Curious

Its ironic when you think about it: it is now politically correct to use B.C.E and C.E when dating historical events instead of B.C and A.D. The reasoning for this is to take secular history from a non Jeudo-Christian outlook so as to bring about an unbiased approach. However, the standard for this system is still before the birth of Christ (Before Christian Era) and after (Christian Era). So technically, its still a very Christian-influenced style of dating with the intent of not being so.

Kinda dumb, in'it?

Jesus of the Scars

Now I don't usually enjoy war poetry, but in light of circumstances this one seemed fitting:

Jesus of the Scars

If we have never sought, we seek Thee now;
Thine eyes burn through the dark, our only stars;
We must have sight of thorn-pricks on Thy brow;
We must have Thee, O Jesus of the Scars.

The heavens frighten us; they are too calm;
In all the universe we have no place.
Our wounds are hurting us; where is the balm?
Lord Jesus, by Thy Scars we claim Thy grace.

If when the doors are shut, Thou drawest near,
Only reveal those hands, that side of Thine;
We know today what wounds are; have no fear;
Show us Thy Scars; we know the countersign.

The other gods were strong, but Thou wast weak;
They rode, but Thou didst stumble to a throne;
But to our wounds only God’s wounds can speak,
And not a god has wounds, but Thou alone.

Nostalgic it Is

Traveler

My Mother was baking Stollen
When I set out
Into the world—
With little bits of fruit in it.
(Much like a soggy spring day
It melted in my mouth.)

And so I put on my waterproofs—
The puddle-world outside my door
Seemed to be enticing.

And I learned to love the sundry fog
That came to fix my sleeping place,
And all the bullfrogs mating
In a drunken, sunken, swoon.
And fireflies domed the sky,
Every night I’d glance at them—
They would laugh
And speak to me
Of scandal ‘tween the stars.

For supper there was ham
And warm summer weather.
A little flute that I would play—
Music, music, music!—
Enticed every humpback whale
That traveled
On the sea.

Salt and smoke
From my green-tree pipe
Stung my eyes to tears

And I remembered
When I put
My waterproofs on my feet,

To step out into
The puddle-pond world
That seemed so enticing
On that soggy, spring day.

9:09

One thing is for certain: the Quantum of Solace is, hands down, the most god-awful film of the whole Bond series. And no, as much as I like the color of Daniel Craigs eyes, not even they could save it. There is nothing in the whole film that resembles the Bond legacy. The girl is only mildly good-looking, there is no evil villain with an insane plan for world domination, no annoying midget or overly ugly giant with metal teeth...no...nothing. The only thing it had like the other ones was the theme music, but even that was funked out.

I'm distraught about the whole thing really.

Anyway, so I went to this book store today without a dime in my pocket; but, you know, those places are great to spend an hour or three reading in. Landed my hands on History of the Ancient World and a few good Marvel comics. (score!) The music in that place was pretty decent too 40's jazz and swing... Anyway, so I'm sitting down in my little corner and there's this nasty, annoying little young adult couple cuddling about 5 paces off. You know, the type that are newly in love and want the whole world to know about it as they giggle, and slurp one frosty with two straws, and find it amuzing to go back and forth with "Your crazy..no your crazy...he he he" and their acts of "Oh-look-at-me-I'm-sucking-my-partners-teeth-from-their-jaw-but-I-don't-care-if-the-whole-world-watches-me." Bloody romantics...bah!

Anyway, I'm sure that I would not have minded had I not been trying to concentrate. Spider man kicking the snot outta the Green Goblin is a very solemn occasion.

Which reminds me, Lesner won his fight last night.

I'm so pleased!

Alone

For you baby...



They stretch across this earth-ball:
Roads without number or name,
But all are alike:
Their goal is all the same.

You can ride, you can travel,
With a friend of your own;
The final step
You must walk alone.

No wisdom is better
Than this, when known;
That every hard thing
Is done alone.
--Hermann Hesse

A Special Day Indeed

I can remember the first day that I met you. I had just gotten a new girlfriend and you-quite protective of her-chatted me up to find out what I was all about. I laugh now as I remember it. We were so young then. Who would have guessed that such a trivial, haphazard meeting would have led into a friendship that has been as wonderful as its been unique? I guess one should never close themselves off to anyone. In every person there lays enormous possibility.

You've always been a good friend to me, and I'm grateful for it, even though I've never just come out straight and said it. You have been the best in so many ways: putting up with my incorrigible moods, always reading the dribble I write, laughing at my stupid jokes, and somehow-even when I don't want to-you can always bring a smile to my face.

But hell, now its your turn to smile. You dun' turned old on me, doll... but its o.k... I forgive you for it...heheh

Happy Birthday darling! I hope and pray this next year is everything that you can possibly dream for it to be. Keep on smiling...o.k? xx

Oh, I know I really shouldn't

.....but.... fine.... I just couldn't resist...

A tincture of tears washes
The cabbage-green skies:
Beneath the dripping tree with tender shoots,
Your waterproofs

Whitened by peculiar moons
With round staring eyes,
Knock your kneecaps together,
My ugly ones!

We loved each other in those days,
Blue ugly one!
We used to eat boiled eggs
And chickweed!

One evening you anointed me poet,
Blond ugly one:
Come down here, let me smack you
Across my knees;

I have puked up your brillantine,
Black ugly one;
You would stop the sound of my mandolin
Before it was out of my head.

Ugh! My dried spittle,
Red-headed ugly one,
Still infects the wrinckles
Of your round breast!

O my little Mistresses,
How I hate you!
Plaster with painful blisters
Your ugly bosoms!

Trample upon my little pots
Of feelings;
Now then jump! Be ballerinas for me
Just for a moment!

Your shoulder-blades are out of joint,
O my loves!
With a star on your hobbling backs
Turn in your turns!

And yet after all, it's for these shoulders of mutton
That I've made rhymes!
I'd like to break your hips
For having loved!

Insipid heap of fallen stars,
Pile up in the corners!
- You'll be extinguished in God, saddled
With ignoble cares!

Whitened by peculiar moons,
With round staring eyes,
Knock your kneecaps together,
My ugly ones!