Ye Ole Nest

Peer Pressure

2006-10-01T22:41:00.000-04:00

Yes I finally gave in to the subliminal messages from people who viewed this poor excuse of a blog and saw that the last post was over 3 months ago. Hopefully I should become a more faithful visitor to this spot but don't keep your fingers crossed. this coming from a writer whos spent two years on a novel and stopped at the last chapter, yes laugh it doesnt matter I'm used to it heh.

Though the thing I should be posting about would definately be the Seminar, cliche but hey a once in a lifetime event. Not every day I'm surrounded by 100 something rockin SGA's and unending amount of MILFs, heh, rock stars, writers, practical jokers in one location. Many many thanks to those who made it happen, it cahnged my life.

Now to ponder the meaning of life, the behavioral attitudes of females, the affect of the moon the aforesaid specimens, yadda yadda.

And if I dont see you then, good morning, good evening, and good night...

Stepping Out...

2006-03-02T16:44:00.000-05:00

Well out I come, after an absense of hrmm 6 months the ole nest steps into public. Though I guess the first post doesnt have much of comedic matter.
To those of you who struggle with helplessness when you hear of a friend, loved one going through it you'd understand.
And to those of you, well you know who you are. I'm praying for you. May you be able to look heavenward and always remember there's someone there.
May you find your dreams become reality and to those who've had yours turn to nothing may you know something better awaits you.

I suppose one could go on, iw ish I could but time and inadequacy put an end to this attempt. Well may you all find comfort and love, peace and strength.

Of Bagels and Petty Things II

2005-06-29T19:46:00.000-04:00

Yes the herbal tea that must be consumed in copious amounts for it to have the same effect as 1 strong cup of coffee. Though he wisely refrains from making such derrogatory comments when his mother is around. Her and the large percentage of males from the nearby home who enjoy consuming the tea in numerous amounts.
Another grin before he sips the steaming coffee. The house is silent for once as the morning continues its steady march. A mumble causes him to turn in time to see Thing 1 stumble sleepily into the bathroom, wearing the massive silk shirt emblazoned with numerous kanjis and anime figures. A shirt that serves as both a nightshirt and regular apparell.
The normally hyper 10 year old now stumbles around the house before collapsing on the couch and curling up again. Only this time inside the massive shirt instead of the down blanket. The younger sister Mugz has yet to emerge from her sleep infested room.
The name has often provoked puzzled looks and remarks when her siblings call her by that name. Whenever asked he shrugs and says that nickname has been around since almost the time she was born.
He bites back a laugh as Thing 1 greets the mother with a "Hewo Muddah, Hewo Faddah." A song that has been stuck in the minds of the entire family for the last week much to the chagrin of the mother, who coincenditally is from the Bronx but still can't help but cringe when he and the brewmeister break out into a hearty rendition of the aforesaid song...

Of Bagels and Petty Things

2005-06-29T15:17:00.000-04:00

With a yawn and slight grumble he stumbled out of bed. A fair headed sibling still lay curled up snoring on the upper bunk. On most days he would shake the bed roughly attempting to begin the 30 minute process of turning a log known as Thing 1 back into a semi-animated being.
"Welcome to summer." he thought contentedly leaving Thing 1 snoring away.
The jab of the iron bar reminded him that to stumble through the labryinth of the room still half asleep was not to be taken lightly. The floor was littered from the battle of the previous night. Corpses of dead soldiers all wearing the same grotesque plastic grin were strewn across the artificial turf. Here and there a cast iron weight lay, as if the Olympian gods had decided to enter the conflict. A stubbed toe or a pierced sole was the price of ungaurded steps.
A few moments later, and much wetter, he continued the morning process of booting up his faculties. A process that lamentably resembled the speed of the ol' 386 dinousars running on Windows 95.
The welcome scent of percolating coffee wafted through the air. Though regrettably the strentgh of this brew would not be as strong as normal. The regular brewmeisting brother was away on the honorable knight-errandry of market day. As for the brew it was often referred to by the father as the mud.
An unfortunate statement; being that both he and the brewmeister sibling held to a strict belief in the standards of coffee.To which the father joked that it was- coffee when poured into a cup should be dense enough to keep a fork standing upright.
An amused grin broke across his face as he remembered the many discussions on the vices of coffee and the much trumped virtues of the so-called healthy drink known as matte...

Attempt at Fiction

2005-06-29T13:34:00.000-04:00

Well for those of you who might come across this blog or who have been reading it I'll be attempting a bit of fiction. Turning my seeming humdrum live into a series of stories if you will. Mind you most of it is an attempt at humourous writing. I think it might be fun, at least on my part hehe.

2005-06-10T23:29:00.000-04:00

What ifs..?
Lately that has been crowding my mind, what if I had?
My conclusion, and its a pity its taken so long, there are no what ifs. True we might have done things differently. There were times when we could have averted pain or loss by our actions. Our lifes could or might have been better had we taken the route assigned to us.
But dwelling on what if leaves no solace, no calm, its a long known fact but then again those are the ones we normally forget.
Life has so many twists and turns and its hard to keep sight that some of them do come for a reason, our innocent ways of a child are so easily swept away. We live in a cynic world where is the room for child like faith and love we tell ourselves. We wear the mask afraid to let others seeinto us, see what we truly are, yet wonder why we arent fully trusted.
Suffice it to say we are humans, I am human. I can't hide any longer behind the mist of we, there is only me before God.
I have fallen and I will continue to fall. but by His grace I will continue on. I'v been given too much to give in yet.
Shine on dear stars reminding me of home, light my way till once again I can walk with you again.

2005-06-08T19:05:00.000-04:00

Trans-fatty acids??
Don't ask, my mom was an ex-hippy, into the whole health food diet etc, etc.
But heres the thing that I find humor. Now a days if what you eat doesnt kill you, what you drink may. If you avoid all toxics in drinking & eating you still stand a good chance to be killed by the environment.
Now to these factors add trains, planes and automobiles and the occasional stray falling object from the sky.
Hell with that I'll walk out onto a golf course, of course making sure I'm grounded, and yell out with my fist held high-
"STRIKE ME DOWN O MASTER SMIGHTER"
I love this world..............................

NOT!!

2005-06-07T15:22:00.000-04:00

Well today I found I dropped from a weeping willow tree, always liked those trees, especially the switches they come with...snicker
Maybe that explains my leaning to dramatics, I guess thats the fun, the drama, the emotion, they always say life's a stage...haha
Or maybe its all that thinking, enough, one could spend a lifetime pondering the whys and wherefores and still reach the conclusion of ...Huh??
I think I should have been a shrink, no this last post doesn't make sense but it gets tiring always trying to make a point.

On second forget everything, its a beautiful day the birds are singing, onions and mushrooms taste lovely fried....
Where did I put my raincoat

2005-06-04T13:59:00.000-04:00

Man I just read one the stories on the new Short Story Competition at the Writers Forum. Its called the Drug, dang!! that was one awesome story. Whoever came up with that piece of work is a genius, a brilliant mix of comedy, abstactness, awesome work whoever you are.

2005-06-03T08:33:00.000-04:00

Well its pouring down rain again, not that it matters. I've always liked the rain, never minded walking in it.
Except for when its pouring down like the dickens and you have to walk a mile to the bus stop.Nope I am not exagerating, crazy things one does in India, though our hakka noodles remained nice and dry.
I was serenaded last night while talking to a good friend of mine, only this kind of serenade was 3, I think it was 3, women pretending to cry at the top of their lungs near the phone. The evils of cheesecake...

2005-06-02T17:19:00.000-04:00

Man if I could sing I would be belting at the top of my lungs. To those who might be wondering the cause of my light-headedness , 3 simple words. I let go
The joy of victory accomplished, "CAUSE I FEEL SO ALIVE! FOR THE VERY FIRST TIME AND i THINK i COULD FLY!"
Heh for once I like that song, but sadly it belongs to P.O.D.

2005-06-01T20:46:00.000-04:00

Well the crunch has come and once again the will to hang on has been tested. Ridiculous it seems how easy we forget what we are and what we are meant to be. Anger once again shows itself to be a most potent and self-gratifying drug.
Anyways lamenting in this fake philisophical tone won't help any.
Not that anyone watches but you never know who's stumbled across this blog, you have my pity. Airing out ones landry is not blog material if there is such a thing. Though I have determined to make use of this seeming tragedy, hah it makes good material to write about. (May God smite me the day I write a angry sappy love sick poem)
But I have determined to finish my novel that I have been writing at a lazy pace by August 9th. My brother bets I shall not finish it but I will prove him wrong, one can never turn down a wager.

2005-05-15T15:37:00.000-04:00

Well Wordstock '05 is over and I survived the return trip, though the injured knee bothered me the whole way back.
A token to remember Wordstock by, heh, and true to camp tradition relationships began and ended and I was no different though it seems this one ended before it could begin.
Sigh, c'est la vie, to all things come an end, though I will not lament my seeming loss by writing reams of love-sick poetry mourning the unrequited emotions. I have learnt that life is far too short to be wasted bemoaning one's fate, or seeming lack of one.
The music, well a good portion of it was awesome and those musicians who performed music not to my liking my hat is still off to you. bravo!
One could say Wordstock was a begining and an ending all tied into one, none I think, left the camp unchanged.
Anyways, I'm rambling like a sentimental fool, the past is over and the future is well, still the future.

2005-04-23T14:31:00.000-04:00

Well, well posting lil doodles seems rather fun. Well its 8 days to Wordstock 2005, oh dearie 8 days of dashing around like chickens with their heads cut off to put on the final touches to this grand affair.
Sigh,.....c'est la vie
Once again the current controversy is hair-splitting theology,...what is free-will?? Oh an endless debte with no end in sight but such is life in theological and philisophical debates.

2005-04-20T21:48:00.000-04:00

Public diaries, who knew...
We hide the paper but post endlessly on for complete strangers, oh the joy of anonymosity. Or ahould I say assumed.
Don't mind me I'm rambling, but hey thats what these things are for. Receptacles for e-doodling, a token thought for you Petronius.

Well the hullabaloo over the Pope being an alleged Nazi is quite amusing, oh the horror we'll be seeing Jesuits goose stepping down our streets!!
Quick mount another crusade to rid the world of a hidden menance, snicker, the world could use some controversy. Nothing like hearing the dreadful news of,gasp, Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston's break up.
Oh ko I think I might roll over and die. The joys of modern media, on the air for 24 hours, must find something to say....

2004-12-07T16:12:00.000-05:00

Ok well here are some poems I wrote, though not putting them in the order of the creation far too lazy, but who cares..

Reaper’s Night

She was rich and she was fair,
A semi-charmed life she led without a care.
By day she traveled near and far,
By night she partied among the stars.
And so night after drunken revelry,
She passed by a darkened alley.
There she saw a stranger stand,
What he spoke she would not understand.
A gleaming sword he held in one hand,
While in the other, a pair of scales so grand.
His pale face remained without feeling,
But in his yes, a fire was burning.
A fire bright it almost seemed to blind,
He darkened vision if the night.
The he spoke in a soft, calm voice,
“Tonight it ends, my lady, you have no choice,
Your book is closed, the clock has stopped.
For tonight I come for thee.”

The she ran so full of fear,
But still the voice seemed ever near.
The eyes so full of pity,
Did haunt her as she drove to the city.
The more she drove the more she did reason,
That lunatics come in every season.
So on she drove into the night,
On she drove, burying her fright.
But as she drove she turned to see,
The stranger walking beside his eyes piercing deeply.
Faster and faster she tried to drive,
But still beside her, he did stride.
Again he with soft, calm words,
“My dear lady you run in vain,
No matter how far you run I meet you there again.
For tonight I come for thee.

On she drove to the city, on she drove,
Past the gleaming towers, past the darkened homes.
With great haste she ran to catch the last flight,
That would take her from this night.
With relief she rose on silver wings,
With her departure, a relief from fear it seemed to bring.
With a sigh of content she looked out her window,
And near screamed a cry of terror.
For there on the wings he was perched,
Calmly gazing at the sky unbesmirched.
His black hair and cloak the wind did billow,
And then he turned to look towards her window.
“My fair lady,” she heard him speak again,
No matter where you run, you journey in vain.
You cannot stop the hands of time,
For tonight I come for thee.”

For the rest of the journey he did not reappear,
And her hear t felt consumed with fear.
Off the plane she stepped without feeling,
Across her cheeks the tears were streaming.
For a life that would soon end,
For a life she wished to live again.
So with dreading steps she walked,
To the darkened flat, alone she walked.
Slumping to her chair she felt a haunting gaze
Of those mysterious eyes, on a pity filled face.
‘My dear lady,” he softly spoke.
“The path before you, you need not fear,
For to everyone death is always near.
You mortals fear what you cannot understand,
But across the veil there is a life most grand.
But no matter how you try,
To run from me and to deny.
You cannot stop the sands of time,
You cant prevent me from taking what is mine.
So now fair lady come with me,
For tonight I came for thee.”

Silent Column

I saw a silent column come marching,
To the sound of mournful piping.
A silent column filled with coffins,
From ageless, countless, senseless conflicts.
Lying forever sleeping under starry skies,
Lives ended by countless lies.
Oh dead from agony have you found surcease,
Has the insanity of life finally ceased?

Young men slaughtered by twisted nations,
Dying for false imaginations.
How can you quiet the deafening silence?
A silence magnified by their absence.
A silence that echoes from the darkness,
An agonizing silence that cries against this madness.
A cry of men prevented from living,
A cry of husbands halted from loving.

A cry that echoes across deserted plains,
A cry of hope that falls with the rain.
But the world, it seems has given insanity full reign,
And so again these men will perish but in vain.
So on and on the world revels in delusion,
While attempting to console us that they died for freedom.

Recipe of Nations

The world decries this American insanity,
But wait, let’s look back in history.
To see how this recipe came to be.

Add a cup of German stubbornness,
To a cup of French arrogance.
Now a splash of Iberian piousness,
With a touch of British haughtiness
Oooh now it’s getting pretty,
Let’s add a puff of Celtic fury.
Followed by the Polish clumsiness,
Mixed with a cup of Russian drunkenness.
Next a lump of Italian macho ness,
Oh did I mention the Jews and Swiss?
But enough for its quite the mess.

So what I can say this country’s whacked,
But with parents like that who wouldn’t be cracked?

The First Stone

In this mad and insane world,
Filled with malice and governments cruel.
There is one that’s worse than the rest,
But what about the others who claim they’re best?
Nations that point the finger in self-piety,
Yet ignore their past filled with cruelty.
I shall now name a few,
For I think this tale is true.

Oh France, oh France,
Land that claims to know romance.
A nation built on the dogma of atheism,
With blood spread their perverted idealisms.
A history fraught with bloody quarrels,
Of a Revolution led by devils.
Pride of fashion and perfume designed to please,
Yet your arrogance reeks worse than your smelly cheese.
No small wonder your posses such fertile mud,
Throughout the ages it’s been watered by blood.

Germany, land of the Rhine,
Where knowledge is itself a shrine.
Your arrogant militancy gave birth to horror,
Leading the world in the art of modern gore.
But worse yet are your modern philosophies,
Worshipped logic, in truth pathetic fallacies.
Your “men” of wisdom polluted countless generations,
Filling their minds with your twisted imaginations.

Oh merry England,
Liberty once prospered on your island.
Long you championed Christianity,
Till you left it for logical insanity.
Where now stands your mighty empire?
Your name no longer, greatness inspires.
Above the Crown your flag proudly fluttered,
But now the monarchy is in the gutter.
A land that touts its glorious past,
Now a dream that’s long since passed.

But now I will conclude,
For this would take too long to do.
I do not write to justify,
A wicked nation doomed to die.
But rather to protest such arrogance,
Of lands that proclaim their false innocence.
Europe, you’re guilty of equal crimes,
Though America’s evil dominates our time.

So before you heap accusations at her door,
Remember the countless skulls beneath your floor.

Outcast

Like a splinter of the mind,
A ghost hidden lurks behind.
So I feel inside this world,
A misfit to their mold.

Disdain I feel to this time,
A memory once left behind.
An outcast against this norm,
Desiring to just return home.

A child of forgotten reality,
Born to this insanity.
Somehow I know I don’t belong,
Imploring, I plead it won’t be long.

A wanderlust that can’t be cured,
Except by a trip of no return.
A trip back to immortal past,
Once again in Eternal’s grasp.

Emotional insecure you can call me,
Commitment shy or just plain faulty.
Whatever you say it won’t dissuade,
An instinctive call to leave this age.

An outcast I am by my choosing,
Solace I seek by refusing.
A life of mediocrity,
Chained to this cursed boundary.

Pardon me for my ungrateful thoughts,
But stop the world I want to get off!!

Black Rose

Black rose, black rose I see,
Pleading while the tears fall down,
Hoping for long sought peace,
Blackened skies loom like a fell crown.

I wish there was more I could say,
To assure you there’s a purpose
Yet here I sit so far away,
Writing this, no it’s not hopeless.

If only you saw the falling tears,
Become diamonds against the ground.
You will find solace from your fears,
Balm of Gilead can be found.

Planted in the garden of complexity,
Still yet a flower most fair,
Watered by rains of adversity,
Still a bloom of one so rare.

Black rose, black rose I see…

Living Necropolis

I found myself inside a darkened city,
A city that crumbled like a rotten cavity.
A city filled with blank faces,
Faces pale with senseless gazes.
Walking corpses they could be called,
For they wandered round living quelled.
A city that long ceased caring,
Caring not how their fate was fading.
Apathetic lives without sorrow,
But then again who knew who lived till tomorrow.
But then three bells began their tolling,
Rung by unseen hands, in mourning.
“How pretty,” cried the passersby.
Unaware the bells tolled for their lives.

I came to a deserted clearing,
That did once serve as a child’s plaything.
“Oh where have the children gone?”
But there I stood silent and alone.
“Oh where, oh where,” cried the echo,
An echo filled with ancient sorrow.
Forgotten cries of joy and pleasure,
Where now stood a dirt filled meadow.
Rusted slides and crumbling swings,
A memory their wreckage did bring.
A memory of joy filled days,
Of laughing sounds from childish ways.
The again I heard the tolling,
A tolling of unheeded warning.

Again I wandered down crumbled streets,
Wondering how came this feat.
How this life could decay so quickly,
How vibrancy could crumble so rapidly.
Mindless squabbles dominated,
Falsehoods, lies insinuated.
Crumbled buildings, mirrored lives,
All dying in front of unseeing eyes.
The few who tried to live again,
Were told they struggled but in vain.
Darkened gloom permeated,
But blinded eyes thought untainted.
Then again came the mournful tolling,
Tolling out a weeping moaning.

Then I found a ruined fountain,
A stream from which, if even counted.
A stream of tears from her eyes,
Lady Wisdom bitterly cries.
“Oh how soon they have forgotten,
Their ears to my cries have been clotted.
Unseen to them now it lies,
The death of them under blackened skies.”
Then I heard a single toll,
Echo out across the knoll.
A piercing cry of lamentation,
For a soon coming desolation.
“Alas, alas you fools,
For the bells have tolled for you.”

Awake

2004-11-25T02:11:00.000-05:00

And here it is, an experiment I think of little value oh well who cares snicker