions
Record the pain, a pitiful memoir
Unloading the latest garbage
Hidden in the air
Our body a besieged temple
Occupied by perpetual slumber
Hidden and so very grotesque
The wellwishers and naysayers
Record the mileage, pointless
Masterpiece reduced to sketch
Trapped in the earth
Our mind fragmented and broken
Impossible machine beyond repair
Too many threads to number
So numbness becomes the goal
No one can hurt us in our head
Baptized by the fire
Stop the recording
20110502
20110502
the weekend draws to a close
slogging through it to work
past the ginkgo trees i love
past the nameless faces i hate
it's rained for weeks straight
but there is a drought inside me
...
meditate on silence
paralyzed, stares into space
imitate the violence
a coma in search of a face
we are all doors to one another
but mine is best sealed shut
it's all a make believe game
and i'll never make the cut
days like these, i just want to be done.
slogging through it to work
past the ginkgo trees i love
past the nameless faces i hate
it's rained for weeks straight
but there is a drought inside me
...
meditate on silence
paralyzed, stares into space
imitate the violence
a coma in search of a face
we are all doors to one another
but mine is best sealed shut
it's all a make believe game
and i'll never make the cut
days like these, i just want to be done.
20110501
20110501
it's a new month. today, with virtually no warning, the ex stopped by, on her way to brunch, to see our daughter. i am still trying to figure out why exactly. i learned that she went fishing with her new boyfriend yesterday, and was disgusted to have to step foot in a walmart... in order to buy bait. she is also wearing a huge faux engagement ring for "pest control", as she put it.
i think she just wanted to be able to tell her grandmother at brunch that she'd seen her kid. she asked about the charity race i'd attended with her on friday morning, went to the bathroom, and left.. again.
who knows what it means. who cares.
i think she just wanted to be able to tell her grandmother at brunch that she'd seen her kid. she asked about the charity race i'd attended with her on friday morning, went to the bathroom, and left.. again.
who knows what it means. who cares.
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