Holidays

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In honor of those fallen, wishing all a blessed Memorial Day, especially the families of military personnel.

And in honor of the late great Douglas Adams, happy Towel Day.  (Because any self-respecting space hitchhiker ought to know where his or her towel is.)

  

R K Who?

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*sighs*  Okay, guys…  Bear with me, but I couldn’t let this YouTube clip get by un-accosted.

“That’s not a good thing when you have a fire in an arcade.”  And this, kids, is why we don’t watch daytime television.

I know that clip’s a few years old, but evidently it caused some brouhaha when Arcade Fire became the first indie act to win Album of the Year in 2011.  And it’s hilarious to stumble upon the reactions of the general public at the time.  (There’s even a Tumblr page full of screenshots of people’s reactions on Twitter called “Who Is Arcade Fire??!!?”.)

In case you didn’t know…  I bet you’ve heard them if you’ve watched commercials during the Super Bowl or seen the trailer for Where the Wild Things Are.

Should sound real familiar around 0:21.

This Post May or May Not Have Any Meaning at All

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Existential crises are nasty things because they always involve the question of whether anything we do matters at all.  Of course, if nothing does, then existential crises don’t matter either, which makes the fact of having one in the first place rather pointless.  Nevertheless, from time to time, such things are unavoidable, arriving like a blow and bringing with them a thousand riddles.

For instance, why am I wearing this watch?  Does it not make me a slave to my daybook, to our arbitrary habit of doing certain things at the same time every day?  Am I really better off knowing how many hours I have until I’m supposed to be in bed?

Why do I feel the need to blog?  I might have a much better time abandoning the internet and becoming a hermit.  I can’t say, of course, because I’ve never tried it.  If I did, it would mean I’d have to give up a thousand other things, like becoming an actor or a pastry chef.  Which one’s the best?  There’s no way to tell.  What happens if you choose the wrong one?  Is it better to stick to one dream or constantly change one’s mind?

Even writing in general.  Why am I writing about existential crises?  Aren’t I wasting time?  Aren’t there more useful things I could be doing?

Are there?  I don’t know.  How important is it to scribble one’s tangled thoughts onto a page in the hopes of comprehending them?  And can we find meaning in a world so un-forthcoming with any answers?

I may never know.  Even so, God’s in control of this mess, and we can only trust that He is making something beautiful from it.  If there are any answers out there, there’s no way we’ll find them alone.

This Is Your Brain on the Internet

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From what I’ve observed, it’s almost a sort of bizarre milestone to get to write this kind of post.  You know what kind I mean; the one where someone leaves a really wacky spam comment on your blog and then you satirize it.  Yeah, that kind.

But no really: technology is advancing at an incredible rate.  With each new year we surpass our former achievements by leaps and bounds.  However, it came as a shock to read this latest news, which was left in the wee hours of this morning (no, wait, tomorrow morning?) by an anonymous spammer investigator.  (We’ll call them Deepthroat.)

UntitledIt would appear Deepthroat is implying that it is now possible to stream controlled substances into one’s brain digitally (presumably via BitTorrent).  Or at least, it will be by 1:53 am this morning, around the same hour mankind develops the ability to communicate through time.

Personally, I see two major issues with Deepthroat’s discovery.  First of all, anyone who actually uses BitTorrent is probably not a drug addict.  Also, digital crack was already invented 15 years ago in the form of the Hamster Dance Song and perfected when said song was looped for ten hours.

Anyway…

Seriously kids, don’t do drugs.  Or listen to the Hamster Dance Song for ten hours.  You do not want your brain to end up like this egg.

Any questions?

For the Ones Who Sing, Wherever I May Find Them

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They told me
I should be sleeping,
But they haven’t seen
What I’ve seen.

I watched you slide
Behind the window panes,
Minivans fading into the
End credits of another year.
I felt the wind blow your
Words across my face
One last time.
I heard laughter
Across so many pieces
Of suburbia, echoing,
Bursting like water balloons…
Photographs.
Memories.

And it confused me
That I did not weep,
My childhood relinquished,
Shivering in the early
Summer’s breeze.
Searchlights sweep the
Shadowed stars,
Waiting for answers.
They say only fools
Bother looking these days.
Guess that makes me one.

Because I left it
Like some trend and
Set out looking for
You again,
Braving unfamiliar
Streets that resonate
The sound of voices
I seem to know.
Will you hold my hand
As we drift apart?
I feel us falling
Into another chapter, and
You hold so much of me.

Just a poem for all my fellow choir mates as another year ends. Gonna miss you all like heck over the summer, and especially you old people who insist on graduating. Here’s to the next year, my friends.

Falling

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The grass like Velcro
Holds me, pendent
Between earth and sky
Reality askew
Echoes a childhood
Spent walking on ceilings
Birdsong: laughter to
A weary world
Left behind
We are falling
Borne by gravity
Into a sky
We’ve only ever dreamed
Of living

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