When I was young, it seemed that life was so wonderful,
a miracle, oh it was beautiful, magical.
And all the birds in the trees, well they'd be singing so happily,
joyfully, playfully watching me.
But then they send me away to teach me how to be sensible,
logical, responsible, practical.
And they showed me a world where I could be so dependable,
clinical, intellectual, cynical.
There are times when all the world's asleep,
the questions run too deep
for such a simple man.
Won't you please, please tell me what we've learned
I know it sounds absurd
but please tell me who I am.
Now watch what you say or they'll be calling you a radical,
liberal, fanatical, criminal.
Won't you sign up your name, we'd like to feel you're
acceptable, respectable, presentable, a vegetable!
At night, when all the world's asleep,
the questions run so deep
for such a simple man.
Won't you please, please tell me what we've learned
I know it sounds absurd
but please tell me who I am.
-Supertramp
Monday, June 20, 2011
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Update.
My phone is paying for it's swim in the toilet. It turns off on its own, and it usually only works if it's plugged in. Wonderful, right?
It would be easier if we all still had dial phones. I wish I had a dial phone.
On a different, not even related subject, we're learning about the Trojan War in Latin class. It's interesting to me that one girl could start a war that lasted ten years. I think it would be kind of cool to have that much power.
It would be easier if we all still had dial phones. I wish I had a dial phone.
On a different, not even related subject, we're learning about the Trojan War in Latin class. It's interesting to me that one girl could start a war that lasted ten years. I think it would be kind of cool to have that much power.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
"Crap."
Today is only Tuesday, and so far this week, a number of things have made me say "Crap."
1. Realizing on Monday morning that I had forgotten to write an essay over the weekend.
2. Falling on the ice outside my house.
3. Not making any baskets in basketball in my gym class.
4. Forgetting the password to my gmail account.
5. Being so tired in the morning that I put my pants on backward.
6. Not getting a snow day.
7. Finding a hole in my favorite sock.
8. And, most recently, dropping my cell phone in the toilet.
Great week so far.
1. Realizing on Monday morning that I had forgotten to write an essay over the weekend.
2. Falling on the ice outside my house.
3. Not making any baskets in basketball in my gym class.
4. Forgetting the password to my gmail account.
5. Being so tired in the morning that I put my pants on backward.
6. Not getting a snow day.
7. Finding a hole in my favorite sock.
8. And, most recently, dropping my cell phone in the toilet.
Great week so far.
Friday, September 10, 2010
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Monday, July 12, 2010
The Attic
Today I spent the day chucking planks of wood off of the roof of my house, and shoveling gooey, wet, seven-year-old grill ashes from a large bucket in the backyard.
God, don't you just envy me?
What a day. What a day.
God, don't you just envy me?
What a day. What a day.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Nineteen Carnival Rides
There were colored lines on the sidewalk.
I counted them over in my head. Nineteen.
Nineteen for those who were dead.
All those men who were dragged to war,
Who only wanted to get away from the blood.
All those who were not just along for the ride.
I thought back to all those carnival rides,
Where you go flying, you think you’ll hit the sidewalk.
But when you land, there is no shed blood.
My mind flooded of those memories of him before nineteen,
Of that carefree time before he was send to war.
I stomped my cigarette out until it was dead.
As I looked around, it seemed that all the color was dead,
Even those bright convertibles that used to be so fun to ride,
The ones without bullet holes from war.
I heard feet scraping down the sidewalk.
The chirping birds started singing. I counted the whistles. Nineteen.
But the scraping came back, and I saw a boy with a knee full of blood.
It started dripping down his leg, the blood.
His face turned white, he asked me, “Am I dead?”
I told him no, and slowly counted the lines. Still nineteen.
Then I raised my head and asked the boy if he wanted a ride.
“It’s okay, I know my way home, just gotta follow the sidewalk,”
He said, and I envied him for being too young for war.
I closed my eyes and heard the guns of war,
Imagined myself in that sea of blood.
It was just as clear to me as the sidewalk.
That little boy had asked me if he was dead.
At that young age, you really are too young for war,
That carefree age before he turned nineteen.
When I opened my eyes that boy was gone. In nineteen
Seconds he had left me and my internal war
Between staying and struggling or giving into the ride.
The boy had left only one thing behind, a single drop of blood.
But he would not go home to find his brother dead.
I dragged my heels home, following the sidewalk.
Because he was dead, as early as nineteen,
I changed directions on the sidewalk, leaving behind the war, my war.
I stepped over the boy’s drop of blood, and walked back to the carnival for
one
more
ride.
I counted them over in my head. Nineteen.
Nineteen for those who were dead.
All those men who were dragged to war,
Who only wanted to get away from the blood.
All those who were not just along for the ride.
I thought back to all those carnival rides,
Where you go flying, you think you’ll hit the sidewalk.
But when you land, there is no shed blood.
My mind flooded of those memories of him before nineteen,
Of that carefree time before he was send to war.
I stomped my cigarette out until it was dead.
As I looked around, it seemed that all the color was dead,
Even those bright convertibles that used to be so fun to ride,
The ones without bullet holes from war.
I heard feet scraping down the sidewalk.
The chirping birds started singing. I counted the whistles. Nineteen.
But the scraping came back, and I saw a boy with a knee full of blood.
It started dripping down his leg, the blood.
His face turned white, he asked me, “Am I dead?”
I told him no, and slowly counted the lines. Still nineteen.
Then I raised my head and asked the boy if he wanted a ride.
“It’s okay, I know my way home, just gotta follow the sidewalk,”
He said, and I envied him for being too young for war.
I closed my eyes and heard the guns of war,
Imagined myself in that sea of blood.
It was just as clear to me as the sidewalk.
That little boy had asked me if he was dead.
At that young age, you really are too young for war,
That carefree age before he turned nineteen.
When I opened my eyes that boy was gone. In nineteen
Seconds he had left me and my internal war
Between staying and struggling or giving into the ride.
The boy had left only one thing behind, a single drop of blood.
But he would not go home to find his brother dead.
I dragged my heels home, following the sidewalk.
Because he was dead, as early as nineteen,
I changed directions on the sidewalk, leaving behind the war, my war.
I stepped over the boy’s drop of blood, and walked back to the carnival for
one
more
ride.
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