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The Department of Delving

Mon, 15 Apr 2013 04:59:27 -0400

The Department of Delving has studied during the problem for 15 minutes, slotted for free-thinking and exploration, and come to the conclusion that the vast source of frustration is internal not external. This may have been discovered by the Department of Comfort had they conducted a more thorough investigation rather than a fly-over study in their airplane. On that note, the Department of Delving also suggests that inhibitors be disallowed on the job. In any case, the problem lies here: the endless reprisal of a woe-is-me struggle gains more hold on the subject each time he allows himself to point a finger. One member deemed it “self-flagellation with auditory reward.”

“You’re ok. It’s that, not you.”

The cycle can be interrupted and corrected by the following solution that we have unanimously prescribed: identify shit-sustainers and systematically eliminate. For example: rather than opting out of solving social problems and proceeding to solve the problems of a young nation amidst a global crisis with a revolutionary set of social action is unhealthy and unproductive- the shit is sustained. Solution: see yourself as a young nation amidst a global crisis and proceed to solve your own problems with a revolutionary set of social action.

Have you ever gotten baked and had a conversation with yourself in the mirror? I recommend it.

Mon, 15 Apr 2013 04:53:22 -0400

Have you ever gotten baked and had a conversation with yourself in the mirror? I recommend it.

A Fight, Fight, Figh A drift, a droop, and I’m awake but I’m...

Mon, 15 Apr 2013 04:37:59 -0400

A Fight, Fight, Figh

A drift, a droop,
and I’m awake but I’m not.
You’re rattling on about chills,
a machine gun steadily softening into a hum,
and then switch to how you used to catch fireflies
in the 6th grade until
your mother would call you in.
As you were heading for the door
you heard an approaching buzz
and you turned to sniff the sound.
A bee with dripping fangs was barrelling at you
and stirring up tiny tornados
with his rapid fire wings
and they were sweeping past your legs,
tripping,
and he was flying so fast
but he never got any closer.

What?
No- no I was just snorting.
My allergies are acting up, again.
Its the spring and this always happens.
So when do you have to be to work tomorrow?
Uh huh,
Uh huh,
alright.
Oh.
Okey.
Yuh.
Uhn.
“Sa qay ahteh ma no valteshno. Porten so ma vi na.”
spoke a dry, somber chief
with a flowing rainbow for a headdress.
I tried to undo the bindings,
but I forgot how to move my hands.

Ho Ba La La- Joao Gilberto

Sat, 02 Feb 2013 13:16:00 -0500

Ho Ba La La- Joao Gilberto

I’m doing this for an open mic, eventually. Its still...

Sat, 02 Feb 2013 12:17:00 -0500

I’m doing this for an open mic, eventually. Its still pretty shaky and more so at the bridge. Comments and advice more than welcome. Also, special guest vocals by the cat- he was right on beat it was ridiculous.

My updated recording of “Your Need”I have a proper...

Sat, 02 Feb 2013 11:38:00 -0500

My updated recording of “Your Need”

I have a proper mic now.

"Challenge your preconceptions, or they will challenge you."

Sat, 02 Feb 2013 10:49:00 -0500

“Challenge your preconceptions, or they will challenge you.”

- Vulcan Proverb

Crazy- Patsy Cline Classic.

Sat, 02 Feb 2013 10:45:00 -0500

Crazy- Patsy Cline

Classic.

Video

Fri, 23 Nov 2012 11:45:13 -0500

I roll over and rub the eyes. I wake to warm feet and cold motivation like an unpushed pendulum. A...

Fri, 23 Nov 2012 11:36:03 -0500

I roll over and rub the eyes. I wake to warm feet and cold motivation like an unpushed pendulum. A refusal to rouse has me idle and on my side in the bed. I can just lay here for five fleeting minutes and it will be—

A touch that is warm but has the frost of surprise taps my spine, and sends alarms up my back to my brain, inspiring a soft jolt and a clenched-teeth inhale. You keep your finger there and after a pause for acclimation, you politely place another. In a smooth yet syncopated manner, you begin dancing them, one on one off, and patiently increase the speed. Your other three fingers join in and move up and down my spine at will. You’re playing my nerve endings like a piano and writing some break-of-dawn sonata in E-minor. I can feel you thinking on the pauses and with each touch there is another microscopic explosion of some homeless passion that has found a home in this morning, its only suitable environment. You make chords of my vertebrae and I imagine the sound. You decrease your tempo. You prolong each note and slide your fingertips off on the release of each note. The light starts peeking through the blinds and my alarm goes off—the classical station. I wonder if you planned all this or if it was by chance. You stop, hastily roll off the bed, and close the bathroom door behind you. I open one eye and let it roll back as if it could reach where you were just laying. I roll over and prop up on one arm to take my eye where it wants to go. I stare at your faint indent in the sheets. I wanted to see if you left some of your magic there.

Plus or Minus

Fri, 16 Nov 2012 23:50:00 -0500

Am I too?
No, I’m just enough
and I refuse subtract
from me.

Am I not?
No, I am just enough.
I refuse to extend
beyond myself.

Am I enough?
Yes.
Precisely.
I am equal to
my own greatness
and that is the greatest thing there is.
I am exactly whatever
I am.
That’s the greatest thing
that ever was.

Charlie and The Detestable Speck- I

Fri, 16 Nov 2012 15:13:00 -0500

Charlie’s her name and she’s a kind dime I met in a sewer. She’s regular and kicked most days, but a jewel when you are ten cents short for a soda. She smiles and retracts like everyone else, but she always carries the banner of optimism whether she is dragging it along or hoisting it skyward. She is ten ten times over. She is a dollar. She’s ten times the dime you ought to be and she has the shine under the grime. Don’t you dare tell others to keep her, because you are a better fit for disposable change when you utter the words so absurd.

I say all this as a hypocrite and the most unworthy arbiter on the matter. My strong opinions are a result of my failures to appreciate her undeflatable value. I unfoundedly undervalued her underrated worth when I met her, but I am sure she sold out that side of me.

I am the Detestable Speck and I enjoy riding winds, whims, and wow, what a ride it’s been. I’m fond of freedom of the frivolous sort, letting chaos control and assuming the role of a passenger aboard my flighty inclinations. I will admit that I particularly enjoy flying up passers’ noses and I suppose that is how I earned my name. The intensity of the reaction to my tickling time-passing is more meaningful than any attention I’d get floating by, which is…none. I was hungry and hounding down flecks of fleeting fun until I met her. She was so idle and fixated but most of all, content. She was what I could and should be though I didn’t know that at the time. This is the story of our passing, our intersection. It means so much more than any of your measly man stories because when two objects, dependent and devoid of direct decision in direction, in the universe worlds collide in such a way, it is a rare and more valuable thing.

Let me be a babbling old man spewing sound sounds your way, just for a moment at least, while I tell this story:

I. Rainfall-

It was the first day of autumn and its advent did not disappoint. I was climbing winds of a coming rain and beaming end to end. Over many years, I had learned to ride each wave of wind just right and I was a current craftsman, creating my paths perfectly and floating easy up, up, up and then around. It was blissful and I think the reason it never grew stale, like so many other hobbies, was the infrequency. A particularly strong wind had swept me up and let me tell you, those are the best ones. It pushed me relentlessly and with such magnificent force that I felt as if I were being pulled instead. I never wanted winds like this to end, but they always did. Pay close attention now, this is where some form of destiny dove into my day and pulled me fro or maybe to. I was in the middle of navigating my way back down, having had enough of my flighty fun. I was riding a stale portion of sky down when a duck, clearly eager to get where he was going and unconcerned about the smaller universe, whizzed by me, tossing me for a literal loop. When I completed the swirling circle, I had lost my path.

I, being the sky savvy speck I was, began recalibrating my efforts to the new situation. As uninvited as the duck that began this mess, a strong gust came,the sort that I described earlier, the heavenly sort. However, even the heavenly can be hellish when you don’t want it. I was swept back up endlessly and if I was not taken by terror, I would have screamed. I cannot describe to you the feeling of helplessness that consumed as I was being drawn further into the heavens. As I rose, I saw them coming. They were big, boisterous bastards bound my way: raindrops. Raindrops have a reputation for being as full of themselves as the cumulus clouds they create. Their descent is almost always accompanied by singing, yelling, and hooping throughout the duration of the downfall. So here they came, the whole singing slew of them and I was about to be taken by force.
I was bashed unabashedly by one particularly noisy droplet in his fast and furious fall to the surface. I was instantly absorbed into him and became utterly soaked. Their sound and vibrations became drowned and drenched, but I could still hear the bastards singing.

“Down, down to ground we go
Our earthly purpose still unknown!
A moistner of lips or of flowers grown;
It matters not- we’ll come back home.”

The lyrics were detestable. They repeated and reverberated in my head with such a sharp repetition that I cringed. I spoke up, unshy as the droplet that bashed me.

“EXCUSE ME, COULD YOU PLEASE HOLD IT DOWN?!”

He and the droplets in close proximity halted their relentless, riotous roaring, but the chant of a song continued beyond them.

“Hm? Ah! Boys, it seems I have inadvertently sucked in this little speck!”

Chortles.

“That is the Detestable Speck to you!”

“Ah! You could only hope to be so distinguished. You may have gotten under my skin literally, but you’ve yet to do so otherwise!”

Their egos were revolting.

“Listen, you: you have already disturbed my flight as it stands. Are you seeking to serve a side of insult with your injury?”

He let out four waterlogged whoops and his friends joined in.

“Tiny speck, you seem to have taken this personally. This is the work of Mother and possibly sniggering coincidence. Enjoy the ride, friend. Join the chorus!”

We continued in our downward journey and although begrudgingly, I did join in the chorus if for no other reason than to be civil. My addition was more of a monotonous mumble, though.

Below, I could see the City of Men growing in all it’s productive glory. A strange thing, man. They are always doing and it makes me wonder if they are ever being. This fast approach was providing an interesting perspective that reminded me of their history- the city began a distant dot, but then swelled and swallowed more of the scene as we progressed. We began to get close enough for me to discern the details. First the whole, then the districts, then the communities, then buildings, t, then streets, then people, then pavement, and splat- we arrived. I found myself in a mass of moisture being swept down the meeting of a sidewalk and street. I believe it is called a gutter. I was being rushed along in the watery, wet, and wild laughter of the drops. Although they were careless and carefree, I was somewhat concerned with destination. I looked ahead of us and saw that we were barreling towards a drainage. I held myself close and we fell into its darkness and splashed our way down the shafts until I became stuck on a little lip within the sewer. I felt mildly messed mentally but shook it off. I looked around and saw very little except a rushing stream. I sighed solemnly. It was then I first heard her softspeak dirft lightly over me like the ding of a tiny bell.

“Hello.”

[Work in progress. Crtiques, corrections, and comments MORE than welcome. Stay tuned.]

by *mavichaos and well done. Deviant art here.

Fri, 09 Nov 2012 09:32:00 -0500

by *mavichaos and well done. Deviant art here.

Goodbye

Wed, 07 Nov 2012 12:14:14 -0500

It’s drained and I’m drained of my obsession,
lucky me,
to be off and doing
rather than sitting, stewing
in the same butt cheek implant
that got me so sore.
I’m still having trouble walking.
So for now it’s goodbye
and in a strange way it’s sad,
this best thing I’ve done
in some time.

Anyway,
goodbye.

How can we take credit for anything? The content of our mind is often a gift from some magnificent...

Tue, 06 Nov 2012 16:38:26 -0500

How can we take credit for anything? The content of our mind is often a gift from some magnificent unknown. We can collect and configure, but the blocks we build with are a series of images from our mind that we have not truly produced. We are manipulators, not creators. Maybe I’m wrong.

Inspiring number by an inspiring man. One of my favorite...

Tue, 06 Nov 2012 16:21:40 -0500

Inspiring number by an inspiring man. One of my favorite broadway numbers.

tiefighters: SW Vehicles: Tie/IN Interceptor The TIE/in...

Tue, 06 Nov 2012 15:42:50 -0500

tiefighters:

SW Vehicles: Tie/IN Interceptor

The TIE/in starfighter, or TIE Interceptor, was a TIE series starfighter used by the Galactic Empire. The TIE Interceptor was identifiable by its arrow-shaped solar collection panels, a distinct difference from the hexagonal solar arrays of its predecessor, the TIE Fighter. The Interceptor was one of the fastest starfighters in the galaxy at its prime, nearly rivaling the Alliance’s RZ-1 A-wing interceptor. [Wikia]

Truly one of my favorite vehicles in the SW universe.

My Skateboard Will Go On - AnamanaguchiYour daily dose of...

Tue, 06 Nov 2012 13:15:08 -0500

My Skateboard Will Go On - Anamanaguchi

Your daily dose of chips.

"No one is wrong. At most someone is uninformed. If I think an individual is wrong, either I am..."

Mon, 05 Nov 2012 19:26:00 -0500

““No one is wrong. At most someone is uninformed. If I think an individual is wrong, either I am unaware of something or the person is. So unless I want to play a superiority game I had best find out what he or she is looking at…’You’re wrong’ means that I don’t understand you, I’m not seeing what you’re seeing—and I’m not seeing all of you there is to see. But there is nothing *wrong* with you…I do not know all therefore I am inadequate to judge.””

- Hugh Prather, Notes to Myself: My Struggle to Become a Person

Plum

Mon, 05 Nov 2012 09:53:00 -0500

Appear as a planted seed,
the fruits of labors
I owed to myself
but the luckiest thing
I’d ever received.

All I see is smiles
in different scenes,
times, and places
with your everlasting bliss
the same.

It’s the sort of softness
that gets you wondering,
wandering potential spaces
and worrying about it
but mostly the temporality.

I can worry today
or just continue to exist
as if you are around each bend,
up each hill,
inside my refrigerator,
at the bottom of my coffee,
or beside me
the entire time.

I like the latter
so I suppose
the matter is settled
and the poem ends
just as it began.

Appear as a planted seed,
the fruits of labors
I owed to myself
but the luckiest thing
I’d ever received.