Thursday, December 30, 2010

Writ yet unread

Too many times, too many people, too many blogs,

Have fallen prey to the strongest force this world has ever known.

It conquers all with no prejudice.

Eventually everything slows, settles, subsides.

Into a crushing calm. Motionless silence.

Death or disrepair claims all.

Author after author after author after author

Learn the terrible truth at some time or another.

No one cares about the sporadic spasms of foreign fingers.

Keyboards are comatose. The click-click of mice is heard faintly in the distance.

Young writers typing along one word at a time.

Toward an imminent doom of disillusionment.

These public diaries lack the intrigue of private journals.

And the thoughts that are chosen to be published are the most boring of all.

We all learn that our inner thoughts, feelings, and desires are of no significant value to anyone besides ourselves.

Digital wind leaves thousands of web addresses lost in an ocean of amateur talent.

Digital dust settles comfortably upon every unread word.

Every vainly typed paragraph is forgotten.

--Another Unregarded author of another unregarded blog.

Sunday, November 7, 2010


Breaking bad in bitonal symphony,
Strings slipping, bows breaking, fingers freeing,
sound from wooden prison.

Violin solo begins:

The beings of melody,
phantoms of tune,
fairies of air waves,

Travel inner ear and outer space,
Leaving behind the dust of shattered air.

Silky sweet C's bathe everything in buttery bliss,
An auditory assembly of angels of music.
D minor spasms travel up the spine,
And a warm E major catches you.
Holds you tight in a hammock of harmony.
Beautiful, bold, swoops leave the smell of rosin shimmering in the air.

Take a deep breath, and breathe in life.
Music notes, though black on the composers white page,
Sent bright colors shooting through the stratosphere.

A tear fogs your vision, as the long notes shoot royal blue skies into every corner of your sky.
Low, low octaves let the lullaby of marshmallow clouds take their place in the heaven.
The music dips again, a whole rest, and the tone changes.
Royal blue to navy to deep purple sky breathes a reassuring breeze cross your grinning face.

Trumpet and piano solos join:

Ebony and gold birth moonbeam crescent.
A light deep and pure.
Strong, yet soft.
Jazzy blues inflate the moon.
Somewhere, long fingers grace the right side of a grand piano,
And a million shooting stars begin to dance.
The notes are deep, long, and magical.
Sixteenth notes send yellow lightning bolts flitting playfully overhead.
Stars find their places in all the familiar constellations,
And the lullaby puts you to sleep,

And be.
Hear the life.
Listen deeply.
The sound is here.

Thursday, October 28, 2010


What to do? What ever to do?

Whilst the operators of vehicles with manual transmission are transformed by exercise into doppelgangers for Greek gods, automatic owners let their left legs fall into the sin of sloth.

Their shrimpy left legs fall into disuse. White, shriveled up, weak left legs across the country lay dormant at the sides of their perseverant co-workers. Automatic owners listless driving here and there, all the while achieving no exercise or calorie burn with half of their lower limbs. What's to become of the ignored appendages? Forgetting muscle movements, losing muscle tone, shriveling up due to poor circulation.

Soon they'll all claim workers comp, quit their jobs, run up lots of credit card debt on ridiculous looking shoes, socks, legwarmers and the like, and then take the better portion of their body's paycheck in the form of welfare.

I detest this hypothesis, and protest the hate crimes being performed every second around the country by all the foolish wretches that are selfish enough to own clutchless cars.

Stop the mindless violence. Work for a better tomorrow. This is change we can believe in.

It's now or never:


Monday, October 25, 2010


A world with no backspaces. A world without the delete key.
No undos. Absence of ctrl-x. No do-overs. No second chances.
No spell check. No edits. No apologies.

That world begins here:

Every letter, every word carefully chosed(chosen), typed slowly, and deliberately.
Thought before action. Mind over metacarpals. Free will over find(g)ers.

I'm already wanting to fix the wrongly spelled words. It's the perfectionist in me.
The one I ate . Okay, that was stupid. Ignore this paragraph.

What if life were this way? It kind of is, sin't it (isn't it?) If we realized the foreverness of each decisoin, would we treat others differently? Wol(Would) we always be cautious, afraid to live? Would we still be brac(brave) strong, heroic, even? Would we read blogs, would we write them, or wouldn't we? Would we be obsessed with death, and search endlessly for the cure. Would we ponder the after life and pray withour(t) ceasing, hoping with f(hopeful) faith that the finiteness of human i(life() can be overcome by something even more eternal and forever and lasting than a single moment's decision? Would we love? Would we hate?

What is the perfect lifestyle? How can one live without regrets? Will we ever stop wishing for time machines? Will the delete button ever suffer the fate that its imposed on so many others: a fate of nothingness and void.

Can we learn from the past without longing to change it?
I'm living n(in ) the moment.
Will Ignor this line.
I'm living for the moment.
Attempting to stiffen my neck, never look back.
Never say die, never ask why.
Live live looking forward.
"Onward and upward" - CS Lewis
Backspace begone.

New era begins here: