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Saturday, November 28, 2009
Spring 2009 Metro Art: Takoma to Cheverly
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Summer 2008: Summer of Swing [Semester]
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Cheverly, Environs: Fall 2007 and Spring 2008
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A William Faulkner inspirational
"Always dream and shoot higher than you know you can do. Don't bother just to be better than your contemporaries or predecessors. Try to be better than yourself."
Thursday, November 12, 2009
November in the Mid-Atlantic
O Nature, your primal sanities
Are my disease
And I see my sickness shining
On the endless avenues of common concrete faces
To them I must seem ill
Still I resist their medication
While I'm tempted to be healed-
My mind grows obese on the delicacies
Of sex and gourmet things
And jealousy stokes my hunger
Many are the urban fruits
But each is a bit rotten
A bit plastic
A bit pappig
A bit anonymous
A bit wanton
And mostly deceptive
Trotzdem, On a balmy November day
I smell something familiar and sweet on the air
While standing at the end of the platform
And no one seems to notice
The next day is brooding, grey, and chilled
But once again near the train station
I'm struck by the wild scent
Which I find from flowers
Like little lillies
Silent among sharp osmanthus
So give me your fruits, o nature
Your pure seductions
Your wild rapture
Your chirping crickets mating desperately
Before the first frost
Give me the clean danger of animals and storms and rivers
Where I find my humble place among the universe
Of rocky tundra
Your feast and famine
---------------------------
In conversation ~
"Give me the Splendid, Silent Sun" by Whitman

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.
Are my disease
And I see my sickness shining
On the endless avenues of common concrete faces
To them I must seem ill
Still I resist their medication
While I'm tempted to be healed-
My mind grows obese on the delicacies
Of sex and gourmet things
And jealousy stokes my hunger
Many are the urban fruits
But each is a bit rotten
A bit plastic
A bit pappig
A bit anonymous
A bit wanton
And mostly deceptive
Trotzdem, On a balmy November day
I smell something familiar and sweet on the air
While standing at the end of the platform
And no one seems to notice
The next day is brooding, grey, and chilled
But once again near the train station
I'm struck by the wild scent
Which I find from flowers
Like little lillies
Silent among sharp osmanthus
So give me your fruits, o nature
Your pure seductions
Your wild rapture
Your chirping crickets mating desperately
Before the first frost
Give me the clean danger of animals and storms and rivers
Where I find my humble place among the universe
Of rocky tundra
Your feast and famine
---------------------------
In conversation ~
"Give me the Splendid, Silent Sun" by Whitman
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Conservative Whining
Oh, the irony that for decades conservatives have been calling liberals "whiny" because they "cry discrimination." See how the pendulum swings. Of course it's hilarious when we consider white straight Christians acting like they're not the dominant group in society - seeing how media, commerce, and government are still geared toward them.
http://www.towleroad.com/2009/10/mormons-play-victim-claim-threats-by-gays-like-treatment-of-blacks-in-the-south-during-civil-rights-.html
Primary perpetrator #1. Glenn Beck, who even scares Don Imus
Perpetrator #2. Rush Limbaugh
Perpetrator #3. The Teabaggers
Perpetrator #4. The 700 Club and Trinity Broadcasting
And many more!
So, let's all cry them a little river, shall we? I mean, one day soon they'll be in the minority, so let's get our tear-ducts primed and ready to feel sorry for them!
Friday, September 25, 2009
The Cowboy Poet
Black whispers the cliff
Black whispers the loblolly
Silver whispers the Milky Way
Open listens his eyes
Educated leather
On adventure seeking heels
Pounded by responsibility
And comfortable in silence
Whistling to his horse
Whistling to his wife
Whistling to the fence
Hearing his worries
The buffalo returned
The sage-fires bore the prairie orchid
And the plagues passed
But the nomads have changed
And are lonely-numbered
They document the earth as it was and will be:
Smelling the Blue Northerns
Kicking at the trail
Peering from beneath the brim
Singing to the page
-----------------------------

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.
Black whispers the loblolly
Silver whispers the Milky Way
Open listens his eyes
Educated leather
On adventure seeking heels
Pounded by responsibility
And comfortable in silence
Whistling to his horse
Whistling to his wife
Whistling to the fence
Hearing his worries
The buffalo returned
The sage-fires bore the prairie orchid
And the plagues passed
But the nomads have changed
And are lonely-numbered
They document the earth as it was and will be:
Smelling the Blue Northerns
Kicking at the trail
Peering from beneath the brim
Singing to the page
-----------------------------
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.
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