Goodnight Sweet Prince

6/21/2009-4/24/2010

Fear and Loathing in St. Louis

Chicago, Columbus, Cincinnati, Lexington.

St. Louis is next. T-minus 10 hours and counting.

a.l.m.o.s.t.

So, three papers, one test, and the majority of a project down --- one paper, one test, and the remainder of that project and it's presentation to go. I may just go buy me some Splinter Cell tomorrow.

This calls for some celebration.

Needly needly needly neeeeeeeeee.



you didnt even know there was a video, did you?

A lot of things are happening. A lot of things aren't happening. A lot of people are thinking things that they don't want to say. A lot of people are saying things they don't want to think.

We're all just watching stars disappear in the spotlights. We hang around hillsides, holding on to exposed roots and juniper branches for security. We watch the valleys, and wait for the smoke to clear. The city may seem so far away, and the buses don't run during times of upheaval, but I know we're going to make it home alright.

So let's start walking. This shit is getting heavy.

tomorrow.

thunder.thunder.THUNDER! over Louisville. 800,000 people converging on a two mile stretch of river front with the sole intent of getting drunk, sunburned, and watching multi-million dollar war machines demonstrating the American Military in all of its glory.

We got fireworks. And a bridge.

Should be pretty b.a.

One of these days I'll anchor my feet in sand, and let the waves spray salt on my legs like the faces of sheer cliffs. The wind will trace the features of my face with fingers fair, and for a moment I will feel solid. I will be bound to the ocean by the water in my blood, and the salts of my pores, returned to its roots like some prodigal son of the sea.

Until then, let these mornings serve as a reminder. I am consistently stumbling; rolling backwards on bruised heels. Balance will be the end of me, and my stability is still an illusion. Security is static, and everything else is progress.

This isn't flying. It's falling with style.

Rounding Up.

Some You's and I's and We's for all of us.

I'll watch you paint your pictures. The canvas reflects such dull and sullen colors. Your skin tones, the color of mucus; your smile like jagged, dusty glass. "A Self-portrait..." you say; "This is how I look. Tell me I'm wrong." You paint with the hands of William Burroughs. Steady your hands. Take a breath. Things aren't that bad. Just turn on the light. Things will seem brighter.

But Captain, the ship is sinking!

At least the water is warm. Let it take you. We can find the shore. All the waves roll back to land, and and through the overcast, the sun will warm the beaches. All you have to do is stand up and walk on to the shore. Scape the brine from your eye-lids, son. The urchins on your feet seem to have made your knees grow weak. Our peripheries mark the boundaries of our line of sight. Imagine the blurred objects to be the sill of your window of opportunity. Everything bounded by the corners of the world as you see it is an opportunity. Take it for what its worth, or die with empty pockets.

If you reach old age without callouses, you clearly haven't tried. Let your hands harden. They were given to you to use, I promise. When your fingers are made of stone, and they still refuse to hold water, you can finally tell me I was wrong.

So you still don't know.
So you didn't really try.
So she didn't see it coming.
So. So. So. If there was no uncertainty, we could all be born 75 and satisfied. Go ahead. Fuck it up a little. Life looks better when it's a little worse for wear.

And the sun will follow the rain.

Things I like

-People working in the SAC who are excited you were courteous and are courteous back.
-The air finally being on in the buildings on campus.
-Riding with my windows down and the radio up way too loud for my hearing's benefit.
-Looking out of windows at people; pretending you're watching some sort of strange television.
-People (girls, especially, I'll admit) who smile at you when you walk past.
-The smell of Ramen
-Convincing myself that Wednesday is practically the weekend.
-Seeing people I know, but don't remember me.
-Last-minute pre-class blogging.
-Knowing pretty much exactly what all of my friends are doing right now.
-Living for Saturdays.



if this weather keeps up, I'll just have to be happy all the time.

On nights when you can drive down the express way, and see the sun setting on the city;
When each building reflects the watercolors in the glass, and becomes a potential pillar of fire;
When the concrete is the same temperature as the bottoms of my feet;
When the trees reach up and crack the twilight sky with their branches like lead-based paint;
When I can see the stars --- I am happy.

Eudaimonia

Saturday. Saturday? Saturday.
Sitting in my bed at midnight on a Saturday is strange. I guess I sort of like it. We'll decide in twenty minutes when I try to fall asleep. Usually, at this point of my Saturday, I'd be drinking something, somewhere, with someone. This should work just as well. I'll end up in fundamentally the same place.

Tomorrow is Easter. This means I'll get up to go to church. My grandparent's will appreciate this. I'll get dressed up and be the most formal person there under the age of forty-five. Ambercombie seems to pass on holy days of obligation. It will be standing room early, which means I probably won't sit down. The upside; no need to genuflect. There is a new priest, who I will probably only listen to for the Homily. The rest of the time I will spend having an internal dialogue with god. We'll probably talk about how I haven't been there in a while, and God will ask me how many people found his house. He'll wonder why he didn't charge at the door, and worry he stocked enough wine for the party. We'll probably talk about how funny "the birthday incident" was. We try to keep it cas'.

Easter means I'm going to hang out with my family. The whole thing. Essentially this entails going to two different houses. Which houses is determined by size rather than cooking ability of the residents, which I don't understand fully, considering our entire meeting is built around food. The meals will be sub-par, but there will be a ton of food. Some of it will be eaten, more of it will be thrown away, all of it will be complemented ad nauseum. After the meal, I will retreat to a room unoccupied with my homework for the week and do as much of it as humanly possible. With any luck, I'll finish enough of it that I'll be able to go to Ryan's after I finish with my obligations. Or maybe I'll hang out with Brian. Or Patrick. Maureen will undoubtedly be doing homework, but I saw her tonight. This is fine.

Next weekend I think I'm going to try to be drunk by 11. This is primarily because I can do this within walking distance of a cheese double cheese. Assuming I can get most of my homework out of the way, I'll be able to fit in ample frisbee and trail running this week. These are the things I like to do. Also, tomorrow I should be getting a violin. Hopefully I can play it proficiently some day.

Today I had a breakfast cup. And Dairy Castle. Twice. Things are doin' alright.