English Club Chatter

What? Like I'm the only who has ever written in a non-sober state?

pshh.

Most exciting moment from Spring Break....

Passing out last.

Oh yeah, and Jesi, it goes....

nic has spoken.

Yeah, well nic...you seem to be the only one to write about it...

JESI has spoken
( i have more letters so i must be more important.) ;)

Unstoppable (3-27-06)

Can’t be stopped
Not by anyone
But my self
Not the images on t.v.
How I should dress, talk,
or dictate what scent lies on my shelf
or act at a particular time
a channel will never deter me
and I don’t need to spend johnny’s cash
in order to draw and walk the line
I only need capitalism
to pay my bills
so one day
I will raise the hammer and sickle
To make you react

Can’t be stopped
by anyone
Because thirty years ago
Toni Cade said it
The revolution begins inside the self
Then extends beyond a greater consciousness
An unholy ripple effect
That reverses the tide
Of the currents of the protestant work ethic
Among the sea of people
Emerging from the depths
Of narcissism and materialism
And coming to
As respected individuals, labelless
demanding equal worth
Not the rock on the finger or the ears
What you bring home per paycheck
Or what can you really do with an English degree
I can do whatever I see fit with it
I can’t be stopped

Even if I die
Certain ideas will remain alive
Consequences cannot be denied
And those around me will not
And I can promise the same
If you go then your wishes
will be grasped
And no one
will not be able
to unclench the fists
nor release the pressure from the hands
And legacies will be carried on unless
I decide to drop
And it doesn’t matter whom
So-called friend, parents, cousins, so-called family,
professor, politician, conservative,
democrat, so-called radical or liberal
Or cop
Sounds like a lonely life, but you’d be surprised
whether it be your local priest
Preaching and proselytizing
the endtimes of disease, famine and fear
The mentality cannot be blocked
I guess the only thing left
Will be to fulfill a stereotype
And you could make like the 1960s
And have me investigated
…and shot
but even afterwards…
I cannot be stopped

Cowards.

Austin, best yet in my opinion.

Jesi, my name has less letters, is more efficient, and therefore better.

nic

not.

::::WAIVER::::

Austin gave me a 'sort of muse', but this poem is in no way a retaliation of/to/about him. I felt I had to say that because I answer some of his questions...but his poem is of a different subject than mine--radically. perhaps some might think that, so yea, there is a waiver. I dont want a huge BOOM again ;) I have a HUGE respect for all poetry posted. My poem is perhaps about being affected while his is about not being moved..(by capitilism and politics and telivisions) such and such -- i dont want to take apart someone elses poetry...he has his own reason and talent. Sorry if i start to offend anyone else also. Im transitioning into a new subject of poetry allmost completely. Also apology to Sarah for explanations and waivers, i know you dislike them very much.

~ jesi

3-28-06
“Affection”

we are affected
And their is a certain dignity
In allowing someone to take you completely
---you have to die before you can live
Can you believe? C.S. Lewis writes:
“For infinite happiness you can step into it at any moment”
He is so real is does make me fear
That yellow mustard seed digs at my side

New revelations have brought me here
Standing in front of the light
Knocking on doors and asking
To not hesitate to capture a region
And to speak of it so boldly, I will

(This boiling ever coming baptism
This knee-bending salvation I believe
The Great Divorce from pride and angst
I had a dream that I was sucked from one church to another
I wished you were with me,
But loved you even though you weren’t)

I go with Jesi on the name thing. The more letters the better (H-a-n-n-i-b-a-l).

Book and movie recommendations:

I just finished a novel by W.G. Sebald called "The Emmigrants." I've read others of his ("Austerlitz," "The Rings of Saturn"). Genuinely amazing, and one of the few writers who is REALLY original. No one else like him, blending fact and fiction, autobiography and documentary. He's also a very easy read, but nevertheless very powerful and thought-provoking.

On films, I thought I'd pick up the Woody Allen thread. I find his films very mixed, some brilliant, some irritatingly awful. The ones I like most are the ones that are more playful and fantastical. It seems to me that's what he does best. Favorites: The Purple Rose of Cairo, Zelig, Alice, Manhattan Murder Mystery, Sleeper (though dated). I have good recollections of Manhattan and Annie Hall, but I need to watch them again. I don't always trust my responses to movies or literature I saw or read more than a few years back. (Who was I then?)

Ideas for activities:
1) seems like another poetry night might be in order
2) movie night or trip to the cinema (what's coming up? I'll have to check)
3) theater trip (again, I need to check what's around -- Cleveland, Columbus?)
4) some English activity to mark the beginning of Spring (assuming it ever comes) -- how about a collective reading/discussing of poems about Spring?
5) more bowling?
6) book talk (choose a book, read, meet, discuss)
7) mini-colloquium on some hot topic (censorship and free speech? the value of literature? art and politics? life and art? love and death? whatever) -- could just get together for a roundtable of some sort, or a few could prepare short position papers, or there could be a shared reading of some sort (articles, essays)
8) casual club lunches, possibly on particular issues, possibly not
9) more on "Why I want to be an English Major" or "What to do with an English Major"
10) marathon reading of something (Paradise Lost? The Odyssey? Ulysses? a play by Shakespeare, or Euripides, or August Wilson, or Tony Kushner, etc.?) -- could be adapted to include a charity fundraiser (get sponsor's: so many cents per line)
11) English Club Date Auction (bid for an evening discussing poetry over pizza and wine, or whatever)

Just some ideas to get the ball rolling!

HH

So, I'm being forced at Sarah-point to post on the blog here. (It's sorta like gun point but with a smile) I find it hard to jump into any of these threads for two simple reasons. First, to some extent the conversations become a very personal and clublike, go figure, an English club blog seeming like a club. But regardless it's a conversation to which I don't know the references or get the jokes. Perhaps more importantly, I feel as though I'm the most uninspired English major in existence. I have no desire to write poems, no need to read the inside references and no time to attend the meetings. I find the english literature I'm exposed to interesting, vaguely compelling, but outside of class I just can't join you guys. It's sad really, the momentary pit stops to the writing center are enjoyable, you are my dork kin so to speak.

Partly this is just a ramble to satisfy my new, forced minimum posting requirement. But outside of that this is a plee for conversation. Help me figure out how to care about English more, how to...who know. I'm sort of just looking for ramblings in return.

PLEASE GOD no more milton... i mean yea a book reading fun.

trish just sent out an EMAIL next Wends durring common hour will be a lunch meeting--just sitting around eating and discussing. but we are definately going to make some plans to so if you want to go come so we can work around eachothers schedules!

also poetry slam is in thoughts for this quarter to, seeing how it was such a good show, and more wanted to come but were unable due to work related such and such.

NEXT matt, i find it hard to believe that you were so easliy swayed by poor innocent Sarah....you MUST most certainly want to jion the English club and are vying at the fact that you did not jion sooner. We are cool. we are the coolest gang i mean 'club' around....
( oh yeah to jion you must go through an initiation) but thats top secret stuff so if you really want in just come to the meetings and such. YOU KNOW YOU WANNA'

(oh and NIC see now i have a prof.* that says i am right...so then I MUST BE... )

jesi has spoken.

*Hannibal

wow would you look at all her run on sentances, fragments, mispellings ... if i wouldnt of known i'd say she wasn't and english major..*sigh*

Hey, Matt, glad you joined in, whether at Sarah-point or not. I don't write poetry either, and I'm sure there are others out there. Is this a moral failing? I like to read, I like to talk about what I read (and other things), and I do write, but I write critical essays rather than poems or stories and such.

Important points: (1) I avoid the "creative"/"non-creative" terminology, because I think plenty of literary criticism is highly creative, while some poetry is really not, so it's not a very useful or accurate set of terms; (2) by "critical" I don't mean harping, or negative, but rather thoughtful and analytical, using critical judgment in careful close-reading.

Anyway, I enjoy poetry slams as much as the next person, but the club could also host book discussion, readings of other people's poems, plays, or prose (whether new stuff, recent authors, or those long dead -- and "English" also covers non-literary media like film, TV, web-stuff, comics and graphic novels, songs), or even discussions of general questions, like the one you mention -- why should anyone care about English???

HH

I vote for the kegger and maybe a poetry burning.

First, Jesi,I am going to have to agree with Hannibal on his current point. After all, Hannibal has 8 letters, and so does Nicholas.

Second, ideas for activities:

As it warms up I am all about kayaking/canoeing that was brought up before. I know it haslittle to do with english, but we should be able to relax, get wet, and have a little fun sometimes.

Movie nights sound great. There are a crap load of movies I have just plain never seen, and I think film is as important to english as any other media with a well written story or idea.

As far as a theatre night, I saw a commercial this morning while waiting to get picked up from the auto shop that said Cleveland was having it's last showings of Les Miserables ever at the end of April.

If we want to celebrate spring, how about a hike or picnic or something at Malabar Farm to celebrate Mansfield's own Louis Bromfield. After all, it was his farm, he was an author, and our library is named after him.

Thats about all I have for now.

KEGGAR!!

Dr. Hamlin and Matt, I don't write poetry either and I'm still the hands-down coolest person on the planet, so you're ok.

I read a couple good books over break, one being a collection of short novels by Doris Lessing (excellent); the other 'Lolita' by Nabokov, which was very satisfying in a slimy, squeamish sort of way. Anyone that loves words and word play will enjoy it, though some of the references went way over my head.

I also went to the Cleveland International Film Festival (for the second year). It is a lot of fun, and might be worth an English Club trip next year. We got to see, among other films, a very interesting documentary made by Guerilla News Network, about Congresswoman Cindy McKinney and the disenfranchisement of black voters in Florida/2000 and Ohio/2004. It was full of potent, eye-opening evidence, and McKinney is quite an engaging person. I would like to get my hands on a copy for a showing around here; I think it serves as an good civics lesson, and an interesting look into the convoluted muck that is politics. If you're interested in learning more, here are a couple websites that might be of interest to you (Jesi, I know you don't like to follow the links, but it's worth it ;)
www.guerrillanews.com
www.americanblackout.org

im salivating at all these ideas. --and it makes me think...hellowwww we should keep this club going all summer long.. and that way we can do everything that everyone wants!! yeaaaaa! ( a little to much excitement i know i know)

I ssoooo would love to go to malabar farms. we could do that towards the end of the quarter? And maybe a canoe trip would be a nice plan for summer eh? Now as for a movie night and another poetry burning--i mean reading, we should just plan that at the next meeting which is next wendsday, I BETTER SEE ALL BLOGGERS THERE...but if not we'll post plans on the blog and email.

AND FINALY i just wanted to say, we have been an awsome club this year, keeping things alive, and getting good idears together. I love as matt woud say " my dork kin" english clubbers.

...mmmmm yummy english...

matt, that expression 'at gun point' is so crude...i merely bugged and chided and ultimately bored you into posting...now to enlighten you as to the superiority of this our chosen area of study…unlike other disciplines, english actually matters...

thats so true sarah,

there are no literary qualities to video games

Ode to Justin Bailey

You may not have given me all I needed,
To be as healthy as I could be,
But you gave me all the ammunition I needed,
I could send waves through any,
Barrier with what you gave me,
Yet you were wise enough to,
Make me seek out the ability,
To freeze and savor my moments,
To use each enemy in my path,
As a stepping stone to a higher path,
And to stop the life-suckers,
In my path and take what they leave behind,
Until eventually I destroyed the surrogate mother,
The brain behind my suffering,
And flew away before it all blew up in my face,

3-29-06
‘snap’

and here she thought she was brilliant
while she chewed her gum
---a purpose so absurd I can’t stake a claim
had a hand on her hip popped out
un-politically correct subjectivity
(ha-ha-ha crack myself up)

tongue clicking, tongue clicking
click click click POP
(I wonder how much hairspray it takes
to make her bangs fly so high)
aerosol containers are combustible
(and keep them away from fires)

I bought a loaf of wheat bread
And chose my lottery numbers (various numbers)
I don’t have any coupons
And her smock just got caught in the money drawer
I like to check my spelling ‘
Because people pick on me about
aixelsyD
(have a nice day)

3-29-06
‘closer’

I’m getting closer
My skin is burning
These ashes everyone can see
When they really look at me
And I feel like nothing can match
What is filling my fire,
Strikes me daily in prayer
That you’ve been standing so close
And you’re giving me more
A hard one this time
But I am finding my way
To be a true Simon

screaming conscience number two

vomit and bile avoidance of questions my future is mine i'm enjoying my present i'll reflect not upon my past in a way you think will get a viable response i am me i am not my name i am not the flesh and meat and bone you see is only the animal that is me i am more than this animal more than this survival instinct more than this reproductive instinct more than this breast obsessed pig more than a horny drunk my name is the concept of me i am more than an idea more than an arrogant pompous ass more than a depraved depressed hopeless case more than an idealistic romanticized faggot more than an objectifying insulting demanding male slug i am me i am my conscious i am my conscience i am more than my rights i am more than my wrongs i am more than the absolutes i'll change my mind about tommorrow i am more than the questions i can't answer today i am what it is to have been at the lows of the somehow approved white society i am the doormat of my family i am the last resort for suicidal friends i am the meat that pedophiles abuse i am the remorseless killer who failed to take a life i am the scared rabbit leaving you colored eggs i am the eighty second coming of the messiah i am the anti-christ i had my seventy two virgins i am just a monkey beating off while flinging shit in the direction of any whose ideas differ from mine i am the joy in sad song i am the sadness in hope i am the blue in a purple sunset i am the incoherent doggerel of too early in the morning i am the screaming consciousness the screaming babies moans in the middle of the night while the drunken father sleeps through it and the white trash mother sleeps peacefully across town and the un-matured girlfriend sleeps naively hymenless in the bed of a man who can't grow up a boy raising a boy while my illegitimate child questions its parents about its real parents and i cover up the cigarette burns on my arms and throw caution to the wind better caution than piss because pissing in the wind will leave you less than rosy and you won't learn learning comes from failing and when you eat a box of sleeping pills at 22 and find your life in danger one year later you appreciate your failing and you live and even if life is a struggle struggle to be happy and not alone and get what you need even i will accept practical reasons to do something meaningful that i don't believe in today if i care enough tommorrow there is a magic in the doing now for the practical and the guarantee but there is a magic in the risk and the danger magic isn't always just sleight of hand sometimes it is meaningful coincidence or shared experience or shared memory or related experience or simultaneous inspiration or something else chemicals and electricity and physics and biology explain how, but why..why is most important and only two y's matter happiness or benefit not your benefit selfish benefit is pointless benefit others suffer for them help support your mentors even if it means you are at home long past your prime help your brothers and sisters while they deal with illegitimate families wait for your special and do whatever you must to grab it fight for your health and fight for your ownness until you can grasp the happiness you deserve and don't release it free it if it's caged by a predator and take it for my your own take that happiness you earned it you fought against every wrong you ever had you protected and helped everyone who ever deserved it drunken role model or not you are not broken you are a success for living productively whether you are aknowledged for the lives you touch or not when your sun sets you know you did whats right and if you haven't fought for what's right unaknowledged then you don't deserve your happy a selfish doesn't get a happy and if you take offense to a screaming conscience that fails to make you think about every word choice in it's possible positive and understand a reach toward the human condition of whar is now and what is a moment and how does that relate to pair-bonding as opposed to fucking that is if you are offended it wasn't meant and if offense still comes forward in your mind let me back it with purpose and say f--- the world that is, i mean, i should've said, fuck it here's the truth....................
fREE the world............................

good night beautiful people of the world

Well, it's springtime, and it's the time of year when all the beautiful things start flourishing again. So I thought I might write and share a poem about one of my favorite things about this time of year.

The Spaghetti Tree

Who could raise a disputy
About your noodles beauty?
The fresh orange noodles
Give me smiles in oodles
Oh to be of the lucky few
Who harvests daily from you

Well, I hope you all enjoyed the annual spaghetti harvests in europe at this time of year have always served as a powerful inspiration for me.

I pledge allegiance
To the stars and stripes
The thirteen
Seven red lashes upon the back
Slavery
Six for white privilege and supremacy
One stripe
For economic exploitation
Of black, white, yellow; the poor
Another stripe
For the bottom line
The outsourced
Gas and goods; overpriced
Another stripe
For the fact that human labor
The lack of employment will suffice
Another white stripe
Not the band—the government
Who calls one a terrorist if one disagrees
Or take a stand
Three stripes left
For the prison industrial complex
And the rockerfeller, RICO, and three strikes
Leave one in three African American men powerless
Another stripe
For the women—no matter the color
And not the 19th century racist white feminism
The southern belle; Georgia peach;
Who played upon the “negress” in order to substantiate their grievance
The last stripe
For the American dream
John Wayne; the cowboy
Rock-n-roll singers
Whose original notes were
First strung by black fingers
And it didn’t matter if the crowd
Couldn’t relate to a bunch of niggers
But the same African Americans
Never followed the fifty white stars
Drowning in the blue see of capitalistic enterprise
To your surprise, we escaped
By following one star in the sky
By underground and by porchlight
That’s why you could take my job; my money
And promotion—you couldn’t take my mind
So if you see one burning the flag
Don’t scoff and wonder why
Because to them, this could very well
Be what it represents
The bombs burst in the air
And hear the bombs burst beneath a Montgomery church chair
And this time, three black girls weren’t left standing…

“Purpose driven life”

Don’t think you realize what I am capable
Got nothing but honest intentions
But I don’t think you know
I have a way to show you
I understand to show you
I will speak to show you
(and you sit so smug,
like you were sent for me
divine little revelation-ary)
plopped, dropped, wrapped, so carefully
you feel some sort of draw
that’s my little string
and I’ve been thinking about you
your feeling and your great plan
Growing in your head
a great plan He has given you
because you keep searching, fighting
but sometimes my friend
the answer is not in the end
The path tells its story strong and well…
I’ve got this smile across my face for you
But don’t get me confused with the other girls
Fawning over all of you
you try to turn me around all you want
but this girl turns on her own
(What could be more disappointing?
Than a man that needs to be humbled)

---oh you ran into the right girl…
the one who sees the beauty
all the harmlessness in you
but I’m not here for that
I’m standing to break you down
Not afraid to say something you need to hear
And your gunna be surprised
As you think that you’ve been sent for me
When I’ve been sent for you
And suddenly we are both affronted
Sideswipe baptism, knee-bending thanks
these fighting eyes can see Him
We’ve both got a purpose driven life…

You know, why don't you have a poetry burning. Get together, with a list of poetry topic starters, write poetry, read poetry as a group, and then burn all evidence that the poetry ever existed in written form, especially anything good. Might be entertaining, and maybe a little theraputic.

corwin corwin corwin corwin

you know you would say that. burn out NOBEL and PEACE and FLORANCE B. ALLEN winners. pshhh.

jesi jesi jesi jesi. (theyellowpoet)

I recomend everyone to see V for Vendetta. It was brilliant.

'Slop'

standing over me
loving female authority
oh mommy oh mommy
politically correct bonding

american biology
sarah stevens

it's beautiful to think
that out of this hunk
of greedy dirt--
to which some
white blood cell came
claiming a rock
crying blood tears
planting indigenous little flags
clogging its arteries
until the pumping organ
swelled enough
to quinch its cherry lust
for washington's fictional history
on flesh and bone
assimilated by the consumation
of making and keeping a slave
long after lincoln's faulty documentation
can't count the dislocated
gene mutation of parts and places
this cancerous muddy excretment
--a love seed grew
prompting neccisary anarchies
to a million men marching
equality ripe with vital nutrients
setting a precedent
a woman's place no longer
confined to base assumptions
the siege on sanfrancisco
a desenfranchised repition of 'I do.'
universities breeding stronger strands
viracious readers an enoculation
screaming, seething revolution
the love seed will not be dormant
embryo pulsating
fresh blood cells ready to sprout
the love inside aching
fused to this stratified piece of earth
offering a different DNA
ribosomes rought with hope

In fact Jesi, that's exactly the agenda behind the process. Engage both the creative and destructive process in the same event. Write, knowing your creation is destined to be destroyed, with only a limited few to experience it's incarnation. Witness the destruction of your work as it goes up in flames. I find something potentially poetic in the whole process.

So in a way Jesi, you grasp my intention completely.

corwin

poetry purge comences at midnight tonight.

Hey, I like the name for it. Simple, and I know exactly what it means. You know I don't usually write poetry right? LOL

In America
We can burn our prose because we want to
Because we know our words to be the Phoenix
Plus, you know, we can save them in
Rich Text Format
And have them translate well--
Even on a Mac!

on burning poetry
sarah stevens

bonfires in america...
liberty smoke signals
that carbon monoxide
contains my dreams
a thousand oppertunities
to burn things
exercise free speech
by destroying it--
albiet it's saved
(just like me)
and we have to lose words
before meaning,
in all it's creepy elusive
negativity,
pisses on your stick and grass flames...

Lots of reference/inspiration stuff from bob dylan, or whoever he stole it from, especially the second. dont know if thats good or bad but my mom said i could do whatever i want.

Ballad of a Broken Man

Ol’ Mr. sittin’ on the side o’ the road
Mind full of all he’d ever been told
All the things he’d ever seen
Dead dreams, all he’d never been

When he was young and strong
He thought he knew where he belonged
But cigarettes they passed the time
Somehow what he was lookin’ for he could never find

There was a day when life was full
Like a cup overflowin’ with the finest brew
But Ol’ Mr. he’s thinkin’ now
Maybe it was too fast the way he drunk it down

But when he was young and strong
He always knew where he belonged
And waitin’ for tomorrow, he had the time
And he’s still lookin’ for what he couldn’t find

He had a girl once who saw what he could be
Them two together was somethin’ beautiful to see
But she had to become a woman and saw what he was
Made up her her mind it just wasn’t enough

Ol’ Mr. he used to be young and strong
Thought he knew where he belonged
But dreamin’ just passed the time
And those dreams Ol’ Mr. never did find
----------------------------------------------

Travelin’ down a desolate road
See a figure in the distance
Blood burns cold
Used to be so good
To meet another along the way
But now I just ain’t in the mood
Guess I’ve been drownin’ in a whirlpool of lies
Nothing can be found in anyone’s eyes

Used to be these great things I know’d
I would be when I grew up
And before I got old
Much as I hate to say it though
Perfect is something I’ll never see
It’s an iron box everyone outgrows
So keep your ideals and limitations too
Hypocrite is just a word that I learned in school

I got a head full of ideas
That are drivin’ me insane
I want to show them to ya
Try to make it come out right
If only we could understand
But I just don’t have the might
Pages of my soul from me to you
Just get tangled up in blue

Chokin’ ourselves with protection
Being so afraid that we might fall
But I swear I see my reflection
Someplace so high above the wall

HEY POETS!!

No doubt this is already something you have in mind, but, just in case, do make sure you submit to the Florence Allen Contest. There are a number of poems hanging here in the ether that I think could be prize winners (though you may want to spend a FEW minutes editing and tidying -- and, Jesi, spellchecking!).

In the world of poetry writing, $100 is actually a decent chunk of change. It could buy you 6-7 books of poems, 4-5 printer cartridges, a good meal for your literary friends, or quite a nice gift for one of your professors.

And here's another April poem, "Words for a Resurrection," by Leo Kennedy.

Each pale Christ stirring underground
Splits the brown casket of its root,
Wherefrom the rousing soil upthrusts
A narrow, pointed shoot,

And bones long quiet under frost
Rejoice as bells precipitate
The loud, ecstatic sundering,
The hour inviolate.

This Man of April walks again --
Such marvel does the time allow --
With laughter in His blessed bones,
And lilies on his brow.

blue under the green

cracked broken blue
crawling hopeless through
unable to hide mend
no anxiety end
i can still hear that
thunder crashing at
minds edge all orange view
heavy hell heat hue
as good as dead here
inside not a tear

Please to be my enemy
That you may harshly criticize
All that flows from my mind to my hand
That I may realize
What causes me to weary
In running with footmen
So that I gain the strength
To with the horses contend
Create for me not
A land I trust in peace
That I may live as the Jordan swells
Speak no fair words unto me

...and I'll say thanks

For Nic,

I would explain what this has to do with anything, but frankly it's funny this way.

drowning in a bag
sucking breath from monkey ass
Is life worth this shit?

"Dude, that was a haiku!"

-Wayne's World 1-

yeah ok. stop talking about video games you too...

Is the sound of the ocean in a seashell just an echo of the fluid in your head?
Is a boat in the clouds just a collection of water and factory by-product?
Is love just a release of endorphins and other hormones that make you smile?
Is laughter just a series of electrical impulses caused by absurdity and irony?
Is religion just a construct to make us more comfortable with the unkown?
What exactly is it about us as humans that causes us to create abstract or non-concrete ideas? We create social norms on a sometimes seemingly abstract basis. We create labels and boxes to categorize things. Once things are categorized, we can sort them based on their appeal to our individuality. Look at your own(CD, silver dollar [which excludes Sacagawea] or seashell) collections of possessions to see this in action. What bugs me is that at some point we began associating personal appeal with good and bad. Thus, our labels and categories applied to people begin determing good or bad based on things like appearance, dress, attitude, or lifestyle. Not to say that we should forced to spend time with people who annoy us, but we make judgements about whether people are good or bad based on things other than character. I've known people in my life who have seemed as innocent as can be, but were real pieces of fecal matter if you paid attention. On the other hand I've known folks who seemed like real a-holes, but would give you the shirt off their back if you really needed it. Not really sure what prompted this. Something about appearances being misleading, or the way we construct images and symbols around things so they aren't meaningless. Something about falsehoods and forced definitions, I think. Ah well, my rants are probably boring by now.

I've just been staying at home not getting anything done. I've basically been doing nothing worth mentioning. My life's been pretty unremarkable these days. Eh.

My mind is like a bunch of nothing, but I guess it doesn't bother me. I haven't been up to anything recently. I've pretty much been doing nothing to speak of.

Not much on my mind right now, but it's not important. I've just been letting everything happen without me. I just don't have anything to say right now.

I have even less to