Monday, October 30, 2006

This wire can easily cut through meat and bone.


I will never equate innocence with beauty again.

I have always been an admirer of the Japanese culture. Their history: the shoguns, the samurai, the arts and ceramics. Their present: the school system, the work ethic, the automobiles, the video games, the electronic devices, and the cinema. Their future: the economic center of the world, and the country to which every American will eventually, unwittingly sell their souls.

But their past and their future, whatever it may be, isn't what this is about.

The French are known for their films about sex, wine, and incest; the Dreamers being a case in point. The British for their comedies, John Cleese, Eric Idle, and Mr. Bean. The Chinese for Chow Yun Phat and Jet Li, action and martial arts, and more recently, Ang Lee's movie about gay cowboy sex on a mountain. But the Japanese more and more just seem like they are intent to just scare the living shit out of everybody, and they are doing a fairly good job at it.

Unfortunately, for a Japanese movie to have any hope of scaring the living shit out of an American, it has to be redone and rereleased by an American studio with American stars in American English before it can be shown in American theaters. Which is unfortunate. These ghost films are invariably mere shades of the originals. The Ring and The Grudge are both redone Japanese horror flicks, and each had its scary moments, supernatural entities haunting the living; ghostly, dripping wet girls crawling out of televisions, and little, gothic Japanese boys meowing like cats. But as frightening as these images can be, they are not real monsters. They are not human beings. Least not anymore. That is why Audition creeped me out more than either of them. The antagonist in Audition is something you could and often do run into in real life. Man, or more precisely, Woman.


At the heart of Audition was a common theme, loneliness, the search for companionship, and the ultimate ugliness of humanity. But that movie took ugliness to a whole other level, even vanillad down as it was. I watched the version that had been subjected to the wonderful MPAA, that had two minutes removed from the film that I am sure would have liquified a lobe or two of my brain had I seen them. So props to the MPAA for that. Kidding. The MPAA is a bunch of snobbish old farts who think their sole existence is defined by their ability to impose their beliefs upon others, but what they do actually does little good for this country, and while this movie as I saw it did creep me out, I am sure those extra two minutes would have done an even more thorough job. Not that I need to be horrified, but isn't that the reason people watch things like this. Who exactly do they think they are trying to mellow out my horror fix?

Minor complaints aside, the movie was highly effective in making me both jump and cringe, something that is difficult for most movies to accomplish. I am not going spoil it for anyone, I actually wish that I had seen it knowing a little less about it, but I will tell you that I will never look at a burlap sack the same way again, Carlos Mencia's "Dee dee dee" now has an entirely different meaning for me, and while I still think Japanese women are demur and beautiful, they, like the rest of humanity, are going to have to now do a little work to earn the title of innocence.

Monday, October 16, 2006

It's a hard knock life

I am worried about our country.

I was in K-Mart the other day getting batteries and my ears caught something that caused my heart to sink a little. Now I realize that K-Mart isn't exactly the center of intellectual discourse in this country, but I do expect a little bit more out of my fellow citizens.

One old K-Mart employee says to a young employee:
"Working hard?"
"It's a hard knock life," the young employee responds.
"I've seen that movie."
The young employee just stared.
"You know Little Orphan Annie?"
"No, no. It's a song by Jayzee."

I walked away. I didn't want to know how the conversation finished itself.

Everything about America seems a little stupider than it did six years ago, from our youth, all the way up to our president.

Now I don't know if Bush is the cause or the result of this, but whenever he opens his mouth, he is doing nothing to help the perception of America to the world.

One of his more recent comment's:

"One has a stronger hand when there's more people playing your same cards."

What in the hell was that supposed to mean?

I cannot wait until the new democratic congress impeaches this monkey.

Tuesday, September 12, 2006

The heart's only purpose is to pump blood, and hurt

Love, for those of us who take it seriously, is a curse and a gift both, and from my experience, it is more curse than anything else. But there are. . ., were, moments.

I was looking through the old files on my computer, specifically those within the My Writing file, and more specifically, the file entitled Poetry within the My Writing file. When I first started dabbling in words, I didn’t consider myself to be a poet, but now, I know that every good writer is and has to be. I am not claiming to be a good writer, or even a good poet. That is for others to judge. I am merely saying what it is that I have come to realize, that every good phrase I have ever turned out onto the page, or every good sentence I have ever read is in every way, poetry.

Poetry to me: Words that emote and affect feeling.

And what emotes or affects feeling more than love?



Shattered

Would I recognize an angel were I to ever see one?
In the throes of first love
I have claimed many women to be Starry-eyed
With
Lustrous, Gossamer, Wings.

But there were no halos over their heads
And starry-eyes begot Pointy tails
And first love begot tight dull pangs
That hung in my chest
Causing every heartbeat
To Hurt Like Hell

I want to know a real angel
One I don’t have to extol with words
One that is heavenly
But not mired in the wars of Heaven

A woman I don’t have to build up

She just is
I just am
And we just are



Love for me has been a cycle of discovery, happiness, heartbreak, and pain. Heavy on the heartbreak and pain. As I read over my words from both long and not so long ago, I remember who they were written about, who they were created for, and the emotional state of my being as I wrote them.


Angel, You

In the long course of life
We all need a touch of the divine
Though in the course of life
It is often difficult to find
But I know an Angel, You

All eyes are drawn to beauty
True beauty; pure, natural art
Felt with more than just the eyes
But in every bit of the heart
And I see it in that Angel, You

Beauty I know I deserve not
Divinity I know I deserve not
Yet I exult in just knowing you
One the heavens so wondrously wrought
Such an Angel, You



Take away love and death, there is not much left to write about other than food and space aliens. Not much at all.


I Give

I give beauty unto beauty
and poems for wondrous souls
my heart for those who’ll take it
and for you, I give them all

A rose pales against you
and my words equate you not
my heart seems not big enough
though these things are all I’ve got

I try to trade for a smile
attempt to emote how I feel
and always show you my heart
so you’ll know my love is real



Nothing leaves you more vulnerable than a complete outpouring of the soul. When you give someone your heart, you are giving them too much. You lose all sense of mystery. I envy those who can remain aloof, those who are mysterious just because they keep their mouthes shut; those tall dark, wondrous creatures who have love thrown at them. They don’t have to create words. They don’t say anything, because they have nothing real to say. Their vapidness is their mystery. Cyrano versus Christian.


Girl

I feel nothing but love for you
And I add to that love with every second that passes
This love, I will always feel
It will always grow
For it is in every way
Unassailable
It will always be a part of me
It defines me
It is who I am
For without it
I would be an empty shell, a hollow husk
That could once lay claim to life
But can lay claim to it, no more



They come, they go, and each time, the hurt is a little bit deeper, a little more true, a little more painful.



Wretched

with silence does my heart speak
for it knows not the words
to express the reason that it beats
though that may sound absurd
it solely constricts and repeats
silently cursing this wretched world
that keeps you well beyond my reach
my beauty. . ., my love. . ., my girl



Curse this horrific existence. This monotonous, solitary, veritably, vociferous violation of the very simplest of human needs. I constantly, callously, clamor for comfort and companionship. Why is the whole of the world against me?

Oh, woe is me, woe is me, and blah blah blah. This is just life, and we live it following our strengths and weaknesses. Love is not easy for anyone. Except for those too stupid to realize it isn’t easy (Paris Hilton). I imagine it would be damn near impossible for anyone anywhere to love that gaping beast, except for those who exist solely in her imagination.

But I, myself, have known love. I have seen it lost, and found again. I have seen it leave, never to return. I have known the deepest of heartbreak and the sweet moments of pure bliss. I have known love all too well. And I know it still. I know it anew. It has yet to fully metamorphosize and it is as of yet, unrequited. But I am too easily a victim. Though it cripples my voice, I have made it known to her. And if she ever does requite, perhaps I can abandon this depressing nonsense once again, hopefully for good. If she doesn’t, it will hurt, but I will find love again.



Farewells and Goodbyes

A farewell for us used to be
Just a rather simple goodbye
You would wave and smile to me
And I would stand there and sigh

But each goodbye grew longer
Than the one farewell preceding
And as our love grew stronger
We felt less and less like leaving

I’d hold you tight and close to me
Your heart sitting right next to mine
Both beating slow and happily
That feeling, more than divine

Slowly, we loosened our grips
And looked into each other’s eyes
I’d place a kiss upon your lips
The soulful end of our goodbye

You’d leave, and I’d feel slightly down
My mood would start to worsen
For when you are not around
I’m not as content a person

So I just imagine a day
With our last goodbye at hand
But no fear of going away
For that goodbye will never end

Monday, July 31, 2006

Words

Introduction:


"Just what do you think you're doing, Dave?"

I am sitting here after a particularly uneventful Sunday night spent in front of the television watching Deadwood and Entourage. While I am writing this, 2001: A Space Odyssey is on the television and technically it is no longer Sunday night. I am sipping at a very tall glass of an orange cream concoction, to which I have added a healthy dose of vodka. Unfortunately, it is failing to make me anything but tired.

"My mind is going. I can feel it."

I created this thing on a whim yesterday. I agonized over what is should be called, finally coming up with what you see before you: The Ebb of Equanimity. What it means probably isn't immediately clear, but I think a few moments with a dictionary might clarify it a little bit. Though there are always so many intangibles when trying to interpret someone else's words that perhaps going beyond simple definitions would be pointless. I don't know what I will be writing here, I don't even particularly know why I am writing here. More than trying to put any meaning to the title, I think I chose it more because of how it sounds than anything, the repeating E's have something of a poetic quality to them. A sort of "Je ne sais quoi" if you will (that being pertinent because it literally means "I don't know what").

"Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do. I'm half crazy, all for the love of you. It won't be a stylish marriage, I can't afford a carriage. But you'll look sweet upon the seat of a bicycle built for two."

After agonizing over a title, I then agonized over such questions as what my favorite music is, and what my favorite albums are, and what books left a particular imprint upon my intellectual being. My favorite music is always changing, my favorite book is usually the last good one that I read, and as far as movies go, I like all of the good ones and none of the bad ones. But I think I was able to come up with some decent choices that some random observer could use to define me as being somewhat normal. We all do want to appear normal after all. The antithesis of that is abnormal, and that word brings up the idea of mental issues or disfigurement. I would never want any profile of me to ever bring up such negative connotations. Who would?

"Look Dave, I can see you're really upset about this. I honestly think you ought to sit down calmly, take a stress pill, and think things over."

Alright, no one answer that. The internet is full of abnormality, and it is celebrated by many, with both mental issues and disfigurement alike. And I am probably as abnormal as any of them, but I would at least like my first impression to appear as otherwise.

"I'm sorry Dave, I'm afraid I can't do that."

All preliminary issues addressed, except for a photo, something I may consider in the future, I prepared to actually type my first post, and discovered that I had absolutely nothing whatsoever to say. A day later, and I still have the same problem, though it would seem I have achieved the creation of some sort of nonsense. A whole lot of words without really saying anything equals nonsense. Expect a lot of it in the future. Sure, there are plenty of topics to be discussed, after all there is a great deal going on in the world at the moment. But this being my first post, I didn't want to set the tone of this place as being political, worldly, liberal or what have you. It is more just a place for my random whimsical utterances.


"I am putting myself to the fullest possible use, which is all I think that any conscious entity can ever hope to do."

It is a place for me to share my thoughts, my poetry, my writing, or more simply put, my words. Words being something I take somewhat seriously. I agonize over them. It is why I often have a difficult time speaking. I sometimes have the appearance of being a stutterer. But I just have to stop, slow my mind down, concentrate, and try not to say the wrong thing.

"It can only be attributable to human error. "

I realize I have given very little here. Future posts may be a little more telling. I will try to be as forthright as possible, but unfortunately there will have to be some secrets between us. But, hopefully, except for a privileged few, the only real secret will be my name. D. R. are my first two initials, but Clark is a name I have taken from someone very close to me. Someday, I hope to put this name on a novel. Not necessarily to hide my identity, but more as an homage.

"Its origin and purpose still a total mystery."

Well, I suppose I have said enough for now.

"Dave, this conversation can serve no purpose anymore. Good bye."