sockmonkey

Thyme, planted among the paving rocks,
Whispers as it is crushed.
Sighs as it is stepped upon...

Speaking out the fragrance of it's forgiveness
Onto the very heel that bruises it.

~Cake~ 

This is Calvin. 
He was at my house Saturday night when I got home from work.
There were about thirty other people there as well.  All drunk as hell.  Or high.

I closed my door, but could still hear the breaking of bottles,
dancing, and screaming coming from the yard
and other parts of the shared home until about four in the morning.

I believe this proves, MissGrace, that I am not, indeed, timeless.

Anyway, Calvin became one of Flam Chen's most famous and popular male members,
Three years ago, while performing for the Day of the Dead Show.

On a thirty foot high riser stage, in front of thousands, Calvin lost his pants,
Revealing that Calvin does not wear underpants.
He could not stop performing, as that would have risked the safety of other performers.
Calvin's dedication and priorities were obviously noticed by many many women that night,
And he gained more than a few admirers.

Good job, Calvin. 
The world needs more committed men such as yourself.

On the other hand,
There was the time that Calvin was supposed to accompany me to a wedding.
When I arrived at his house at the appointed time, I was met with a cloud of smoke so thick,
That you would think that James Bond was somewhere about.
"Are you ready?"
"Oh, shit, I forgot, give me a minute, Oh, shit... O.K. O.K... I'll be ready in just a second.  Hold on..."

Ten minutes later...  "Hey, Calvin, are you ready?"
"Oh, shit, I forgot, give me a minute, Oh, shit... O.K. O.K... I'll be ready in just a second.  Hold on..."

Twenty minutes later...
When I found Calvin making electronic music in the next room...
"Hey, uh, Calvin, you know, you don't have to go to this wedding
  if you don't want to..."
"Oh, shit, I forgot, give me a minute, Oh, shit... O.K. O.K... I'll be ready in just a second.  Hold on..."

Thirty minutes later... I left alone.
On the way, I felt as though I needed to pick up some bread.  And some peanut butter.  And jelly.
And a carton of milk.  And some cereal.

Then, without really thinking about anything in particular... I went home.  And ate.  And ate.  And ate.

I hadn't smoked.  I missed the wedding.  I didn't care.   
Calvin's home has one powerful ambience.

I do love my friend Calvin. 

I found this in my yard, today. 
A tiny treasure.
Cheap.
Not a prism or a gem,
But an inexpensive piece of plastic
With a cartoon hero/villian whom I don't even know.

In all the yard.
In all the rubbish.

I picked him out.
And his amber light glowed against the countertop
In the morning sun.

Are we loved because we are beautiful?
Or are we beautiful because we are loved?

A question that I saw posted, here, on a beautiful lady's journal...

We are beautiful. 
We are sometimes found. 
We are loved if we are recognized.
We are loved if we are treasured.

If thrown away, or not found...
Still beautiful, just hidden.

~Glow in dirt and glow in rinse water~
~Cake~
 

To overcome increased noise in cities, urban nightingales have to sing louder to find mates.  In fact, the birds sing up to 14 decibels louder to rise above traffic noise, according to a recent study by the Free University of Berlin.

This is becoming a problem in Europe, where labor regulations forbid exposing workers to sounds louder than 87 decibels without ear protection.  The nightingales have been reported to sing at up to 95 decibels.

The UK Royal Society for the Protection of Birds does not think that this is a problem, however.

"Breeding levels for some birds are lower close to roads," said the society's spokesperson.

Therefore it is a good sign that the birds are increasing their volume to attract mates.

from "Environmental News of the Weird"

In the autumn I gathered all my sorrows and buried them in my garden.
When April returned and spring came to wed the earth,
there grew in my garden beautiful flowers unlike all other flowers.

My neighbors came to behold them, and they all said to me,
"When autumn comes again, at seeding time,
  will you not give us of the seeds of these flowers 
  that we may have them in our gardens?"

                                          ~Kahlil Gibran~

I wonder about myself.
It has been a birthaday every day this week.
O.K. As you were...

~Beauty and Passion~
~Cake~

Ooh, add a couple of Aquarians... I don't know why...
Oh, and add one or two Aries, though they're always trouble...

O.K. As you were, really.

Who is the most trouble and who is the most favorite?

And sometimes, who is both?

So, this copy of someone's journal was messaged to me today...
I did not write any part of this.  Not now, not ever.
I do not use silly emoticons... :D
When I divide a word, I use one of these: ~.
I start sentences with capital letters.
I write in divided prose.
I do not know how to spell simultaneously.
When I leave, I never look back.

dearest porcupine:

COMMENTS (4)

yoko: 10/20/2006 12:28 PM
That's great... *gag* :0) no, really :0)
What is your source? I want some insight on myself.
I know a Scorpio, but I'm not sure this applies to him..

I recently reposted my friend's blog and retracted it for personal reasons,
but I decided that it's content is good.   And important.

I also, recently heard, that a Scorpio doesn't like a hand mirror.
Maybe, an Aries doesn't like a hand mirror, either.
Maybe none of us do...

Maybe we all need to see some of our own ugly once in a while, though, 
before we go outside and let the rest of the world see it.

A friend recently was just that for me...
A hand mirror.

As for me, I'm gonna' spruce some things.

~Shine and Reflect~
~Cake~

Friday, April 28, 2006

Is there a locksmith in the house?...
Current mood: this is the best day of my life. So far.

So, I share a studio with a few other students at the art college here. Some use it more than others; some hardly use it at all. There is this one girl, though, in particular, who is close to being my complete arch-nemesis. Everything she does I allow to drive me up a wall. The only problem is I am well aware of the psychological thesis that the traits we find disturbing in others are actually mirror reflections of our own behaviours and tendencies which are either unconscious or to which we are, for other reasons, oblivious. So, of course, that drives me up a wall too. But if I am honest with myself I can see where it is plausible... probably actual.

But she does one thing that I don't do- when she comes to the closed door of the studio she always tries to unlock it before seeing if it's even locked. And if you're inside, you sit there and listen to the unecessary fumbling and turning.

But then, being the wunderkind o' metaphor that I am, I sit here sipping on beer and chewing and that notion...and realise, awww fuck. Maybe I do that, too. How many times do I assume that something [someone?] is inaccessible, and go through needlessly turgid and convulated excercises and motions only to find out it was waiting and available the entire time. If I even bother at all. Do we shoot ourselves in the foot with our pessimistic assumptions? Self fulfilling prophecy and all that trash? How much time do I waste? How much easier would it be to just be direct and try the door first- can't you always use the key later if you have to?

Maybe the intentions aren't always noble or grandiose, but the sentiment is the same. I wouldn't suggest trying to break the door down with your shoulder, but maybe check and see if anything is really barring your way before you pull that cluster of keys out. Me, I think I am applying to a PhD programme. What are you gonna do?

Cheers. May you recognize open doors.

kbk

You took me by surprise,
tonight.

I woke up drenched in sweat.
Body clenched and cold.
Teeth and muscles shivering.

This was not an accident.
This was not in self~defense.
And this was not a one~time thing.

You are a serial killer.
You are a slasher.
And You've done all this before,

So, when I wept
and winced,
and begged...
You,

PLEASE, don't do this to me...

You didn't feel a thing.
No love could win,
against this tortuous weapon.

My hands are tied
and I have no defense.

And then You said,
As, in a pool
of my own heart's blood...
I lay choking.

I have to sleep, now.
We'll talk about this further.

As if You might let me live.
Just one more day.
And let me heal...

To do this to me again.

As soon as I am strong enough...
I will run and hide
from You.

you cannot trust

A serial killer/lover.

written 9/1/06 4:23am.

 He said, at the airport...
"Meet him, He looks interesting."
 I watched until he was gone.
 And he left me hanging on...

 to a shadow.
 Or is it him?
 Shadow boxing with himself.

 I looked interesting...

All your promises
Paper tigers.

Made of tissue.
Joss.
When wet, it smears,
Like candy apples.

The memories
of those things.
Stained.

Wishing
that I had not been tempted
by the brightness and the beauty.

But joss paper is for funerals.
And tigers should be free.

~Cake~

They wear red at Chinese weddings.
Are the dresses dyed with joss?
Perhaps we have to die to live.

Learn how to say you love me.
Treat me gently.
Send for me.
Before our summer ends.
Place me in a box of velvet.
Old or new, I do not care.
Strong and softly, carry me to you.
I'll wear white satin.
Or black lace beneath a trench coat...
I'll carry paint and glass for you.
I'll smell of tonquin and vanilla.
I long for quiet and for trust...

Learn how to say you love me.

When you tell my secrets to another woman,
That is when you cross the Rubicon.

History repeats itself.
History deletes itself.

You are History.

Did you hear of the myth of the stick~legged girl?
She had an acorn for a head.

Olives and cloves made eyes amost too big.
Bubblegum for a mouth.

Her butt was made from a little piece of apple.
And her body was made from a peanut.

The little stick legs were the only part that you wouldn't eat right up.
Of the toothless, laughing stick~legged girl.

Some people say that she's only a doll.  An illustration for the children.
But I have seen the stick~legged girl.  I see her dancing at saki.

~Cake~

this is the time of the night...
that words and thoughts
that no~one understand,
run screaming and panting 
from the heart
that is flaming and melting.
to escape the burn.

~cake~

Currently listening :
The End Of Violence: Songs From The Motion Picture Soundtrack
By Medeski Martin & Wood
Release date: By 09 September, 1997