| lua |
[Apr. 30th, 2005|11:38 pm] |
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crisp spring air like a wichita winter and it's a long weekend. time enough to wash my clothes and mourn my loves—mourn other's loves.
there were a few beautiful days i could remember, and each is like this one only singular.
it always makes me wonder how other people feel beauty. how much are we the same?
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| (no subject) |
[Apr. 4th, 2005|12:20 am] |
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As of 12:30am 3 April 2005, I'm just a good friend. Best friendship was proposed, but I pointed out that we don't have the same group of friends, so she might be setting the bar too high—I counter-offered to be a friend, but we settled on good friendship. We still have concert dates for The Shins (my choice) and Iron & Wine (hers), so it seems a reasonable compromise. |
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| California One/Youth And Beauty Brigade |
[Apr. 4th, 2005|12:01 am] |
You can listen to:
The Indie Indian
[Featuring Jimmy Rabbite]
Wednesdays, 4:30-6:00pm
Listen live at www.krlx.org
Call our request line at (507) 646-4127!
This Friday is a special Bandemonium on KRLX as well. Jimmy Rabbite (aka Rob) will devote 1.5 hours to The Decemberists: where they've been, where they're going, and why you should see them in Minneapolis on Saturday. Listen to KRLX from 4:30-6:00pm on 8 April! |
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| (no subject) |
[Mar. 29th, 2005|10:22 pm] |
I'm youthful and happy and cuddly and lots of fun;
I'm youthful and happy, and I am only fifty-one! |
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| robble robble! |
[Mar. 29th, 2005|12:00 am] |
Swear to God, a few minutes ago I had something to say. It involved vampires and mariners and archaic and arcane words, all set to a brilliant musical score, but then my roommates put in their DVD of The West Wing, and the loud words blasted it all right out of my head. So I'm sitting in my room, unable to think for the fictional goings-on, and I'm left imagining what might happen if I were to get into a fight. Those things are unrelated, mind. I don't want to fight my roommates, or anyone else particularly. It just crossed my mind, like "Rob Thomas, you don't get into many fights. Your life is a little boring right now, maybe you should get involved in a nice, long-term fight. Find an archenemy, damn it." As it is, the best I can manage is to find a few people distasteful. I think if I was a Sim, I'd get maybe about four points in the Nice category, just few enough that I can still be opinionated. Seven is the highest—I know a few people like that. They're too nice, see.
ok. |
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| the bagman's gambit |
[Mar. 27th, 2005|11:08 pm] |
i'm back at carleton, where my life will settle into an utterly predictable routine. i'll go to class mwf and then work tth and in between there'll be radio and frisbee and homework and killing time. that's really all i do here—ruminate about being uninspired and bored and vaguely lonely. i thought i was going through a growth spurt, but i think i'm just becoming degenerate. degeneration is all the rage these days, it has been for a number of years. it's quite a fashionable adjective, it has the charm of a modern antique, so i'm proud to represent it. proud, but bored and uninspired and vaguely lonely.
goddamn i ♥ huckabees. i watched it too, and now my faults are amplified in my mind—soon enough i'll turn into a soporific neurotic, like the lead in a bad woody allen movie. |
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| (no subject) |
[Nov. 3rd, 2004|12:54 am] |
Whatever happens these next four years,
I want you to know:
I love you. |
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| The end of the end |
[Oct. 31st, 2004|10:49 pm] |
My fingers wanted to write tonight, because I haven't really. I mean, sure, they call it that, lumping it all together, but it's the difference between un ensayo and una composición. And this, maybe, is more like a composition because right now my hands feel like they're old enough to speak and they look like it too with their tendons and veins and hairs. They've always trembled a bit, not for any good reason like fear or timidity or malnutrition. It's just a part of my character, like so much else. It's enough to make me tear up just thinking about them—we've been through so much together. That's not to say they're not independent—sometimes I catch them drumming along to a song, or pretending to type when I'm not paying attention. Most of the time, though, we're pretty tight.
So someone told me a joke, and it's enough to ruin the melancholy. I really don't mind—either way, I'm happy and maybe that's a little bit odd to bask in it like that, but I've got a warm coat and wintery music and can feel lonely when I want to and loved when I don't. So, if you don't mind, I'll begin again. My hands, they look younger already. |
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| Ghost |
[Sep. 9th, 2004|11:36 pm] |
Carleton looks lonely at night. The trees make for strange silent company. And me? I make for strange silent company too. |
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| Brand New Colony |
[Sep. 9th, 2004|04:58 pm] |
Hallo from Carleton College. I moved in on Wednesday and now I am in the thick of New Student Week—probably just like you'd imagine. There's been a lot of oh, hello, where are you from?, what dorm do you live in? nonsense, but I imagine it will settle down once classes begin on Monday.
My roommates: one football player from Minnesota and a non-football player from Colorado. They're both nice enough, although the football player is way too cool for me—y'know. They've both been here for longer than I have since one had practice and the other went on a pre-frosh trip, but I was still alarmed when they separately each found hook-ups on the first night. College life, I suppose.
Yesterday we were welcomed by the president and we got to play the alma mater on plastic percussion tubes. Sure it was silly, but it was a lot of fun to collectively play music in harmony. Each person received one tube and was responsible for playing that note when the time came—it ended all too soon, though, we only played it three times.
Afterwards a dance and a party and nothing remarkable. Just more of the same. Mostly, I'm here, I've regressed in my composition, and one of these days I'll get pictures. |
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| (no subject) |
[Aug. 30th, 2004|11:06 pm] |
Failed Democrat t-shirts:
Will probably cost around $12 (hopefully less).
Will probably be availiable Christmas 2004 (because it costs extra to order them before I leave for college).
Watch for designs you can vote for to appear in this journal.
Will probably not be forgotten by Rob, because he would really like to have one. |
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| Sangria Wine |
[Aug. 29th, 2004|10:04 pm] |
I returned from Dallas/Fort Worth this afternoon, bulging with Mexican-ish food and hotel breakfast waffles. The night before we'd gone to Billy Bob's Texas to see Jerry Jeff Walker live in concert. The music was too loud (and no, I'm not just a prude—it was painful), the mix was terrible, but the band was great. Normally, I have no affection for country music, though it does have its place, but I grew up listening to Jerry Jeff Walker CDs, because I was too young to have my own CDs and because my parents loved him. It's a lot of memories to relive right before my first year of college, made worse by the fact that I know all the words. Just the same, I can pass judgment on the audience at Billy Bob's—more faux cowboys and girls than you've ever seen anywhere, something quite pathetic and amusing. Oh—and there was a barfight while Jerry Jeff Walker played a ballad, a strange accompaniment to the bouncers' careful and methodical work.
Dallas had all the coherency of Wichita, but I did enjoy visiting the Sixth Floor Museum at the Texas School Book Depository, home of Lee Harvey Oswald's alleged sniper position. It's less powerful for a child who has no memory of Kennedy, but it still tells a remarkable story. They say that Kennedy was the embodiment of hope, and, well, we know what happened to him.
This is a strange question, but if I were to order t-shirts with a failed democratic candidacy on them (maybe Mondale-Ferraro or Dukakis), would anybody want one? |
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| The Loneliness Of A Middle Distance Runner |
[Aug. 26th, 2004|10:31 pm] |
Histories are made of regrets, but I remember a day that I promised myself I would come back—never stopping to think I could not. I will leave for Minnesota in a little less than two weeks, and I know just where to go, but it would take more faith than I possess to earn cooperation from the firmament and whatever lives there. It is silly that something already so beautiful could be the subject of such feelings, but is that not always how it is?
I have had a lot of time to think this summer, and I keep wondering about God and why people believe in God. I know the answers you would expect to hear, but they do not seem especially compelling to me—even if there is an order to life, why is it that order? I also really worry about humility. God is always telling us to be humble, and God is perfect. If God is perfect, why is not God humble? Why does God always want to be worshipped in the books written by God's prophets? It is things like this that bother me when my mind is idle on long days.
Today was my last day at the zoo, so I ate free Sno Kones and goofed off and was soaked by a cooler full of water like a victorious coach. Tomorrow, the whole family leaves for Fort Worth to see Jerry Jeff Walker live in concert.
And, if you are a member of the [anything] police, forgive this post—it is out of character, I hope. |
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| Tell Her Tonight |
[Aug. 24th, 2004|05:03 pm] |
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Tonight! East Warren! 7:15pm! Garden State! |
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| For The Widows In Paradise; For The Fatherless In Ypsilanti |
[Aug. 18th, 2004|11:39 pm] |
I went to the central library the other day and came home with a giant stack of compact discs to rip—it is an elegant way to steal music. They're sitting in front of me, in a stack of seven. The other disc is out in the car.
I played Ultimate tonight, and I came home and my legs felt like it. Men's gymnastics was on the television when I arrived, and I realized that my pain was relatively minor. Those giant ring things look very unpleasant.
This morning I read something about "poetry," and it would always place the word within quotation marks. Quite inexplicable, really, but it did make me think about "poetry" and how nice it is.
Tomorrow: might be exactly the same. |
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borksamoht's journal
