I've been out walking
I don't do too much talking
These days, these days.
These days I seem to think a lot
About the things that I forgot to do
And all the times I had the chance to.
I've stopped my rambling,
I don't do too much gambling
These days, these days.
These days I seem to think about
How all the changes came about my ways
And I wonder if I'll see another highway.
I had a lover,
I don't think I'll risk another
These days, these days.
And if I seem to be afraid
To live the life that I have made in song
It's just that I've been losing so long.
La la la la la, la la.
I've stopped my dreaming,
I won't do too much scheming
These days, these days.
These days I sit on corner stones
And count the time in quarter tones to ten.
Please don't confront me with my failures,
I had not forgotten them.

"These Days", Nico.

Some of these you may have seen before, but I'm sharing them anyway. Just some amusing and disturbing pictures to lighten your day. ^_^

Tunes: "Sex & Drugs & Rock & Roll", Ian Dury and the Blockheads; "From Now On", Kill Hannah; "Candy (Vocal Mix)", Riyu Kosaka.

For starters, here, I'm going to list a few things about trust. Trust is kind of like a house. Trust has to be built, trust needs support to be maintainted, trust can strengthen, weaken and even be broken. Now, normally when I tihnk about trust, it is in relation to other people or things. Can I trust X person to carry out this task? Can I trust this book not to fall apart? But recently I've called into question my relationship of trust with myself. How much can I trust Si to do? Can I trust myself to do the tasks I've set? Can I trust this tangled mess of logic, emotion, and instinct to carry me through life and land me on my feet? I hope so. But then, hope is not the same as trust. How do you regain trust-- in yourself?

I just wrote a beautiful angsty-turning-happy piece in here, and accidentally closed my browser window. I'm too frustrated to try again, so I'm throwing in something I wrote a while ago.

The drums reverberated in the distance, sounding their cold, heartless march, carrying an overtone of death and despair. Jason looked around the ramshackle walls surrounding the village he called home and closed his eyes in hopelessness. He and his neighbors had never considered the threat of invasion. They had always lived peacefully, working and plying their trades. The town was a ways off any main routes, and as such didn't see many visitors. Those who did come were welcomed with open arms and full tankards. It had been a wonderful, peaceful, productive life. Until the survivors came. There were three of them, all starved, exhausted, and scared within an inch of their lives. One of them was insane: gibbering unintelligably, and shying away when others came near; The other two were all too coherent, if worn to the bone. The story they told was a frightening one, a tale of an army, at least three or four thousand soldiers, raging across the land, burning and killing, not stopping to pillage and steal, seemingly intent only on destruction. Jason didn't believe the story at first; he could barely imagine that many people in one place at all, let alone organized as an army. But the somber faces of the villagers as they reinforced their houses and walls soon convinced him that the danger was real. and now, scant days after the newcomers had arrived and taken lodging at Aaron Cahey's house, they could hear the ominous drums and pounding feet that signaled their impending nightmare. Jason curled up, sitting in a fetal position, burying his head in his knees. The candle at his feet shivered and wavered with each beat, before giving a final sputter and dying. Just like he was about to. Give out one final sputter, then burn out, leaving a light cloud of smoke as the only memorial of his being. So be it, then. He listens to the echoing drums and waits, preparing for his turn to give one last burst of flame.

Tunes: "Ev'ry Time We Say Goodbye", Annie Lennox; "Horseshoes", Moxy Früvous; "Fields of Gold", Eva Cassidy.

What do you do when, with all the subtlety of a wrecking ball, something comes and destroys one of the supporting pillars of your life? Do you stiffen, resolving to keep a straight face through adversity? Or do you break down, crying in despair and insecurity? The Buddha's first universal truth is impermanence. Nothing is immune to change, no matter how desperately we cling to it. At the risk of sounding redundant, the Buddha was a really smart guy.

Tunes: "No Shelter", Rage Against The Machine; "Crawling", Linkin Park; "Danny Boy", Black 47. (Scroll down a ways)

EDIT: What do you do when you find you're wrong, and you take a step back and see that it's still there, and you're still whole?

So yeah, the school year is here, and one of my first assignments was to write some character essays on the movie of The Count of Monte Cristo. And I figured I could get some decent blog milage (bloggage?) out of them, so here you go. Yes, there are kind of spoilers, but I'm guessing the vast majority of you know the story outline anyway.

The priest is an intriguing character, if for no other reason that so little is known of him. He was a soldier before turning to religion and academics, he says, and appears to be a human incarnation of faith and patience. Confronted with his sin, he claims "I'm a priest, not a saint." But is it true? What defines a saint? Surely his undying resolution and conviction while faced with over a decade of loneliness, degradation, and pain must be considered saintly, along with his dutiful guidance of Edmond to a higher path in an attempt to give Edmond the tools to make something of his life beyond the revenge that has driven all else out. When faced with edmond denying belief in God, the priest merely smiles and says "It does not matter. He believes in you." The sheer level of acceptance shown there is awe-inspiring. He is content to die, having faith in God and in Edmond.

Jacopo's character seemed too buffoonish and clownish, fitting far too closely into the stereotype of the Bumbling Ethnic Sidekick. This detracts from the deeper, more resolute side of his character that we see in the carriage scene, where he reiterates his promise to protect Edmond, even from himself. In a very real sense, he embodies several of Edmond's good aspects (such as loyalty, faith, and reason) that Edmond appears to have lost touch with, as we see from the Count's argument with Mercedes: "If you truly love me, do not rob me of my hate. It is all I have left".

Even faced with a totally neglectful father and wonderful father figure, Albert takes the shattering of his life's illusion way too readily, and is far too accepting. Perhaps by that point Albert had already accepted Edmond's replacement of Ferdnand as a father, given the birthday toast, but when Albert learns the truth, he seems on the verge of mild tears, not what one might expect from a spoiled, paternally abused teenager. During the final climactic duel, Albert attempts to rush into the fray, but is held back by Jacopo. As such, Albert's intentions are left unclear, and only after Ferdnand lies dead do we see any overt sign of grief from Albert, as he falls to his knees and weeps before the man he knew as his father. The grief does not appear to last, however, as in the following scene, which takes place a scant three months after, Albert is seen smiling at and hugging his birth father, appearing not to blame him for Ferdnand's death or turning his world upside-down.

Many congratulations are in order, as two good friends of mine have just yesterday promised themselves to each other. Tripp and Trish, all the best.

We've been going together
Too long to be vague
When there's something to say
If it's not now then it's never
So I'll say it straight out
'Cause I have no doubt, no doubt

Let's get married
I love you and I want to stay with you
Let's get married
Have kids and grow old and grey with you
Let's get married
Hold hands, walk in the park
Let's get married

We know other people
Who drifted apart
Who broke each other's hearts
But we ain't other people
So we'll do things our way
We're gonna be okay
We're gonna be more than okay

Let's get married
We're ready for tying the knot
Let's get married
Set the seal on the feelings we've got
Let's get married
We can make each other happy or we can make each other blue
Yeah, it's just a piece of paper, but it it says, "I love you."
For the good times
For the days when we can do no wrong
For the bad times
For the moments when we think we can't go on
For the family
For the lives of the children that we've planned
Let's get married
C'mon darlin', please take my hand

And I'll be the one
Who's by your side
I'll be the one
Still taking pride
When we're old if they ask me,
"How do you define success?"
I'll say, "You meet a woman
You fall in love
You ask her and
She says, `Yes.'"

let's get married
I love and I want to stay with you
Let's get married
Have kids and grow old and grey with you
Let's get married
Hold hands when we walk in the park
All right, you can get a cat, just as long as it barks
For the good times
For the days when we can do no wrong
For the bad times
For the moments when we think we can't go on
For the family
For the lives of the children that we've planned
Let's get married
C'mon darlin', please take my hand

"Let's Get Married", The Proclaimers.

Yesterday I bought a CD, the first I've bought in quite a long time (since last August, if memory serves). It's a used copy of BoogadaBoogadaBoogada! by Screeching Weasel. I find it interesting that the only CD I've bought all year is a) 15 years old, b) used, and therefore provides no direct profit for the RIAA, and c) by a band that (while they were still together) sang offensive lyrics aimed at the major players in the music industry at the time. Anyway, if any you enjoy a sort of 80's underground punk sound, some songs to look up off of this album are Stupid Over You, a song about celebrity crushes; Sunshine, encouraging you to be happy; I Wanna Be Naked, extolling the joys of nudity; Holy Hardcore, proving that Christianity and being a punk aren't mutually exclusive; and Hey Suburbia, another feel-good party song. Share and enjoy! ^_^

I've had my share of mood swings, but generally all is well. I had some friends over for a teen B-horror movie night (Jeepers Creepers), and saw The Order on Friday, and acolyted at Bill and Susan's wedding on Saturday, which went extremely smoothly. On Sunday, I hung out with my friend Adrian who taught me to pay God Save The Queen on the guitar (the Sex Pistols version, that is). And there's not much else, after frisbee and Drama class auditions (still haven't heard results yet).

Also, as a response to Tripp's image of the Lord's Prayer in Klingon, I offer this humble work: the Brick Testament.

Tunes: "All My Best Friends Are Metalheads", Less Than Jake; "Gummi Bears", Suburban Legends; "Three Days Later", FM Static.

I ride my bike to and from my frisbee practice. I'm stiff and achy and tired, but wow it feels good. ^_^ Can't wait till next spring, when most of the inter-high school games happen. Until then, I'm straightening out my forehand and enjoying the feel of working my body until my shirt is damp with sweat and my throat is dry and begs for water.

Tunes: "I Want Your Sex Pootie", Big T and the Oaktones; "Girl Eyes", Eve 6.

It's wet and grey and iffy out. There's really not much to do on a day like this. I mean, sure there are things I CAN do, but the atmosphere that comes with a day like this leeches my energy and sends me spiraling into apathy. I look out the window, searching for some sign that the clouds will part and the sunlight will pour through, illuminating the landscape and my life, but as far as I can see, there are only shades of grey. That's all there ever is, really. Shades of grey. Life is too complex to fall into the sharp contrast of black and white. I turn from the window, grab my wallet and leave the house. I don't know where I'm going, but it's helpful to have some sense of motion, if not direction. Droplets of rain fall occasionally on my face, feeling almost like tears as they run. I feel a sudden warmth, and glance up to see a small hole in the sheet of grey, blazing forth light-- which quickly disappears back into the mottled uniformity of the sky. Dejected, I continue my aimless march. Hope may spring eternal, but despair is very thirsty. Very thirsty.