i'm done with this blog.
going to be starting a third blog, keep this one up.
revisedthinking.blogspot.com
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Day 75: It's Sleeping
i'll be writing new blogs starting on the 24th. and catching up on those 20 "lost days". as i think i said somewhere in this blog (around day 40 i believe) i'll be posting any missing blogs at the end of the year but they will go "where they belong", meaning they will be posted in order. there'll be a blog with links to all the missing blogs.
new job.
weird going ons and changes.
and megan is moving back down.
i am also pretty sure a couple friendships are dying.
both good and bad times.
new job.
weird going ons and changes.
and megan is moving back down.
i am also pretty sure a couple friendships are dying.
both good and bad times.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Day 63: Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came
I.
My first thought was, he lied in every word,
That hoary cripple, with malicious eye
Askance to watch the working of his lie
On mine, and mouth scarce able to afford
Suppression of the glee, that pursed and scored
Its edge, at one more victim gained thereby.
II.
What else should he be set for, with his staff?
What, save to waylay with his lies, ensnare
All travellers who might find him posted there,
And ask the road? I guessed what skull-like laugh
Would break, what crutch 'gin write my epitaph
For pastime in the dusty thoroughfare,
III.
If at his counsel I should turn aside
Into that ominous tract which, all agree,
Hides the Dark Tower. Yet acquiescingly
I did turn as he pointed: neither pride
Nor hope rekindling at the end descried,
So much as gladness that some end might be.
IV.
For, what with my whole world-wide wandering,
What with my search drawn out thro' years, my hope
Dwindled into a ghost not fit to cope
With that obstreperous joy success would bring,
I hardly tried now to rebuke the spring
My heart made, finding failure in its scope.
V.
As when a sick man very near to death
Seems dead indeed, and feels begin and end
The tears and takes the farewell of each friend,
And hears one bid the other go, draw breath
Freelier outside, (``since all is o'er,'' he saith,
``And the blow falIen no grieving can amend;'')
VI.
While some discuss if near the other graves
Be room enough for this, and when a day
Suits best for carrying the corpse away,
With care about the banners, scarves and staves:
And still the man hears all, and only craves
He may not shame such tender love and stay.
VII.
Thus, I had so long suffered in this quest,
Heard failure prophesied so oft, been writ
So many times among ``The Band''---to wit,
The knights who to the Dark Tower's search addressed
Their steps---that just to fail as they, seemed best,
And all the doubt was now---should I be fit?
VIII.
So, quiet as despair, I turned from him,
That hateful cripple, out of his highway
Into the path he pointed. All the day
Had been a dreary one at best, and dim
Was settling to its close, yet shot one grim
Red leer to see the plain catch its estray.
IX.
For mark! no sooner was I fairly found
Pledged to the plain, after a pace or two,
Than, pausing to throw backward a last view
O'er the safe road, 'twas gone; grey plain all round:
Nothing but plain to the horizon's bound.
I might go on; nought else remained to do.
X.
So, on I went. I think I never saw
Such starved ignoble nature; nothing throve:
For flowers---as well expect a cedar grove!
But cockle, spurge, according to their law
Might propagate their kind, with none to awe,
You'd think; a burr had been a treasure-trove.
XI.
No! penury, inertness and grimace,
In some strange sort, were the land's portion. ``See
``Or shut your eyes,'' said nature peevishly,
``It nothing skills: I cannot help my case:
``'Tis the Last judgment's fire must cure this place,
``Calcine its clods and set my prisoners free.''
XII.
If there pushed any ragged thistle-stalk
Above its mates, the head was chopped; the bents
Were jealous else. What made those holes and rents
In the dock's harsh swarth leaves, bruised as to baulk
All hope of greenness?'tis a brute must walk
Pashing their life out, with a brute's intents.
XIII.
As for the grass, it grew as scant as hair
In leprosy; thin dry blades pricked the mud
Which underneath looked kneaded up with blood.
One stiff blind horse, his every bone a-stare,
Stood stupefied, however he came there:
Thrust out past service from the devil's stud!
XIV.
Alive? he might be dead for aught I know,
With that red gaunt and colloped neck a-strain,
And shut eyes underneath the rusty mane;
Seldom went such grotesqueness with such woe;
I never saw a brute I hated so;
He must be wicked to deserve such pain.
XV.
I shut my eyes and turned them on my heart.
As a man calls for wine before he fights,
I asked one draught of earlier, happier sights,
Ere fitly I could hope to play my part.
Think first, fight afterwards---the soldier's art:
One taste of the old time sets all to rights.
XVI.
Not it! I fancied Cuthbert's reddening face
Beneath its garniture of curly gold,
Dear fellow, till I almost felt him fold
An arm in mine to fix me to the place,
That way he used. Alas, one night's disgrace!
Out went my heart's new fire and left it cold.
XVII.
Giles then, the soul of honour---there he stands
Frank as ten years ago when knighted first.
What honest man should dare (he said) he durst.
Good---but the scene shifts---faugh! what hangman hands
Pin to his breast a parchment? His own bands
Read it. Poor traitor, spit upon and curst!
XVIII.
Better this present than a past like that;
Back therefore to my darkening path again!
No sound, no sight as far as eye could strain.
Will the night send a howlet or a bat?
I asked: when something on the dismal flat
Came to arrest my thoughts and change their train.
XIX.
A sudden little river crossed my path
As unexpected as a serpent comes.
No sluggish tide congenial to the glooms;
This, as it frothed by, might have been a bath
For the fiend's glowing hoof---to see the wrath
Of its black eddy bespate with flakes and spumes.
XX.
So petty yet so spiteful! All along,
Low scrubby alders kneeled down over it;
Drenched willows flung them headlong in a fit
Of route despair, a suicidal throng:
The river which had done them all the wrong,
Whate'er that was, rolled by, deterred no whit.
XXI.
Which, while I forded,---good saints, how I feared
To set my foot upon a dead man's cheek,
Each step, or feel the spear I thrust to seek
For hollows, tangled in his hair or beard!
---It may have been a water-rat I speared,
But, ugh! it sounded like a baby's shriek.
XXII.
Glad was I when I reached the other bank.
Now for a better country. Vain presage!
Who were the strugglers, what war did they wage,
Whose savage trample thus could pad the dank
Soil to a plash? Toads in a poisoned tank,
Or wild cats in a red-hot iron cage---
XXIII.
The fight must so have seemed in that fell cirque.
What penned them there, with all the plain to choose?
No foot-print leading to that horrid mews,
None out of it. Mad brewage set to work
Their brains, no doubt, like galley-slaves the Turk
Pits for his pastime, Christians against Jews.
XXIV.
And more than that---a furlong on---why, there!
What bad use was that engine for, that wheel,
Or brake, not wheel---that harrow fit to reel
Men's bodies out like silk? with all the air
Of Tophet's tool, on earth left unaware,
Or brought to sharpen its rusty teeth of steel.
XXV.
Then came a bit of stubbed ground, once a wood,
Next a marsh, it would seem, and now mere earth
Desperate and done with; (so a fool finds mirth,
Makes a thing and then mars it, till his mood
Changes and off he goes!) within a rood---
Bog, clay and rubble, sand and stark black dearth.
XXVI.
Now blotches rankling, coloured gay and grim,
Now patches where some leanness of the soil's
Broke into moss or substances like boils;
Then came some palsied oak, a cleft in him
Like a distorted mouth that splits its rim
Gaping at death, and dies while it recoils.
XXVII.
And just as far as ever from the end!
Nought in the distance but the evening, nought
To point my footstep further! At the thought,
great black bird, Apollyon's bosom-friend,
Sailed past, nor beat his wide wing dragon-penned
That brushed my cap---perchance the guide I sought.
XXVIII.
For, looking up, aware I somehow grew,
'Spite of the dusk, the plain had given place
All round to mountains---with such name to grace
Mere ugly heights and heaps now stolen in view.
How thus they had surprised me,---solve it, you!
How to get from them was no clearer case.
XXIX.
Yet half I seemed to recognize some trick
Of mischief happened to me, God knows when---
In a bad dream perhaps. Here ended, then,
Progress this way. When, in the very nick
Of giving up, one time more, came a click
As when a trap shuts---you're inside the den!
XXX.
Burningly it came on me all at once,
This was the place! those two hills on the right,
Crouched like two bulls locked horn in horn in fight;
While to the left, a tall scalped mountain ... Dunce,
Dotard, a-dozing at the very nonce,
After a life spent training for the sight!
XXXI.
What in the midst lay but the Tower itself?
The round squat turret, blind as the fool's heart,
Built of brown stone, without a counter-part
In the whole world. The tempest's mocking elf
Points to the shipman thus the unseen shelf
He strikes on, only when the timbers start.
XXXII.
Not see? because of night perhaps?---why, day
Came back again for that! before it left,
The dying sunset kindled through a cleft:
The hills, like giants at a hunting, lay,
Chin upon hand, to see the game at bay,---
``Now stab and end the creature---to the heft!''
XXXIII.
Not hear? when noise was everywhere! it tolled
Increasing like a bell. Names in my ears
Of all the lost adventurers my peers,---
How such a one was strong, and such was bold,
And such was fortunate, yet, each of old
Lost, lost! one moment knelled the woe of years.
XXXIV.
There they stood, ranged along the hill-sides, met
To view the last of me, a living frame
For one more picture! in a sheet of flame
I saw them and I knew them all. And yet
Dauntless the slug-horn to my lips I set,
And blew. ``_Childe Roland to the Dark Tower came._'
'
My first thought was, he lied in every word,
That hoary cripple, with malicious eye
Askance to watch the working of his lie
On mine, and mouth scarce able to afford
Suppression of the glee, that pursed and scored
Its edge, at one more victim gained thereby.
II.
What else should he be set for, with his staff?
What, save to waylay with his lies, ensnare
All travellers who might find him posted there,
And ask the road? I guessed what skull-like laugh
Would break, what crutch 'gin write my epitaph
For pastime in the dusty thoroughfare,
III.
If at his counsel I should turn aside
Into that ominous tract which, all agree,
Hides the Dark Tower. Yet acquiescingly
I did turn as he pointed: neither pride
Nor hope rekindling at the end descried,
So much as gladness that some end might be.
IV.
For, what with my whole world-wide wandering,
What with my search drawn out thro' years, my hope
Dwindled into a ghost not fit to cope
With that obstreperous joy success would bring,
I hardly tried now to rebuke the spring
My heart made, finding failure in its scope.
V.
As when a sick man very near to death
Seems dead indeed, and feels begin and end
The tears and takes the farewell of each friend,
And hears one bid the other go, draw breath
Freelier outside, (``since all is o'er,'' he saith,
``And the blow falIen no grieving can amend;'')
VI.
While some discuss if near the other graves
Be room enough for this, and when a day
Suits best for carrying the corpse away,
With care about the banners, scarves and staves:
And still the man hears all, and only craves
He may not shame such tender love and stay.
VII.
Thus, I had so long suffered in this quest,
Heard failure prophesied so oft, been writ
So many times among ``The Band''---to wit,
The knights who to the Dark Tower's search addressed
Their steps---that just to fail as they, seemed best,
And all the doubt was now---should I be fit?
VIII.
So, quiet as despair, I turned from him,
That hateful cripple, out of his highway
Into the path he pointed. All the day
Had been a dreary one at best, and dim
Was settling to its close, yet shot one grim
Red leer to see the plain catch its estray.
IX.
For mark! no sooner was I fairly found
Pledged to the plain, after a pace or two,
Than, pausing to throw backward a last view
O'er the safe road, 'twas gone; grey plain all round:
Nothing but plain to the horizon's bound.
I might go on; nought else remained to do.
X.
So, on I went. I think I never saw
Such starved ignoble nature; nothing throve:
For flowers---as well expect a cedar grove!
But cockle, spurge, according to their law
Might propagate their kind, with none to awe,
You'd think; a burr had been a treasure-trove.
XI.
No! penury, inertness and grimace,
In some strange sort, were the land's portion. ``See
``Or shut your eyes,'' said nature peevishly,
``It nothing skills: I cannot help my case:
``'Tis the Last judgment's fire must cure this place,
``Calcine its clods and set my prisoners free.''
XII.
If there pushed any ragged thistle-stalk
Above its mates, the head was chopped; the bents
Were jealous else. What made those holes and rents
In the dock's harsh swarth leaves, bruised as to baulk
All hope of greenness?'tis a brute must walk
Pashing their life out, with a brute's intents.
XIII.
As for the grass, it grew as scant as hair
In leprosy; thin dry blades pricked the mud
Which underneath looked kneaded up with blood.
One stiff blind horse, his every bone a-stare,
Stood stupefied, however he came there:
Thrust out past service from the devil's stud!
XIV.
Alive? he might be dead for aught I know,
With that red gaunt and colloped neck a-strain,
And shut eyes underneath the rusty mane;
Seldom went such grotesqueness with such woe;
I never saw a brute I hated so;
He must be wicked to deserve such pain.
XV.
I shut my eyes and turned them on my heart.
As a man calls for wine before he fights,
I asked one draught of earlier, happier sights,
Ere fitly I could hope to play my part.
Think first, fight afterwards---the soldier's art:
One taste of the old time sets all to rights.
XVI.
Not it! I fancied Cuthbert's reddening face
Beneath its garniture of curly gold,
Dear fellow, till I almost felt him fold
An arm in mine to fix me to the place,
That way he used. Alas, one night's disgrace!
Out went my heart's new fire and left it cold.
XVII.
Giles then, the soul of honour---there he stands
Frank as ten years ago when knighted first.
What honest man should dare (he said) he durst.
Good---but the scene shifts---faugh! what hangman hands
Pin to his breast a parchment? His own bands
Read it. Poor traitor, spit upon and curst!
XVIII.
Better this present than a past like that;
Back therefore to my darkening path again!
No sound, no sight as far as eye could strain.
Will the night send a howlet or a bat?
I asked: when something on the dismal flat
Came to arrest my thoughts and change their train.
XIX.
A sudden little river crossed my path
As unexpected as a serpent comes.
No sluggish tide congenial to the glooms;
This, as it frothed by, might have been a bath
For the fiend's glowing hoof---to see the wrath
Of its black eddy bespate with flakes and spumes.
XX.
So petty yet so spiteful! All along,
Low scrubby alders kneeled down over it;
Drenched willows flung them headlong in a fit
Of route despair, a suicidal throng:
The river which had done them all the wrong,
Whate'er that was, rolled by, deterred no whit.
XXI.
Which, while I forded,---good saints, how I feared
To set my foot upon a dead man's cheek,
Each step, or feel the spear I thrust to seek
For hollows, tangled in his hair or beard!
---It may have been a water-rat I speared,
But, ugh! it sounded like a baby's shriek.
XXII.
Glad was I when I reached the other bank.
Now for a better country. Vain presage!
Who were the strugglers, what war did they wage,
Whose savage trample thus could pad the dank
Soil to a plash? Toads in a poisoned tank,
Or wild cats in a red-hot iron cage---
XXIII.
The fight must so have seemed in that fell cirque.
What penned them there, with all the plain to choose?
No foot-print leading to that horrid mews,
None out of it. Mad brewage set to work
Their brains, no doubt, like galley-slaves the Turk
Pits for his pastime, Christians against Jews.
XXIV.
And more than that---a furlong on---why, there!
What bad use was that engine for, that wheel,
Or brake, not wheel---that harrow fit to reel
Men's bodies out like silk? with all the air
Of Tophet's tool, on earth left unaware,
Or brought to sharpen its rusty teeth of steel.
XXV.
Then came a bit of stubbed ground, once a wood,
Next a marsh, it would seem, and now mere earth
Desperate and done with; (so a fool finds mirth,
Makes a thing and then mars it, till his mood
Changes and off he goes!) within a rood---
Bog, clay and rubble, sand and stark black dearth.
XXVI.
Now blotches rankling, coloured gay and grim,
Now patches where some leanness of the soil's
Broke into moss or substances like boils;
Then came some palsied oak, a cleft in him
Like a distorted mouth that splits its rim
Gaping at death, and dies while it recoils.
XXVII.
And just as far as ever from the end!
Nought in the distance but the evening, nought
To point my footstep further! At the thought,
great black bird, Apollyon's bosom-friend,
Sailed past, nor beat his wide wing dragon-penned
That brushed my cap---perchance the guide I sought.
XXVIII.
For, looking up, aware I somehow grew,
'Spite of the dusk, the plain had given place
All round to mountains---with such name to grace
Mere ugly heights and heaps now stolen in view.
How thus they had surprised me,---solve it, you!
How to get from them was no clearer case.
XXIX.
Yet half I seemed to recognize some trick
Of mischief happened to me, God knows when---
In a bad dream perhaps. Here ended, then,
Progress this way. When, in the very nick
Of giving up, one time more, came a click
As when a trap shuts---you're inside the den!
XXX.
Burningly it came on me all at once,
This was the place! those two hills on the right,
Crouched like two bulls locked horn in horn in fight;
While to the left, a tall scalped mountain ... Dunce,
Dotard, a-dozing at the very nonce,
After a life spent training for the sight!
XXXI.
What in the midst lay but the Tower itself?
The round squat turret, blind as the fool's heart,
Built of brown stone, without a counter-part
In the whole world. The tempest's mocking elf
Points to the shipman thus the unseen shelf
He strikes on, only when the timbers start.
XXXII.
Not see? because of night perhaps?---why, day
Came back again for that! before it left,
The dying sunset kindled through a cleft:
The hills, like giants at a hunting, lay,
Chin upon hand, to see the game at bay,---
``Now stab and end the creature---to the heft!''
XXXIII.
Not hear? when noise was everywhere! it tolled
Increasing like a bell. Names in my ears
Of all the lost adventurers my peers,---
How such a one was strong, and such was bold,
And such was fortunate, yet, each of old
Lost, lost! one moment knelled the woe of years.
XXXIV.
There they stood, ranged along the hill-sides, met
To view the last of me, a living frame
For one more picture! in a sheet of flame
I saw them and I knew them all. And yet
Dauntless the slug-horn to my lips I set,
And blew. ``_Childe Roland to the Dark Tower came._'
'
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Day 62: Week In (Weak Out)
so i haven't been up to blogging for this month. really just out of it. my blogs for the next week or so...
tomorrow:
tomorrow:
"to the dark tower childe roland came"
friday:
"8th grade yearbook"
saturday:
"root beer popsicles"
sunday:
"senior yearbook"
monday:
"something like memory"
tuesday:
"name writing"
wednesday:
" 'i hate you' "
thursday:
"faith in god"
friday:
"quiet"
friday:
"8th grade yearbook"
saturday:
"root beer popsicles"
sunday:
"senior yearbook"
monday:
"something like memory"
tuesday:
"name writing"
wednesday:
" 'i hate you' "
thursday:
"faith in god"
friday:
"quiet"
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Monday, March 1, 2010
Day 60: I Love You
when we finally lay down
always sure to remember
falling from heaven
to land alone
the water is warm
but the air is freezing
standing at the edge of the world
i'm five years old
it's where my memory begins
pursuing thunder and chasing the winds
running up a hill to roll it down again
my first best friend was pretend
he was quiet and his voice was thin
and when i closed my eyes
and i would begin to spin
he would say, "i love you"
i love you
"truly i do"
recall those old times
and revisit old friends
i knew a girl
used to talk to the wind
she'd call them from the north
but they come from within
she'd raise her arms and say,
"hey wind, blow"
when they'd come
she'd run to and fro
and they'd say things to her only she could know
like,
"i love you"
i love you
"truly, i do"
hey, there'll be school in september
pencils and paper
and a brand new start
and will she even remember last year
she stole my heart
but the weight of emotions are heavy
confusion can rule like a loaded gun
and if these hearts are too crowded with lonely
love is replaced with none
and murder seems right to some
see those children scatter and run
one by one they may all come undone
it's the answer i fear
it may disappear
close your eyes
with your ears you may hear it
fathers, mothers
tell your children
"i love you"
said i love you
love you
truly i do
i do
i do
i do.
always sure to remember
falling from heaven
to land alone
the water is warm
but the air is freezing
standing at the edge of the world
i'm five years old
it's where my memory begins
pursuing thunder and chasing the winds
running up a hill to roll it down again
my first best friend was pretend
he was quiet and his voice was thin
and when i closed my eyes
and i would begin to spin
he would say, "i love you"
i love you
"truly i do"
recall those old times
and revisit old friends
i knew a girl
used to talk to the wind
she'd call them from the north
but they come from within
she'd raise her arms and say,
"hey wind, blow"
when they'd come
she'd run to and fro
and they'd say things to her only she could know
like,
"i love you"
i love you
"truly, i do"
hey, there'll be school in september
pencils and paper
and a brand new start
and will she even remember last year
she stole my heart
but the weight of emotions are heavy
confusion can rule like a loaded gun
and if these hearts are too crowded with lonely
love is replaced with none
and murder seems right to some
see those children scatter and run
one by one they may all come undone
it's the answer i fear
it may disappear
close your eyes
with your ears you may hear it
fathers, mothers
tell your children
"i love you"
said i love you
love you
truly i do
i do
i do
i do.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Day 59: Art of Drowning
well there's a thin line between the empty and complete
test my theory true on the downtown street
like water and oil you know the two will never meet
walking side-by-side staring at their feet
people all around the world, staring at their feet
people sleeping the alley
drowning in the rain
people sitting in their mansions
drowning on champaign
and that's the art of drowning
and the town square the politician came to speak
the poor gathered around like pigeons at his feet
he said, "we made it through the famine,
it's about time we had a feast,
so promise me your vote and you will eat,
good people, promise me your vote and you will eat"
and they go standing in the full line
like they're standing in their grave
so deep into the lie they're unaware
that the dirt beneath their fingernails
is falling from the air
but they've been warned not to look up
so they don't dare
and that's the art of drowning
hey, that's the art of sinking down,
down, down
that's the art of drowning
throw yourself into dark water
you will never be found
well my father had temper like you wouldn't believe
he drank liquor like the devil did on christmas eve
and he'd go raging through the house looking for mommy
we would go hiding in the closet beneath by stairs
we'd take refuge in the closet by the stairs
he would curse her name, saying,
"bitch, you'd best come out!"
and i would hold her mouth
when she would scream
i threw my body against the door
'till he broke it down
she'd just wipe her eyes
and then come clean
and that's the art of drowning
test my theory true on the downtown street
like water and oil you know the two will never meet
walking side-by-side staring at their feet
people all around the world, staring at their feet
people sleeping the alley
drowning in the rain
people sitting in their mansions
drowning on champaign
and that's the art of drowning
and the town square the politician came to speak
the poor gathered around like pigeons at his feet
he said, "we made it through the famine,
it's about time we had a feast,
so promise me your vote and you will eat,
good people, promise me your vote and you will eat"
and they go standing in the full line
like they're standing in their grave
so deep into the lie they're unaware
that the dirt beneath their fingernails
is falling from the air
but they've been warned not to look up
so they don't dare
and that's the art of drowning
hey, that's the art of sinking down,
down, down
that's the art of drowning
throw yourself into dark water
you will never be found
well my father had temper like you wouldn't believe
he drank liquor like the devil did on christmas eve
and he'd go raging through the house looking for mommy
we would go hiding in the closet beneath by stairs
we'd take refuge in the closet by the stairs
he would curse her name, saying,
"bitch, you'd best come out!"
and i would hold her mouth
when she would scream
i threw my body against the door
'till he broke it down
she'd just wipe her eyes
and then come clean
and that's the art of drowning
hey, that's the art of sinking down,
down, down
that's the art of drowning
throw yourself into dark water
you will never be found
i won't let me lungs consume the water
i keep gasping for air
i'm waving my arms inside these waves
until i'm breaking the surface
i'm...
i'm kissing the wind that touches my face
i will not go down
i will not go down
down down
down
i am not drowning
go on, save me from these waters
i want to be found.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Day 58: Last Time
i'm putting off "root beer popsicles" one last time. today has been a weird, tiring, day. on top of yesterday, and really all of this week, i cannot write right now.
'night.
'night.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Day 56: Just a Couple of Notes
i am planning to do a "real" blog on saturday night, but today and tomorrows blogs will just be short "nothing" blogs. out and away tomorrow, and today i have not wanted to spend time in front of the pc.
so... just a couple short notes:
i started reading the dark tower again at the week's start, on the second novel, the drawing of the three, and am really remembering what about this books mean so much to me. they're amazing, simple as that.
the brea library finally sent me an e-mail telling me the final (although it is a afterward/side story to the series) sandman story arrived. picked it up and have it sitting in my room. really want to start it, but probably won't until after drawing. blog about the series sometime after that...probably.
no job yet although i am in desperate need of one. eh.
after i reread the tower novels i'll get my eye tattoo, excited and hesitant about it. we'll see, i am slowly starting to look around for the right place and the right price.
lost is great, as always, but as i have said before: phineas and ferb is growing to be one of my favorite shows ever.
i guess that's it for today, "root beer popsicles", while overdue, is coming saturday. then? i don't know.
so... just a couple short notes:
i started reading the dark tower again at the week's start, on the second novel, the drawing of the three, and am really remembering what about this books mean so much to me. they're amazing, simple as that.
the brea library finally sent me an e-mail telling me the final (although it is a afterward/side story to the series) sandman story arrived. picked it up and have it sitting in my room. really want to start it, but probably won't until after drawing. blog about the series sometime after that...probably.
no job yet although i am in desperate need of one. eh.
after i reread the tower novels i'll get my eye tattoo, excited and hesitant about it. we'll see, i am slowly starting to look around for the right place and the right price.
lost is great, as always, but as i have said before: phineas and ferb is growing to be one of my favorite shows ever.
i guess that's it for today, "root beer popsicles", while overdue, is coming saturday. then? i don't know.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Monday, February 22, 2010
Day 53: Horns (Part 3 of 3)
let me start this by saying two things; one, horns is without a doubt my favorite book this year, beating out gaiman's neverwhere and two, it is one of my favorite books ever.
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ignatius parish is a man whose longtime girlfriend is raped, killed, and left near the town of gideon, new hampshire's abandoned foundry.
this causes the town to, somewhat naturally, presume that ig killed his girlfriend and he essentially becomes an outcast; untrusted, and, really, lost to his own devices. one day after a binge of drinking ig goes to the place where his girlfriend was killed, passes out, and wakes up with horns on his head.
from here things go out of control; ig realizes the horns give him the ability to have people tell him their darkest secrets, and as time goes on ig becomes more attuned to his newly gained powers. on top of this ig starts to unravel the mystery of who really killed his love and starts the process of going after him.
i went into the novel thinking it would be a horror novel, but surprisingly it wasn't (at least to me). it had it's moments, and of course a man becoming a devil (the devil? lucifer morningstar?) is completely off the wall, but the book was heartbreaking, exciting, funny at times (although darkly), and just all out amazing.
by the end of the novel i really felt for the man who was wrongly blamed, hated the man who killed is only real love, and thought more about what really is moral. what really defines good and evil, what really defines, and drives human nature.
one of the best books i have yet to read, to me much better than hill's first novel in 2007 (heart shaped box). i loved the story, loved the way it made me think.
thank you joe hill.
---
on a related note: i read hill's new short, "twittering from the circus of the dead" (found in the new anthology, the new dead), and although the whole idea of using the 140 character twitter format was odd at first, i really, really enjoyed it. gruesome. this short was, without a doubt, a horror story.
---
ignatius parish is a man whose longtime girlfriend is raped, killed, and left near the town of gideon, new hampshire's abandoned foundry.
this causes the town to, somewhat naturally, presume that ig killed his girlfriend and he essentially becomes an outcast; untrusted, and, really, lost to his own devices. one day after a binge of drinking ig goes to the place where his girlfriend was killed, passes out, and wakes up with horns on his head.
from here things go out of control; ig realizes the horns give him the ability to have people tell him their darkest secrets, and as time goes on ig becomes more attuned to his newly gained powers. on top of this ig starts to unravel the mystery of who really killed his love and starts the process of going after him.
i went into the novel thinking it would be a horror novel, but surprisingly it wasn't (at least to me). it had it's moments, and of course a man becoming a devil (the devil? lucifer morningstar?) is completely off the wall, but the book was heartbreaking, exciting, funny at times (although darkly), and just all out amazing.
by the end of the novel i really felt for the man who was wrongly blamed, hated the man who killed is only real love, and thought more about what really is moral. what really defines good and evil, what really defines, and drives human nature.
one of the best books i have yet to read, to me much better than hill's first novel in 2007 (heart shaped box). i loved the story, loved the way it made me think.
thank you joe hill.
---
on a related note: i read hill's new short, "twittering from the circus of the dead" (found in the new anthology, the new dead), and although the whole idea of using the 140 character twitter format was odd at first, i really, really enjoyed it. gruesome. this short was, without a doubt, a horror story.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Day 52: Breathing
she's breathing, but slow. seizers have stopped, but every few minutes she kicks her back legs feebly and her front legs grab unto my arm, leaving welts and blood streaks. these weak kicks are her last ditch efforts to stand, or she is
---
running next to me, as i run, she runs. it's not quite a race, but my six year-old mind defines it as so. whoever can reach the sign post reading candor will be the winner, and i know she'll beat me. she has every time we have run this short marathon, my breath coming is great whooping gasps, her legs kicking like some small race horse.
the street's end is coming, she is starting to dart just a tad bit ahead and i know
---
that this is just a deathwatch. the tears are coming down my face, and i cannot stop thinking to myself that this will be the last time i am able to be with her. dieing or not, i hear her purring, purring.
weakly, but i think the purrs are a sign that she is somewhat comforted. that maybe she feels my presence in whatever state her mind is in.
i sniffle, it feels as if this watch as gone on and on, and i keep thinking
---
of birds. lizards. sometimes mice. she brings them in and my brother and i always marvel at the fact that these gifts that she brings to us are usually still living. they show signs of struggle, bite marks, sometimes scratches along their flanks.
my mom, my dad, ronnie; they always end up shooing the weak animal out of the back sliding door, but i always marvel
---
at how long she is holding on to life. no one is sure whether or not she has sunk into some sort of coma yet, her breath is weak, and she has lain in a single position throughout the night. crying out once, but otherwise quiet.
unmoving.
just breathing.
and i keep thinking, worrying, if in the depths of her mind and body she is thirsty. hungry? i keep asking myself this and the
---
tears come, buck had just died and i am sitting outside crying. 15, and my cat had just died, but sin comes to me, sits on my lap.
purring, trying to cheer me up. trying to catch the tears as the fall from my wet face and unto
---
her fur is so matted. she hasn't been able to groom herself in weeks, not well in months. my mom is holding her, and i know these minutes are her last.
she is breathing harder now after so long of breathing so slowly, so weakly. she is trying to hold onto life. trying to stall what is inevitable. she breaths, and i see her eyes, blind now, widen impossibly
and i know, know that her
---
breathing hard, i see her jump upon the wall. carrying a bird, or a mouse, or a something in her mouth. this one isn't a gift, i know. i look at her striding across the wall, slowly, almost preening. proud, a showoff with something to show.
hunting is what she is good at, and not all her captures have to be a
---
gift to us, she was, is, a gift to us.
goodbye sin.
---
running next to me, as i run, she runs. it's not quite a race, but my six year-old mind defines it as so. whoever can reach the sign post reading candor will be the winner, and i know she'll beat me. she has every time we have run this short marathon, my breath coming is great whooping gasps, her legs kicking like some small race horse.
the street's end is coming, she is starting to dart just a tad bit ahead and i know
---
that this is just a deathwatch. the tears are coming down my face, and i cannot stop thinking to myself that this will be the last time i am able to be with her. dieing or not, i hear her purring, purring.
weakly, but i think the purrs are a sign that she is somewhat comforted. that maybe she feels my presence in whatever state her mind is in.
i sniffle, it feels as if this watch as gone on and on, and i keep thinking
---
of birds. lizards. sometimes mice. she brings them in and my brother and i always marvel at the fact that these gifts that she brings to us are usually still living. they show signs of struggle, bite marks, sometimes scratches along their flanks.
my mom, my dad, ronnie; they always end up shooing the weak animal out of the back sliding door, but i always marvel
---
at how long she is holding on to life. no one is sure whether or not she has sunk into some sort of coma yet, her breath is weak, and she has lain in a single position throughout the night. crying out once, but otherwise quiet.
unmoving.
just breathing.
and i keep thinking, worrying, if in the depths of her mind and body she is thirsty. hungry? i keep asking myself this and the
---
tears come, buck had just died and i am sitting outside crying. 15, and my cat had just died, but sin comes to me, sits on my lap.
purring, trying to cheer me up. trying to catch the tears as the fall from my wet face and unto
---
her fur is so matted. she hasn't been able to groom herself in weeks, not well in months. my mom is holding her, and i know these minutes are her last.
she is breathing harder now after so long of breathing so slowly, so weakly. she is trying to hold onto life. trying to stall what is inevitable. she breaths, and i see her eyes, blind now, widen impossibly
and i know, know that her
---
breathing hard, i see her jump upon the wall. carrying a bird, or a mouse, or a something in her mouth. this one isn't a gift, i know. i look at her striding across the wall, slowly, almost preening. proud, a showoff with something to show.
hunting is what she is good at, and not all her captures have to be a
---
gift to us, she was, is, a gift to us.
goodbye sin.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Day 51: Ranking Stephen King (Redux)
going to start the dark tower series reread tonight, then finish nightmares and dreamscapes, and then re-read the stand sometime this year.
1. the stand (HS)
2. the dark tower (HS)
3. the drawing of the three (HS)
4. the gunslinger (HS)
5. the wizard and the glass (HS)
6. under the dome
7. the wastelands (HS)
8. wolves of the calla (HS)
9. song of susanna (HS)
10. bag of bones
11. salem's lot
12. insomnia (HS)
13. pet sematary (HS)
14. the shining (HS)
15. just after sunset
16. blaze
17. the green mile (HS)
18. hearts in atlantis (HS)
19. the talisman (HS)
20. black house (HS)
21. it
22. different seasons (HS)
23. christine (HS)
24. the eyes of the dragon
25. cell
26. lisey's story
27. duma key
28. desperation (HS)
29. four past midnight
30. night shift
31. the dark half
32. needful things
33. the dead zone (HS)
34. gerald's game
35. the regulators (HS)
36. misery
37. the coloraldo kid
38. firestarter
39. cujo
40. rose madder
41. from a buick 8 (HS)
42. dolores claiborne
43. rage
44. roadwork
45. the longwalk
46. cycle of the warewolf
47. carrie (HS)
48. thinner
49. dreamcatcher (HS)
50. the tommyknockers
*on writing would be around #35, but it is non-fiction.
---
there are four collections on the list (five if atlantis is counted, which is shouldn't be) but here is my list of those and the res
1. just after sunset
2. everything's eventual
3. different seasons
4.four past midnight
5. skeleton crew
5(tie). night shift
---
what i have yet to read (no novels):
1. danse macabre (non-fiction)
2. nightmares and dreamscapes (collection)
3. storm of the century (screenplay)
i am also sure there are a few short stories, a comic or two, and such randomly. most of which (or all) would be pretty much unobtainable. as well as"weeds" which was an earlier short that was posted on a men's magazine (cavalier) site... can't find the story there any longer though.
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this year another collection of novellas is out in november, full dark, no stars.
Friday, February 19, 2010
Day 50: Pixar Concept Art (Part 4)
only up and toy story 3 today, will probably add one more post to this set, a sort of coda.
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up
![[Carl+Age+Progression+3.jpg]](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZGZnrGGiILfZF6P6fOV85wScz2xxc_9qdReUvsSbuot9EPnMDn0aN979OsSctkYogeop45RaJ6SOTpfb2NKwqzab_d9H8K3igE8wvgAa_qFMflOPBktsiENtVAK_kWv9PJs0A-y4y1mqo/s400/Carl+Age+Progression+3.jpg)
i loved up almost as much as 2008's wall e
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toy story 3
and because it's my favorite of the new characters thus far unveiled:
![[Buttercup.jpg]](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFmSQoA0DWOxOmuq7qjC_Z0ObbuRpuEWKExPANgfRQdC-8G-ymSwSS2pZ1ROlxayoIUcZ_73L6KRZVLz1_VcDo1CRhnKpvKK3JEm57h59-1NogkwgAlSM1KQ8eLm7jqIE6yeFtGNbY38Kb/s400/Buttercup.jpg)
...and it's a "he".
---
up
i loved up almost as much as 2008's wall e
---
toy story 3
and because it's my favorite of the new characters thus far unveiled:
...and it's a "he".
funny.
---
probably will be doing one more of these... will be a reposting of the cars 2 art i posted awhile back, along with logos for other upcoming films. then i may (later) do one of these for all the theatrical short films (so no "jack-jack attack" or "mater and the ghostlight").
'night
horns is AMAZING.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Day 49: Perry the Platypus Theme
was going to write a real blog, "root beer popsicles" but don't have the time today so i switched this blog with that one.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Day 48: Phineas and Ferb
disney's phineas and ferb is quickly becoming my favorite cartoon show ever. created by the same creators of rocko's modern life and former writers for the teenage mutant ninja turtles and the simpsons it is simply one of the most creative and innovate television shows i have recently seen, even more so when considering the last three to five years have been terrible for fresh cartoon shows.
the plot lines, the way everything comes together within 12 minutes (for the majority of episodes), to the simple and effective art style, the show is without a doubt worth both the attention and awards it has been getting. but for me, oddly, what makes the show for me is the music.
it's really, really good. funny, but memorable while not ever taking itself to serious, the songs are amazing. i may actually post a song here and there (in fact one is already posted) depending on the song, and my mood.
so, this is a short blog, but i really needed to say that i love the show. one of my favorites of all time, period.
the plot lines, the way everything comes together within 12 minutes (for the majority of episodes), to the simple and effective art style, the show is without a doubt worth both the attention and awards it has been getting. but for me, oddly, what makes the show for me is the music.
it's really, really good. funny, but memorable while not ever taking itself to serious, the songs are amazing. i may actually post a song here and there (in fact one is already posted) depending on the song, and my mood.
so, this is a short blog, but i really needed to say that i love the show. one of my favorites of all time, period.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Day 47: Horns (Post 2 of 3)
horns in out today. super excited although i am still debating whether or not i am going to opt for the kindle version or a hardcover. i have nearly all the stephen king novels, collections, and non-fiction, so in a way i want all of joe hill's.
it'll probably come down to price though, so in a bit i'll be checking out borders.
part 3 is going to be a review, also i actually titled my next ten blogs or so... at least it'll keep me focused.
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it'll probably come down to price though, so in a bit i'll be checking out borders.
part 3 is going to be a review, also i actually titled my next ten blogs or so... at least it'll keep me focused.
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Monday, February 15, 2010
Day 46: The Sandman (Part 1)
i finished neil gaiman's the sandman last week and i have a lot i want to "blog" about in regards to the series... BUT i am going to put it off until i read the coda volume, endless nights.
suffice to say, the series is probably my third favorite story ever, behind king's the stand and of course the dark tower series.
anyway, here is some art from the series... hopefully a full blog wednesday, but it's sort of up in the air right now.
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probably will end up posting more after endless nights.
suffice to say, the series is probably my third favorite story ever, behind king's the stand and of course the dark tower series.
anyway, here is some art from the series... hopefully a full blog wednesday, but it's sort of up in the air right now.
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probably will end up posting more after endless nights.
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