ZOMG UPDATE!!!!!11 

I felt like posting my bible paper from SLE.

Though the stillshudder illuminated tree rings

softly in this moment, know that

when the burning is twisted down

when the papers have been forgotten

when rebellion can wait until late afternoon

this growth will be 

silence

and life less 

than memories

Trapped in a world of never-ending sex and chocolate ice cream 

 10/4/06

In many was, this place has fallen short of my expectations, but it's really the greatest place I've ever been. Right now, for example, I'm battling the cold with a t-shirt, shorts, and a mug of hot chocolate instead of closing the window because I insist on absorbing the smell after the rain. 

What He Hopes

we could recognize our counterparts:
the academic, the apologist,
the arrogant, the amorous,
the brazen and the glib--and there was one

administrator (the conservative), in suit
of regulation gray, who like a good tour guide
with measured pace and uninflected tone narrated
sights and histories the hired van hauled us past.
Of all, he was most politic--and least poetic,
so it seemed. Our last few days in Rome
(when all but three of the New World Bards had flown)
I found a book of poems this
unprepossessing one had written: it was there
in the pensione room (a room he'd recommended)
where it must have been abandoned by
the German visitor (was there a bus of them?)
to whom he had inscribed and dated it a month before.
I couldn't read Italian either, so I put the book
back in the wardrobe's dark. We last Americans
were due to leave tomorrow. For our parting evening then
our host chose something in a family restaurant, and there
we sat and chatted, sat and chewed,
till, sensible it was our last
big chance to be poetic, make
our mark, one of us asked

"What's poetry?
Is it the fruits and vegetables and
marketplace of Campo dei Fiori, or
the statue there?" Because I was

the glib one, I identified the answer
instantly, I didn't have to think-- "The truth
is both, it's both" I blurted out. But that
was easy. That was easiest to say. What followed
taught me something about difficulty,
for our underestimated host spoke out,

all of a sudden, with a rising passion, and he said: 

The statue represents Giordano Bruno,
brought to be burned in the public square
because of his offense against
authority, which is to say
the Church. His crime was his belief
the universe does not revolve around
the human being: God is no
fixed point or central government,but rather is
poured in waves through all things. All things
move. "If God is not the soul itself, He is
the soul of the soul of the world." Such was
his heresy. The day they brought him
forth to die they feared he might
incite the crowd (the man was famous
for his eloquence). And so his captors
placed upon his face
an iron mask, in which
he could not speak. That's
how they burned him. That is how
he died: without a word, in front
of everyone. 

And poetry-- 

(we'd all
put down our forks by now, to listen to
the man in gray; he went on
softly)-- 

poetry

is what
he thought, but did not say.

 I'm almost certain the final lines of this poem are implying that whichever words flashed through the mind of this accomplished orator and philosopher as he died must have been of such power and purity as to set the standard for poetry. But I have another idea. (A foolish, simple, illogical, comfortable, and beautiful idea.) Perhpas Hughes is saying that whenever we are denied communication (whether by iron mask, thousands of miles, or a skip of fear) what we had intended to say continues to exist in a plane of ideals where it is honest, deep, and--above all--poetic. No matter our degree of wordsmithery we can take solice in the knowledge that our inaction lives on somewhere as a poem.

  I know that doesn't flow logically from the poem or any life experience I've ever had, it's just a warm blanket in a cold world of failure. It's like insisting lightbulbs are magic even though you understand the flow of electrons through a tungsten filament just because a world where faeries light the room is a much nicer place to live.

(Wow, I need to go to sleep.)

2027 Superbowl Champions:  Sioux Falls Tostadas

08/21/06

The other day I was out jogging when I noticed West Valley College's mascot: The Vikings. Hmm. If I'm not mistaken,  that's the same as Lynbrook, a local high school.  It seems this is fairly common: Saratoga High's falcon symbol is nearly identical to the one used by the Atlanta Falcons, my elementary school hockey team was The Bulls, and--though I can't put my finger on the exact example--I'm sure the warriors are claimed by more than just Oakland.

Why are hoards of men and masculine animals so ubiquitous as team names? What about non-living nouns? Can't we have the West Valley Apples or something? I mean, c'mon, they're tough (crunchy), fiery red, and their seasonal nature should make them perfect for... some... summer (?) sport. (I know niether when apples ripen nor what sports are played at that time, but you get the idea.) And why are there so many concrete nouns? What about the San Francisco Passion or the Cleveland Anger? (Yeah, Miami Heat... but that's almost concrete. It exists outside of the mind.)

Maybe it's a sports thing, maybe it's a man thing, maybe it's just over my head, but I think a little bit of improvisation wouldn't be so bad.  

Random Randall

08/21/06

So I was browsing the web today and I came across something that hit a nerve: "When did we forget our dreams? The infinite possibilities each day holds should stagger the mind. The sheer number of experiences I could have is uncountable, breathtaking, and I'm sitting here refreshing my inbox. We live trapped in loops, reliving a few days over and over, and we envision only a handful of paths laid out ahead of us. We see the same things each day, we respond the same way, we think the same thoughts, each day a slight variation on the last, every moment smoothly following the gentle curves of societal norms. We act like if we just get through today, tomorrow our dreams will come back to us.

And no, I don't have all the answers. I don't know how to jolt myself into seeing what each moment could become. But I do know one thing: the solution doesn't involve watering down my every little idea and creative impulse for the sake of some day easing my fit into a mold. It doesn't involve tempering my life to better fit someone's expectations. It doesn't involve constantly holding back for fear of shaking things up." -Randall Munroe

Just thought that other people might enjoy it too.

As Long as There is a Soul in Prison 

07/16/06

Whew. That's done. Also thought I should add this little gem to the site, even though it isn't mine.

I am Not Free

 07/13/06

Third, in Oh-So-Many Ways

5/24/06

I (and I hope I'm not alone in this) have been exposed to a lot of different philosophies over the year, but (and I hope I'm not alone here either) it's very difficult to adhere to one, let alone choose one to follow. I'm busy typing up (read: procrastinating) an article (which is obviously influenced by Chris Bobonich) on the difficulty of the latter, but I'd like to take a minute to talk about the former.

I think we can all agree that the spread of knowledge is, in the most general sense, a good thing. Education and all of that. Therefore, anyone impeding something that intends to educate is probably doing a bad thing. In fact, anyone who fails to actively promote education is probably doing something just as awful. To that end, I'd like to ask for one person's forgiveness and extend a formal invitation for everyone to go ahead and start their own googlepage. If you have gmail, you just have to log in at the googlepage website and fool around with their laughably uncomplicated formatting tools. You probably have something interesting to say, so go ahead. 

My one caveat (and this should go without saying) is that you don't put up another diary. Go to Xanga, go to Livejournal, go to Myspace. You'll get more traffic anyway.

The Land of Milk and Honey

05/17/06

Due to popular demand (one person asking), I put up a shitty excuse for the food page. Click and be amazed at my incredible inability to describe a restaurant.                

Call me Ishmael

05/16/06

It begins. I made this website over the STAR testing break, primarily to host my water article (I hope you enjoy it). I intend to eventually start reviewing food options for Saratoga students, so I suggest you come back in a few days to see some of the fine eateries around 95070.