Lunatic Fringe

Mr. Brown woke up one morning with a purpose. He had a meeting with death. Everything was, this morning, just as it was the night before. Perhaps Mr. Brown was a day older, only in the sense of time, though, to the human eye nothing had changed. But still, perhaps things had changed, the difference as obvious as the difference between night and day, sometimes are not entirely easy to see, over a course of time so minimal as the passing of night in to day. The thought lingered like the overcast morning outside his window. Mr. Brown remained a moment longer in bed, pondering his reservations, thought over this later reservation, but into his thoughts he lapsed back, and in bed remained not a moment longer. Mr. Brown became automated. The day, like so many others in a long span before it, had begun. His creaky knees squeaked, he rolled across the bed springs. Even after his wife had passed, ever since he was a small child, Mr. Brown was in the habit of pushing his bed towards a windowless

And we all make it so cool, when we take our turns. Me though, I just fake it, pull a dazed grin and fake at being cool. I wear every bad beat like a badge, and I got a story to match. Maybe these guys fake too, must be they play it better than me, I can’t see a crack, no tells showin'. Maybe it hasn’t gotten them yet, but then, we ain’t young anymore, maybe just not old enough yet to break. Me at least, I got an old soul, with the cracks and leaks and chipping paint to prove it, ‘least I can read me like a book, but that's easy. Not these guys though, old hands at poker, every last one. Except for this guy, I see now, he’s crackin’ too. Calls her crazy in off-hand ways, the other guys laugh- yea they play it cool- they’re all crazy. Me I just smile, I don’t fake so good anymore. Me, I’m feelin’ that bad beat too. Looks like he’s getting hot, it’s gettin’ late. We all just laugh, fellas say she's getting mad, no, she’s just gettin’ a cab, gonna get outta here, looks like sh

My head spins when I get something in it, when I lie down everything just starts coming off sideways. Guess I really am unbalanced. Give it time, sleep on it, you’ll see it too, different vantage, different point of view. I thought about figuring out a different change, new solutions to old problems, shoot the idea in mind full of holes, but then I get a sneaking suspicion that these are sinking thoughts. Next thing you know, they’ll tell me hope floats, I know better, down here everything stinks. Someone said something once, about a sad girl, a long time ago, to me. But I won't bore you with the details, I'll tell you something else that's mundane instead. And here's what I told her. And I'll be specific. What’s passed is past, I’m sure you're smiling now, being unhappy about being sad is never a condition that lasts too long, it's important to remember that. In any case it’s when you realize nothing at all is a condition that lasts too long, that you’re r

Our hearts fill with darkness, our souls become black. Days wane, are replaced by eminent night. Like this we fade away, destined to become a part of the echoes. Our words, and their meanings, lost amongst the shadows. Could we have done a thing differently? I don't think so, there's no going back, once there's been a change of heart. That's beyond me now, something the past digs up when it's inconvenient. All we can be sure of, all I can be certain of, is a grainy look at the emotional remains, of anything that once was, remnants of feelings and prejudices and battles now past. Though to recollection they're just as vital, just as anxious as they are in truth, dead. Diseased and deceased I suppose. A bunch of feelings, and thoughts no longer healthy enough to be amongst the living. Still they endure, beyond time they linger, we move on, we move away, but we know the truth is somewhere back there, in time, and in place. Me? I like to lay about the graveyard, I&#

From the Associated Press. Better Late than never.

I saw her walking. One in a million, say. But I saw her. Yes, I saw her first. The sun was shining, but I’m not smiling. I wasn’t smiling. I’m just a lonely street. Reaching from somewhere back East, I find myself here. My memories are all points east. Like the water where I begun, I am a river, the course is before me, now, that must be run. I am a silent street, I do not stop or speak, til I find the water, an end again, so much like where I begun. So the sun rises, it’s always comin’ up behind me. The sun also rises, in her world, the sun sets away from here. The sun sets on us apart. She is near me today, I saw her walking. Always longitudinal, I long to be near her. My life knows is a discourse of solely latitude, and always she goes forth, her eyes to the south, or glowing to the north. It is always the glance that is least, that casts her eyes to the east, for but an instant she spies me, but I am but a lonely street, my promises merely platitudes. Where is she tonight? The moon

A good life is comprised of the following: a great deal of determination, coupled with; happy circumstance, and; love. Good friends are the alchemist's truth, and the sole one at that, in man's quest for gold, and a life by the golden mean.

So my ex thought it was a bad thing to call a girl a "cunt." I'd like to counter with, look how far John McCain's gotten! Where once there was shame, and stigma, there is now pride. I consider myself in good company, see you next tuesday, ladies!

-Rock 'n' roll pioneer Bo Diddley, who banged out hit songs powered by the relentless "Bo Diddley beat" that influenced rockers from Buddy Holly to U2, died on Monday at the age of 79. Dude could play. Great innovator both sonically, and technically. Bo knows Diddley is still one of the more clutch commercials ever made, just as many of his jams from the '5o's and '60's still are. Check out "I'm a Man," or "Who do you love." Additionally he's been covered by everybody and their mother, so you know he was good, as imitation is one of the truest signs of genius, artistically speaking, in this day and age.

I am a writer. And a poor one at that. My perfect expression would be a painting. I would be an old man, and I’d be near the ocean then. It may be winter, but you couldn ’t tell. Not the way the sun is shining. You’d see me there. Mostly you’d see what I’ ve created. With luck it would draw you in, the centerpiece of a white, sunny, room, with hardwood floors and tiny grains of sand the wind had blown in for the occasion. The occasion being every day, the circumstance being happenstance. My life’s work is just before those French doors I always wanted, open to the world- so unlike myself- taking in the sun. I’ ve painted everything in front of me, everything my eyes can see. That ocean, the great white beach which stretches out to the great depths many fathoms below here, stretches out on my canvas. You wonder what took so long to bring me here, or why I waited if I always knew. I am not sad that it has taken this time, this distance to cross. Serenity is no mean feat, and as much as

I'm not even saying it to be mean, but I'm smarter than anybody you've ever met. The only things that make me sad are that I can't always be with the ones I love, and some day I will die. What can you say that would make a difference to me? I'm glad you feel smarter than everyone...so do I. But you're not always right, your inability to see things from other people's points of view- doesn't make you better than them... a lot of times I know where you are...I've already been there. If I've hurt your feelings, then you've missed the point. I don't feel smarter than everyone, I am. It's been tested, measured, gauged, and proven moot. I think faster and have seen anything and everything you think I've missed three times over. If your feelings are hurt, that is something you must rectify, because it won't change a thing. You ask foolish questions...a tautology in itself. This can go no further, less in the face of recidivism, I hav

Please take a moment to check in with our dear friend Rick Astley: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eBGIQ7ZuuiU&feature=related In related news, Nickleback has been added to the growng list of bands known to be harboring and/or sponsoring musical terrorism. Also, I'd like to take this opportunity to introduce legislation that would make it illegal to attempt to purchase more than 10 items in the 10 items or less slot at, say, a Walmart. As a society we need to step up with one unified voice, and crack down on these commercial n'er do wells. In it's initial stages, I suggest there be stipulations mandating that the offending purchaser is punished by either: (1) a set amount of money per each item exceeding the allotted number of purchaseable goods. (2) a "you suck" tax equalling, and possibly exceeding a certain percentage of the total purchase price, I'm talking 15 % minimum here. The cashier, provided they understand the concept of the number ten, will impo

These are heady times. There is an inner peace within. Silently, assured, once more, I can feel it grow. I could tell you of all I’ ve seen, but this is my time of year. I’m never quite sure of where it is next I’ll be going, but I always feel I’m gathering, and as light as I feel when I’m away in the world, the greatest feeling is next, I’m never happier than when I turn my thoughts and my footsteps towards home. Look, tomorrow the sun will shine, today the sun was shining. There could be nothing greater than the peace today, the quiet Sunday afternoon which mentioned nothing, the quiet Sunday afternoons which say nothing at all are the ones I like best. The wind knows which way it blows, that’s all I need for direction sometimes, wherever I am, the going is the living, coming together being the best part, and everything in between is the dues we pay. Keep in mind the future, keep the past in your heart, most of all, keep on living in the present. Today is beautiful because I have no

The following bands have done enough evil to my ears throughout the 25 years of my life to be deserving of their respective places within my sonic axis of evil: Matchbox 20 Heart John Cougar Mellencamp It should also be noted that this list is not exclusive, and formal evidence will be filed and exhibited here in coming days, or however long it takes for me to stomach the idea of thinking about their various crimes and offenses against my listening pleasure. Additionally, Fallout Boy will also be formally added to the growing list of bands known for harboring and/or sponsoring musical terrorism. As per axis of evil designees , the charges and atrocities committed by Fallout Boy in concerts and music videos will be listed here in coming days. "I must reconcile courage and surrender in equal measure." "It's been quite a ride. I loved every minute of it." Oct. 4, 1923 - April 5, 2008

I am flying weightless, born again in this concrete cocoon. The water is all about me, and yet it lets me be, it sets me free I hear Gideon twirl, the guitars whirl to the beating of drums, underneath these streets I can feel the tunnel walls hum For the moment I am alone, I with me, in the company of the thoughts I keep, my own strobe-light symphony while the city sleeps. Beauties, your tales of Spain leave me in stitches. We are amazing, we were years overdue! Happiness, these waking dreams, find my worn out soul, scratch whatever itches. Seven am never felt so alive, the sun gives me a sly look as it opens it’s eyes. 34th street, positively.

Write down the truest thing you know. I see my ghost in the window. Namely my reflection, and to be wholly honest it’s only my eyes I recognize anymore, little else, just the signs of excess, and what became of a situation that wants for help. When I look beyond myself- quite literally- the city imposes its own thoughts. The lights are blinking now over the empire state as I search the emasculated sky space to the south. What this vantage would’ve gleaned some years ago? I picture myself on that last night, perhaps just like this one, for me at least. Not so for many others, not so. To remember it now, certain ideas return quickly, though I don’t at all feel connected to whom I was in that life-time. It strikes me how separate I feel; heartache is not a singular expression, and I was never a stranger to wrongs real or imagined, still such things were tactful then, transgressions of the heart seemed much more furtive when I was young. Perhaps it was because I was always right once upon

He traced her twice, still unable to sleep, clumsy fingers the only movement betraying the still of the room to the scant light which came in at the window. They spoke 'I love you' to that small part of a woman's back that men wait a life-time to be intimate with, he took in the bewildering fragrance of her hair, and waited. Silience was all that resonated- all that would still be his come morning- save the soft whisper of breathing, and the fast-moving night some stories below. Sleeping beauty could not be troubled with his world, he was not tomorrow.

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20080111/ap_on_re_mi_ea/iraq_first_snow_in_memory I get a strange feeling after reading this article. Makes one contemplate all different ideas of religion, and the human experience. Is there hope for any of us? the Joyce allusion certainly advances that idea.