It occurs to me that any infant can destroy themselves and find some meaning, but it takes a real man to build...
I want to become a builder; all good teachers are builders.

Nick doesn't like parenthesis in poems. I do, I think they act as a tool to open the reader up to one of the many meanings of a particular word/line/poem. From which point they may make up their own meanings - that is why religion is in parenthesis, its what comes to my mind, and what I want to allude to, however I do not want the word to pull the reader to far from the point of the poem...
Nick doesn't like a lot of the things I do... I guess he just wants me to be a better poet, or person, or whatever... and thats fine. But sometimes I wish that he would realize that I am not going to 'grow up' - there isn't going to be quick fix - and I am never ever going to be able to smooth off my rough edges; I don't even want to. Nick and a lot of other people...
Jimi Hendrix said 'I am what I am, thank god... some people just don't understand...' actually I think it was a buddy miles song but who cares? anyway I like the person that god made me and I believe, I truly believe, that he intended me to be a little bit abrasive and uncomfortable when confronted with comformity, even when I would benefit to follow the pack...
I just don't feel good pressed cleaned and cloned. I actually feel off-balance... and because of that I may never, ever, become the man you think that I should be...

'and the sign says long haired freaky people need not apply'
- I got in before they put the sign up said the old man. I never even read the son of a bitch said the son...

I've been thinking...

Genius is borne in delving
down to the
darkest
little
nugget
- that is death -
and looking
right back
at it.

All the while
observing
your own
personal
demise
- not giving in,
not ignoring its
ramifications (religion) -
taking that
small piece
of truth
- you are going to die.
It is the one truth:
the one thing you know
to be certain -
and building
from there.

I am sitting here in the university library... I was all set to write out a good page on my own personal writing process and how it was birthed one day in the mountain jacks shitter when I stumbled upon my friend Julie's blog page. She wrote:
"I crossed into the New Year, here, in my apartment. I know it's supposed to be festive, but I was too drunk and couldn't stop thinking of the tragedy inherent in the passage of time, and of home and how I wanted to be there. I usually manage the passage of time as well as anyone, but somehow, I find the New Year to be heartbreaking every time. Maybe my life is too good, because instead of celebrating survival, all I feel is past and future loss of people, places, and memory."
the tragedy inherent in the passage of time really took me. She is the best writer I know, especially when she is sad, worn out, and not so freaking skitzo like most of her other post. We, Julie and I, had a great conversation in a bar a year or two ago about the saddness that drives all good writing...
Now I am sad thinking about how I live my life in the past, how my most cherished memories are my only posession and how they are all I seem to think about. I think about yesterday far more than today as I recall, relive, and redicate every moment over and over in my head instead of dreaming about tommorrow... its as if I am already dead, dreaming of the past and dreading eternity devoid of new memories.
jdon

"carry on my wayward son..."
there was a discussion on the michigan football message boards about the tsunami and some prayer breakfast at the senate where Tom Delay was quoteing Matthew... anyway, I won't bore you with the details, my brother (bob) and I got into our own conversation about god's intentions.
I tried to explain to him that I don't think God cares: it is what it is. Tsunamis, earthquakes, avalanches, and everything after are job hazards of living on this planet. God can't stop them, and I doubt he wants to... This is not to say that he doesn't grieve the death of people, this is just to say that this world, this life, is what it is. We're born and we die. Void of any real purpose or meaning these two are actually as random as it comes.
what we do while we're here... now that's another story.