Lunatic Fringe

Birthday over-indulgence

2013-08-05T16:12:00.002-04:00

Thanks all, for the kind wishes in support of another year's passing. I confess I find Facebook to be an insincere medium for conveying any sort of emotion, but alas, these are the times we live in, and the (digital) cards we are dealt. I've compiled a voluminous chronicle of my thoughts on the past year, but, in the spirit of gift-giving and good will, I shall spare you few intrepid souls who would dare read it the effort (that is for another day).

In summation, I had a perfectly pleasant and indulgent day, punctuated by close family and periods of equally intense sunshine and rain. And while I'm wholly uncertain, in regards to the existence of some panacea cum greater plan, in it's absence, I can accept the trappings of fidelity and sun showers as a nod and an allusion to something else, if nothing else.

And at the end of the day, as is my wont on birthdays, I allow for anxiety and misgiving to assume their places of distinction as chief occupiers of my thoughts. Only just suddenly do I realize that all of these sort of days have and should feel this way, as a harbinger of the tasks and follies of the great span of hours yet to come, and all other things yet to be done.

Perhaps that is wisdom, only another year will tell! Thanks again gang, and apologies to those who read this far looking for powerball numbers.

Thoughts on Bradley Manning

2013-07-31T17:47:00.000-04:00

Thinking a lot about Bradley Manning these past few days.

While this nation's government encourages, facilitates, and rewards people for "blowing the whistle" on corporations and their fellow citizens, when it comes to the illegalities, immoralities, and improprieties of our government institutions, doing the very same thing can cost you your life, or everything else, failing that.

War is hell, and national security is a dirty business, but to throw away humanity, morality, ethics, and human decency for the sake of obscure goals leaves us as a people resembling the very archetypes and monsters our enemies accused us of being in the first place.

One government's traitor is another man's hero, and while very often the reality of the situation is obfuscated by the rhetoric, morals, and laws on either side, it should be obvious to any decent person that we cannot let the canaries in the coal mines go unheard, else-wise it won't be much longer until we're all silenced along with them.

2013-04-30T01:00:00.003-04:00

There are times when I am alone in thought that it occurs to me- outside of memories- death is nearer and sooner realized than any return to the joys or things I used to be, and I despair.

But there is also a voice, not long after, and not unlike a heartbeat, which is insistent that, despite the loss of years, the opportunity to do and be exactly what I want is ever before me, and is only so far away as the next moment.

And in this fashion, with hope and curiosity, I am entreated to continue forward. And so I go, towards the greater balance of everything yet to be. So must we all.

Surreal

2013-03-14T15:16:00.000-04:00

Responding to Senator Gillibrand, RE CISPA

2013-02-27T17:37:00.000-05:00

Senator,

This is the same flawed thinking which allowed for the Patriot Act, with it's robust capabilities to infringe upon civil rights, and it's pittance of terror related convictions. The bald faced truth is that for the foreseeable future no state or government will every sufficiently be able to defend against cyber attacks of any degree of sophistication, as evidenced by the repeated and incessant attacks perpetuated by groups both private and state-sponsored, by us, against us, etc.

Citing danger as an excuse for infringing upon the rights and liberties of innocent and law-abiding citizens is never excusable, though it is done with an ever-increasing and frightening regularity. This is not as you say striking a balance, this is the eroding away via legislation of the basic rights of privacy otherwise afforded by the US Constitution.

With all due respect, until those elected in to power realize it is not theirs to wield, but rather to shepherd, on behalf of those who have granted it to them, these sort of problems will always persist.

- Dan Caiola

Senator Kirsten Gillibrand (Senator@Gillibrand.senate.gov )5:05 PM
To: -
February 27, 2013

Dear Friend,

Thank you for writing to me about the Cyber Intelligence Sharing and Protection Act (CISPA). I understand and share some of your concerns.

The Cyber Intelligence Sharing and Protection Act would allow information sharing between cyber security entities and the federal government to better protect our nation from a cyber-attack; however, there are concerns that CISPA would infringe on privacy protections for average citizens, and would allow private entities and the federal government to gain access to personal information. We need to balance protecting against an attack with preserving the civil liberties of all Americans.

All New Yorkers should be able to agree on the shared goals of protecting against a cyber-attack without any unintended consequences of infringing on civil liberties. I will continue to monitor the bill to ensure our national security needs are being met while not infringing on the rights of average Americans.

Thank you again for writing to express your concerns, and I hope that you keep in touch with my office regarding future legislation and concerns you may have. For more information on this and other important issues, please visit my website at http://gillibrand.senate.gov and sign up for my e-newsletter.

Sincerely,
Kirsten E. Gillibrand
United States Senator

30 Good Ones.

2012-08-04T07:17:00.001-04:00

Birthdays make me squeamish. Holidays do too. And for that matter so do closing cabinets, opening envelopes, the changing of the seasons, and the passing of most cyclical events. I’ve been struggling with this birthday lately, perhaps because it didn’t give me the sort of anxious feelings that were any different than the ones I’ve always felt this time of year. We as humans like round numbers, we attach value to them, laud them, commemorate them, and build our lives around them. I’ve always struggled with them, forcing me to count has always forced me to count the things I miss, my beloved grandmother, and the darling Cocker Spaniels I’ll never see again. These round numbers to me are quite heavy, but of course this is no one’s fault, just a matter of fact, much like mile markers along the road we are all traveling, they are no more or less special to me than they are for anyone else, they just are. But still these thoughts persist, and I think I think the best I can surmise about the peace I’ve made with life, for now, is that it’s not the fact that I’ve been alive for 30 years that’s special, but the fact that the camera’s been running- so to speak- for 30 years now, and all the things I’ve said, and felt, and pretended, and feared, and hoped, have shaped all the things I’ve seen, to get me here to this very point. And even walking home this morning it all looked different and new, I know there’s something to be said for that. If I’m being honest I still think I’m 17, I still think my friends are too, but I also know what Longfellow spoke of when he said the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts. I suspect this is the most candid I’ve ever been, I’m also certain this is the most selfish I’ve been as well. But there’s always something to be admired about candor, especially in the face of something as assured as the passage of time. So my wish, to commemorate the 30th consecutive year of recording, is for you to all bear with me, and to forgive the stubbornness, the stupid questions, and even more intolerable, the silence I like to subject you all to. I’m simply shaping my scenes, and am still but a novice, as far as these things go. I know I’m right where I’m supposed to be because the people and things I love are right in front of me, and the people and things I’ve loved are in the ground here, and that will always matter more than anything else. 30 years of lessons have affirmed that life’s conditions are immutable, and life’s joys are elusive, and fleeting. But they’re all still here, and they’re all still new, each time they appear. I want to thank everyone for bearing with me, and for being in the picture, I couldn’t imagine ever wanting to doing anything else, than having taken every single step that’s gotten me here. And as far as writing goes, editing also makes me squeamish, so I promise I’ll clean this all up, some day in the future!)

An open letter to Yankee fans (the dumb ones)

2011-09-22T11:01:00.001-04:00

Dear denizens of Yankee Universe (I hope I get the address right),

We, as Red Sox fans, recognize that the team is playing awful, horrible, putrid, baseball, and are in the midst of an epic collapse. And if the team fails to make the playoffs, it will be because of the loud sucking sound coming from Fenway park, not from the vacuum that is between your ears (you, the dumb Yankee fans). The goal of the regular season is to make the playoffs, and in fact, by winning the AL East, and taking the last three from Tampa, your beloved New York Yankees have done the Red Sox a huge favor, as we have actually increased our Wild Card lead, despite losing 3 of 4 to the vaunted Fighting Showalters. So to reiterate, we are quiet because our team sucks, not because we're dismayed about the Yankees being so friggin' awesome- we're actually ecstatic that they've won these last three. Thanks, morons, and congratulations on being literate. :)

Also, 'ecstatic' means you're feeling overwhelming happiness, and 'literate' means you must not be a true Yankee fan, as you know how to read.

Troubled Soul

2011-07-18T23:00:00.001-04:00

In times of doubt, my greatest ambitions are often my darkest enemies. My undoing predicated by the words of my choosing, my fate before me the very sword of my hand, offering me nothing more than a place to fall. It is an ugly thing to see a few moments into the future, the world is always burning before my eyes.
Those are the fires of passion, the very same which have always burned brightest within me – always first to fight, ever first to love, unreservedly first to tears. When governed cautiously they serve me well, give me warmth, they light up my nights, and in the night give daylight to my dreams. But where I am lost is where they become master, it is then that the fire burns too bright, it is then when all is consumed. Afterwards where once there were dreams, I am left with nothing but the embers of calamity.
Adversity will try us all, in it’s own time, and through it’s own paces. Some more than once, some more than others. Our greatest defenses against it are also our basest: effort, and perseverance. Fortunately, we are allowed this much in life - a choice - whether we are to be victims, or survivors.
I struggle to understand whether I am paying now for the sins of my past, or simply enduring the sort of things for which I will be rewarded in the future. Every choice weighs heavy, every decision begs the question, “at what cost?” But this is not something the living can answer, I, cannot answer. At least not until the book is closed, and then I will not speak.

Bob Dylan's 70th Birthday Dream

2011-05-24T15:42:00.003-04:00

Mitch is 30 today, Bob Dylan is 70. In light of that fact, I've compiled my definitive list of favorite Bob Dylan songs, strictly in alphabetical order, as there isn't enough in a lifetime to figure it out any other way. Enjoy.

1. 4th Time Around
2. Abandoned Love
3. Bob Dylan’s 115th Dream
4. Born in Time
5. Brownsville Girl
6. Buckets of Rain
7. Changing of the Guards
8. Chimes of Freedom
9. Don’t Think Twice, It’s All Right
10. Every Grain of Sand
11. Forever Young
12. Girl From the North Country
13. I Shall be Free
14. I Want You
15. If Not for You
16. If you see her, say hello
17. It takes a lot to laugh, it takes a train to cry
18. It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue
19. It’s Alright, Ma (I’m Only Bleeding)
20. Just Like A Woman
21. Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door
22. Lay, Lady, Lay
23. Like A Rolling Stone
24. Love Minus Zero/No Limit
25. Meet Me in the Morning
26. Mississippi
27. Most of the Time
28. Mr Tambourine Man
29. My Back Pages
30. One of Us Must Know (Sooner Or Later)
31. Outlaw Blues
32. Positively 4th Street
33. Queen Jane Approximately
34. Red River Shore
35. Series of Dreams
36. She Belongs to Me
37. Shelter from the Storm
38. Simple Twist of Fate
39. Stuck Inside of Mobile with the Memphis Blues Again
40. Subterranean Homesick Blues
41. Talkin’ WWIII Blues
42. Tangled up in Blue
43. The Man In Me
44. The Times They Are A-Changin’
45. Things Have Changed
46. Visions of Johanna
47. When I Paint My Masterpiece

The Horrific Dream of Eight-Eighteen

2010-08-25T12:49:00.002-04:00

The world lights up.

The monster’s machine apparitioned, materialized, and became very real just above the trees in the near-morning, nearby sky. The dog was gone now, and too soon was everything else going to be.

There was no panic, simply dread, a simple dread that would never be recorded, as there are no annals in oblivion.

And Melpomene is here, beautiful as ever. Years now since I’d seen her in the day time, her countenance equal parts diffident and indifferent. She names a place we can go, a one I’ve never heard of. It can’t be our secret, as I’ve never breathed it. I ponder getting there--contemplate what just may have been her revelation of an afterlife. Could it be a place she knows, a place she’s been? How could it be that she’s been there?

I abhor unanswered questions, how loathsome then, and unfitting an end, this is to be.

Struck to the quick by the sheer audacity of this moment to have chosen now to come into being, I double back for a second, last, long, look at Melpomene. But a moment it would’ve have taken amongst the wave of days before this one to have looked past that bodice to contemplate her mortality, more aptly the lack thereof now apparent. As I am, as I was, never once did I make it past the demand of conquest that commandeered my thoughts like electricity main-lining my brain each time she appeared, and like lightning, blew in my eyes.

Even then my conversion would’ve been nothing more than a death-bed hail mary. A quick tally is no revelation, but it would take no counting to recollect that I had spent my days championing the sweat of the deed almost as passionately as I had been assailing the false-fervor of the oath. Words so close to the margin are invariably rendered illegible in any case, whether they be smudged by the closing of the book, or disemboweled by the rending of the atmosphere.

In any event, to count myself amongst those on the ledger ticketed for salvation after spending the bulk of my days wagging-tongue deep in the muck that is the mire between folly and sin would be most unbecoming--even for an avowed hypocrite facing down his last spate of moments as a soluble being.

--

Melpomene digressed, the interlopers on the lawn just now were of no consequence, this being so simply because they were terrestrial. Of course this thought checked out only for as long as the second thought took to course the synapses to the lobe of reality where it screamed out new law – ‘all now is questioned as equally as it is forsaken.’

I’d question them here before me but I have no words, and as much as a dumb stare doesn't make much of a plaintiff’s rejoinder, I hold no aspirations for the office of procurator-at-large on the cusp of the end of the world. – And so, let it not be recorded, as nothing else will be, that there was in this world, quite literally at last, honor amongst thieves.

Front row tickets to the end of the world. What does it feel like, winning? Were there time enough afforded me to be smug, I’d let it stand as written that I went to my grave – unpoetically it is to be quite soon, at that – gloating over such an exclusive windfall. Instead I am hastily culling from my gray matter this final empty bit of binary cackling to be hefted out into the ether -- Be careful what you wish for when you say you want to win the lottery, there are all different sorts, namely one of a kind, and last one ever.

Run it down

2010-06-07T21:52:00.000-04:00

In hardship lies opportunity. Perhaps the purpose of the challenges we face in life is to see how far you can go before you break. Once the dust has settled and you have risen, look around. You'll realize you've been blessed with experience, perspective, and over the course of the journey to where you are from where you once were, a lot more room to do all the things you wanted to do when you were timid.

KOL, SPAC 6-6

2010-06-07T14:27:00.004-04:00

Checked out KOL Sunday night with some good company. The weather threatened for most of the day, though in the end it was much to-do about nothing, as it turned out to be quite a nice night to be outdoors.

Caught a few songs from the opening act, The Whigs, a southern rock outfit from Athens, Georgia. I enjoyed their sound, but nothing jumped out at me to wow me.

The set change was quick and punctual, and then the Kings came out.

Lead singer Caleb Followill clearly did not appear to be entirely pleased with his vocals throughout the concert, and eventually said as much at a point or two throughout the set. I was impressed with the sound the guys put out, the rhythm section has a good rapport (surprise, surprise), and lead guitarist Matthew has some interesting takes on sonic production while playing, which I appreciated. I felt like there was decidedly an energy lacking, which was covered up (attempted) by the blinding light show they had going on behind them.

All in all, the Kings have a solid, enjoyable sound, though I feel they have a bit of maturing to do as a live act as far as working the crowd and "faking it 'til they make it" energy-wise. The major caveat here is the last two shows I've seen were great Pearl Jam sets, and that is more than a hard act to follow for most any band on the planet. Good show, sounded good, could've been a bit longer, I'd probably check them out again when they come around again.

The set list:

Crawl
Taper Jean Girl
My Party
Radioactive
Molly's Chambers
Fans
Milk
Closer
Mary
Wasted Time
Four Kicks
The Bucket
Sex on Fire
Notion
On Call
Southbound

Knocked Up
Use Somebody
Slow Night, So Long

Mascot Falls off Dugout at Triple-A Baseball Game

2010-04-28T21:57:00.000-04:00

Untowards forward

2010-02-11T14:30:00.001-05:00

Perhaps life is the dichotic exercise of actively seeking the points of being where the body breaks, but the spirit endures.

This must be undertaken vigorously, honestly, and never just once: for the only thing on this earth we are meant to do but once is to live.

Not Now

2010-02-02T00:10:00.001-05:00

I could stop right here, and remain broken. There’s a familiar feeling, this pain, just like so many broken times before.

But this is not the end, just as those other broken times were not the end.

To endure is an impish smile in the face of an indifferent maker.

Persevere now, let the barbs and arrows of an injurious world create a tapestry upon your back.

Laugh as the hooks sink deep, gloat as they tear your flesh, and as the blows subside, remain.

Deal in survival in the low places where all else peddle pain.

I will weep, and I will wail, and then I will howl, and then I will continue.

This is not what breaks me, this is simply sustenance.

From the pain I grow, from this moment on I now go.

(I haven't written in months, boy does it show)

Love is...

2009-11-28T22:05:00.001-05:00

All their lives dogs are digging holes, monuments to their vitality, visual reminders of where they’ve been.

And still it’s remarkable that we don’t truly see the greatest hole they’ve left us with until after they’ve gone - the one in our hearts.

What I someday might've said in the future

2009-11-18T01:31:00.004-05:00

"Gather sunshine,
and let the ills of the world spoil with the first frost of confusion,
this is the harvest of the wisdom of old age."

Increasingly in the day to day of things I find myself looking upon something that reminds me of a face, or a thing I find familiar from places I cannot go. My heart leaps, just as quickly my thoughts betray me like a soft whisper--

"Once upon a time."

And just like that it's once again at my fingers- if the past could be something tangible- and the embraces of those that once loved me envelop me in the indelible hold of something that once was.

I posit vehemently here that we are never really alone if we were ever truly loved.

And still these bursts - these disquieting storms of emotion, and creation - come to me. Like the steam hisses hot, the twitches remind me:

That I am alive, and not forever of this mortal coil.

Not a thing at all here is given--

And yet at the same time anything at all is possible.

Looking up at these celestial stones from my birth stars I wonder about all those people and worlds that have been and pondered and gone on before me.

Can you hear me?

Did you ask these same questions?

Did they assuage your doubt?

Were you not unlike me?

I wonder about who they loved, and what they believed of the infinite possibility of the reach of man. I hope they can hear me, I hope they still care to listen. I’ll be content with my own answers if none are forthcoming.

Still, who missed them? Who loved them? I hope they knew they were loved whenever something bad happened, I hope this gave them comfort when they came to understand they were no longer to be promised their tomorrows.

Was love in their eyes when they saw the void was to be theirs?

My heart leaps across whatever divide separates me from them-even if only in my festering mind- even as I can promise them nothing, for I am no god. But I wish to mix my grief with theirs, and be drawn up by the laughter I hope is plentiful there. They must know that I share their holy curiosity. I want to share with them anything and everything they feel they might have missed. And I want to swear that it’s just as beautiful as ever here, and they’re all missed.

I will lead them out some day, if I could.

I wonder about them as I wonder about me. What this all means--what am I missing here?
What about that girl across the crowds I wrote a million love poems about the instant I saw her? Will she know I would’ve loved her once I cross through the shade?

Will she find my words cast down once here?

Will she know they were left to her alone?

Is there a heaven for the years we never spent together? A wellspring of life for the love songs that went unsung? -- They do not need to be mine, I wish to share them with some intrepid young lad that could by chance stumble upon them where they then will lay, distant and hazy, and unused and forgotten, though redeemed finally in the moment of that chance moment of discovery when he is sore and lacking for a yarn to spin that instant he first sees her.

My gift to the world- if it could be so- a wink and a nod to the creator, as if to say:

"I had the best of intentions most always,
and a kind thought forever in my heart,
if not always a kind word on my tongue."

I’d be content to be remembered this way, and I am elated just now as a slippery silvery streak alights the sky, perhaps a knowing check next to something in that great big book I often ponder about recessed out there somewhere deep within the cosmos.

What about this place extracts so much out of us sometimes? Is it effort that is always most proportionate to the gain, or is it more so the risk? Perhaps these are questions best left to some young dreamer destined to come up after me. I shall leave them now for him.

"Good luck,
and yes we all loved,
and hated,
and lived,
just and nothing like you."

Walkin' Down

2009-11-06T18:26:00.001-05:00

I met an old friend the other day, asked me why I walked slower, explain about talking lower.

I opined about a heavy heart, the sort one would drag around, whispered it’s hard to speak up when everything's looking is down.

'Cept I can still fake it, and make it if I gotta. Said I just plain don’t wanna. There’s no room for lies in a room full of sad eyes.

See that’s all I see, and the same’s foryou, as you've been lookin’ at me.
--

But let me tell you, like I told her – Some sunny day it’ll all come back - a bolt from the blue - a cold shot up my back.

She inquired after the hows, and a date as to when it'll be? And I replied honest and slow, lord I don’t know. Just the same she'd be welcome to wait, along side me.
--
In the mean time I can still hop to music, and saunter on a sunny day -- it’s all just a matter of keepin’ the beat, and swingin’ away.

The Sail

2009-11-03T00:17:00.004-05:00

Nothing has less in common than all of the girls that have loved me,just like in the right frame of mind, all sunny days are the same.

The sensation of some girls is best described as a fog you have to walk out of. It’s a beguiling sort of demise. A perfumed haze, naked, and wicked, and as helpless as it is assured. Ephemeral in her wants, perpetual in her haunts.

It passes quickly, washes over you like a tidal wave, and just as violently, she retreats. Defenses are dares. Try to retreat and still you remain a sojourner, breathless like the night, words take form on her lips like clouds blocking out the midday sun, your world becomes as barren as the moon. And always that fog, she hems you in until even her weaknesses she can turn against you. The lighthouse in the storm becomes just another snare, and the wind and the water and the waves join in chorus against you. Her smile is the shore they long to break you upon.

It takes years, if you are so bold as to throw yourself to the tempest that is the sea, her tears at once drown you, and just as quickly they sting, injurious barbs of a sea scorned. And in the midst of the greatest waves a sudden calm, until you find yourself back where you began, marooned by her love, or shipwrecked as before.

As a stronger man you may have done everything you could to keep your eye on the horizon, the sun at your back, and your fretful thoughts far from mind—in this way the heart was most open to all the good things the world may show you. But such things are not always in love's best interest, at least not that first sort of love which draws tears, and harsh words, and the will to do the sort of things you recall to mind and wish you could recant some years from now.

No, real love leaves you dizzy, and spiteful, and euphoric, and desperate, and adrift in a fog. The best of them come out of it quickly, and wiser, and dream of the ocean only from the safe harbor of the shore. Some never return from that maiden voyage, none the wiser for the difference of course, lucky and damned alike somewhere in the briny deep that is the blissful sleep of submission.

And the rest are wanderers, I count myself accordingly with this lot. Praying most often for the very storm that mad Russian's Sail so ardently longed for. Knowing full well that nothing is so exhilarating as that first love, that first wave, that ruinous feeling that is conquest, that is spying the great depths of an ocean which is bound and determined to envelop you, and it will, until the only question which remains is; how many more times?

Positively, you.

2009-10-14T23:15:00.003-04:00

People will always disagree with you, don't let it break you.

People will incessantly doubt you, don't be one of them yourself.

Be always positive about who you are, and where you stand.

Be tirelessly for the things around you, and those who stand with you.

And when it comes time to be counted, endeavor always to be remembered as one who rallied friends and foes alike with the strength, and passion, of your conviction.

And may you forever be a beacon of positive light, a buoy against the storms of adversity.

For your passion carries infinitely more weight than the minor drag of those would rather drown you in a sea of differences than allow you to live happily on a different shore.

The cerebral pantheon, in a nutshell.

2009-09-15T21:43:00.001-04:00

The following, unlike most everything else you will ever be told, is completely true.

Really, if you sit and think about anything for long enough, expand on any one single concept, focus in on any given idea--you will eventually realize that whatever it is you had in mind is absolutely trivial, completely pointless, and horrifyingly absurd. Devoid of all meaning

Do not do this.

This is the opposite of living. This is inaction.

Life is in action.

Go now, you, the living.

Live.

You, and facebook you, suck.

2009-09-01T10:20:00.003-04:00

How Facebook Can Ruin Your Friendship

Via the Wall Street Journal

This article resonates along a nerve I've noticed struck in increasingly more and more people, one of those people most importantly, being me.

This brings us to our first dilemma: Amidst all this heightened chatter, we're not saying much that's interesting, folks. Rather, we're breaking a cardinal rule of companionship: Thou Shalt Not Bore Thy Friends.

"It's called narcissism," says Matt Brown, a 36-year-old business-development manager for a chain of hair salons and spas in Seattle. He's particularly annoyed by a friend who works at an auto dealership who tweets every time he sells a car, a married couple who bicker on Facebook's public walls and another couple so "mooshy-gooshy" they sit in the same room of their house posting love messages to each other for all to see. "Why is your life so frickin' important and entertaining that we need to know?" Mr. Brown says.

I hate having to filter through all of the stupid quizzes and other garbage people waste their time with online. If you have an interesting article/music/any other content which is thought provoking, by all means share it.

Nobody cares what you are eating, nobody cares how much you love your friends, nobody cares how many cups of coffee you need to drink to get your day started. If you're bored then you're boring, face it and do something interesting, and even then, please don't bother telling me about it.

I'm often struck dumb by the type of person who goes on vacation or out for some "wild night" and decides to chronicle it like they're Ansel Adams in Yosemite at daybreak.

It's become more important to create the impression that one is interesting and exciting and having fun than it is to lead an interesting and exciting life and actually be fun. This is the social media equivalent of "keeping up with the Joneses," and smacks of lameness.

Don't be that guy or girl with an insanely worthless number of kissy faced or peace sign pictures, rather, focus on having fun, and leading an interesting life. There will be plenty of people interested in taking your picture when you get to that point, let them take care of it.

Terminal Condition

2009-08-25T00:54:00.000-04:00

We discussed the idea of September for the first time today, right now it’s only August, the days of which are in the terminal stages of some sort of disease the doctors as yet don’t understand. I slept through today’s round of treatment, if you can call surrender that. I’ve been alive, truly, for ten years now, and I don’t mind making myself patently aware of that fact.

It’s funny how, for all it’s boldness, youth doesn’t fight back. In fact it’s quite an elusive fighter, having found itself in a war it never wanted to wage, and has no designs on winning. There are no fortresses of redoubt, no bastions of youth, simply a lifetime of fighting along diminished and increasingly timid frontlines, vast armies put asunder by the mechanized legions of time, pressed relentlessly onward by the hordes of death and non-existence.

I vowed to fight, ten years ago. An impassioned plea the first time I felt it necessary to comment on these dying days. My mind is still for it, even as the gray of battle closes around it. And perhaps my body as well, there are times yet when I feel still in my prime, despite all I’ve lost.

Ask me some years from now, in this same position any number of years up the road, “would I go back?” With certainty I would, to a point in time that’d never have me again. And everyone would still be sleeping, even as I returned to warn of a war that was waging all around us. Our houses are burning around us, our temples are being ruined from within, and still we do not fight, still we do not recognize that which is dying inside each and every one of us.

I suppose there will be time enough for mourning in September. August is dying, and today I slept.

Reading Thoreau

2009-08-20T00:28:00.002-04:00

If thou art a writer, write as if thy time were short, for it is indeed short at the longest. Improve each occasion when thy soul is reached. Drain the cup of inspiration to its last dregs.

-Henry David Thoreau

We should also strive to live life in this way.

Interestingly enough Hemingway's advice was to always leave a bit of inspiration in the well for the next day, so it may replenish of itself, he may have said that in A Moveable Feast, I should look into that.

81409313

2009-08-14T03:13:00.000-04:00

I come from a sleepy little town, full of small ideas and big frowns. I once was a good writer, on this place called earth. I’m just a tree falling in the forest now. I’m surrounded by new growth and illiterates.

I hope she carves me up good this time. I always wanted to be a guitar.