jarring jarring

Mrs. Cristie Lee, apartment three
as quite the strangest habit.
instead of canning strawberries,
she uses skinks and rabbits.
All manner of small animal
are pushed right into jars,
preserving all the animals,
so they stay how they are.
green and brown corked bottles
line up and down the shelves,
the rows and rows of prisinors
all curled up in themselves.
but there in lies the motive
of the strange mrs. Cristie Lee.
Se only wants to save them from
their own mortality.

the beauty of ubsurdism

Ubsurdism simply states that existence at its cores simply random. And that if everything is relative, each event in history is infinity important, while also being infinitely inconsequential. And furthermore, because everything ever is purely arbitrary at its core, anything that happens as a result would also be in essence, random. But to truly understand what the philosophy means, we must look to the origin of each thing we examine and ask ourselves why it is like this. But things can not be purely absurd, so it must be the will of some all-powerful creator, right? well, there's also the possibility that there are infinite planes of existence, each slightly different than any other, so that would explain the seemingly arbitrary nature of life.

the mystic secret people

Deep underneath the suburbs,
beneath the American dream,
a catacomb of secrets,
and not quite what it seems.
And late each dark and stale blue night,
each adult in the town,
they find a secret staircase,
and descend slowly down.
Down under the pavement and
then far beneath the lawns,
each man then travels down until
the hour is almost dawn.
they reach their cryptic meeting place,
and sit around a table.
they look without quite seeing,
and might not even be able.
they then discus each single event
that will occur that day,
then leave up to their little towns,
returning without delay.

terror

You've been marooned inside a place
with long, and gaunt glass walls.
An eerie silence fills the air
excepting soft footfalls.
You dare to peer up towards the top,
and find it quite concealed,
with very strange and daunting plants
that mother nature yields.
But then is heard a ruckus
from the apex of this prison,
and from a gloomy patch of leaves,
a monster has now risen.
The taper of its slender back
gives way to horrid head,
with eyes of a primeval flame
reflecting fear and dread.
The beast slowly approaches you,
and leaping from the thicket,
they end the short and tepid life
of one lizard feeding cricket.

Dreams

I wonder if it matters
what pictures come to mind
our eyelids close, our muscles slow,
and we are rendered blind.
strange colors, hazy imagery,
are dancing through our brain.
We often at times wonder if
we're  really just insane.
And some things might be frightening,
while others quite sublime,
but we awake, and just the same,
we've quite lost track of time.
The dreams in which we hide and scream
might mean a stressful life,
or else, just random imagery
with simulated strife.
Dreams might not even follow
an order in succession.
Instead, they are but images,
in every sleeping session.
Oh such a grandeur mystery,
oh, quite the strangest thing!
But oh, Im out of energy.
I'm off to bed.
Sweet dreams!

200000 Leagues concluded

I would like to say that this book has been a lot of fun to read, and that it has a lot of very powerful ideas and imagery.In my previous statement about the book, I stated that the companion characters were a bit flat, and might have fallen into predictable character archetypes at times, but I now see that the tome does develop them to some degree, and that they have become much more definitive people in my mind. Not to say that they don't still have sort of "short cut" characters, but it's really not as distracting now as it used to be. Or it could be that I'm just used to it now. But what really pulls through with the book is agin the story, concepts and visuals. In each scene where the characters are observing wildlife or something of the like, Mr. Verne goes into detail about each individual specimen, a treat mainly reserved for those, who have some knowledge abut sea life and such, but a treat none the less. The scientific concepts described are no less than groundbreaking, especially for the time, when submarines were still relatively new. The section of the book concerning the "savages" could be interpreted as racially insensitive, but at the time the book was written, it sure wasn't, and they aren't really integral to the story anyway.
Again, the book takes awhile to get through, and there's a lot to get through, so I would recommend it to anyone who has the time and patience.

Life as we know it

When you combine the natural splendor of nature with the unavoidable pandering commercial advertising that plagues us all, you might get something close to our modern, average life. For despite it seems, popular culture 's best efforts, there instills a certain untouchable seed of interest hidden some deeper than others in, it seems all of us. Not to replace our precious consumerism, just enough to mix onto a sort of awkward hodgepodge, reflecting not only  our perception, but the reality around us. We do indulge in our numerous modern pleasures, but not quite enough to opaque our microscopic lens, so to speak. And in ythe future, who knows how much more our pursuit of knowledge and purpose will converge with our entertainment. This is why, in essence,I remain ambiguous about the past, pessimistic concerning the present, and optimistic for the distant future.

Musing

In the blur that is modern life, you may find yourself reading things that you do not believe. A good example is the statement “and they lived happily ever after” which encompasses the pleasant feelings enjoyed by unrealistic and overly idealistic individuals after some great evil had recently been vanquished. The simple reason that people shouldn’t believe such a statement is that it is an unrealistic assessment of life. When an artist creates a piece of art, the motive is simple. The artist is trying to communicate how they perceive the world. And when a writer writes writing, they are doing the same thing. So it goes to show that a person writing the statement “And they lived happily ever” after is communicating how they see life. But if a person is writing the statement directly above this sentence incase you need to refer back to it, it means that they see the world as a place where evil can be perinatal vanquished, and idealistic, happy people can enjoy pure pleasant, and wholesome gratification for the foreseeable future. The people who write such statements are probably the sorts of people who pull their hair back into stubby pigtails with pink rubber bands and then giggle loudly at sports events. Because those are the sorts of people with unrealistic opinions on life that are pr   

Spring

It makes sense that in the cultures and mythologies of the past, spring is associated with life, and winter with death. In Greek mythology, Winter was a sign that the beautiful goddess of spring was being held prisoner by a dark and brooding lord of the underworld. But now, we can stay in our sheltered, superficial homes, and flee from winter, so what used to be a life-threatening, terrible expanse of time is now more of a semi-torrential pest. But I still think that winter is far overrated compared to spring. True, there can be found a sort of rugged, severe beauty in fallen snow, but spring is enthralled constantly in an unmeasurable splendor of nature and life, botanical wonders splurging from the ground where they have been dormant. Truly, this marvelous time deserves more appreciation.

timberhill

CRAZIN:

Hello. My name is Crazin Foxhunt. About a year ago, my family of four and I moved to a town called Timberhill, Louisiana. Since then, I have observed countless strange and seemingly unexplainable happenings and events that have caused me to re-think not only my own perception of life, but also reality itself. I have decided to begin creating these audio installations at random intervals in time to raise awareness about Timberhill, and the strange occurrences that have transpired there, as well as the preservation of my own sanity in these unsettling times. During the installments, I will serve as your herald and reporter of the bizarre events of Timberhill. Let’s get started. Timberhill is a coastline small town of about 500 people, although the entrance sign clearly reads “population -4.” The town’s main export is a type of earthworm that is found exclusively within it’s borders. The worms are used primarily for fishing and dining, and are distributed in tin cans by the towns own “Can ‘o Worms Bait and Tackle.” Every Thursday, a grey semi-truck drives into town to receive its shipment of worms from the cannery at the edge of town. The driver of the truck has no face. Timberhill as seen from driving towards it must appear quite strange from a distance. A few non-descript boxlike shapes haphazardly scattered about, coagulating in density nearer to the tall, gaunt shilloette of the church house, towering above like a dark, silent relic of a time forgotten. And yet, I think that by far the strangest part of timberhill’s appearance is the perpetual halo of cloud, hovering over the town in a solemn, exact ring. The townspeople never seem to mention it, and might as well be completely unaware of the odd enigma. But then again, they don’t talk about many things. For instance, the strange and complex hand gesture that everyone seems entitled to preform before meals. When questioned, no one could seem to recount what the ritual means or how it started, but simply stated that “it’s just the right thing to do.” Fireworks can be seen over Timberhill on the 4^th of July every year, even though nobody in town sets them off. Other annually recurring events include the slow dissention of a long, black, wooden ladder stretching from the heavens into the bottom of the lagoon on October 8^th, and the total and complete ignoring of February the twenty sixth. The townspeople sleep straight through it, and it is scribbled out of all calendars. Also, instead of parading through the streets on Halloween, the children of Timberhill cower inside and draw their curtains for unknown reasons. Almost all life refuses to enter the town’s border, excepting earthworms, and strange eyeless fish that swim slowly and blindly through the bay. All of the townspeople are convinced that it is currently the year 1956, and they all act and dress accordingly. There is only one hospital in Timberhill. All of the nurses dress in plague doctor masks and white jumpsuits, and have never cured anyone of anything. Behind the hospital grows a small tree that produces cherry pits and no fruit. No one in Timberhill has ever died except by being poisoned. Howling noises can be heard from the nearby forest only by children of seven years old. There is one restaurant in Timberhill, a small diner simply called “Restaurant.” No one has ever been inside or knows what type of food they serve, because it has been “closed for Labor Day for as long as anyone can remember. Timberhill is named after a small, decrepit hill beside the church house, and overlooking the lagoon. The hill is under constant supervision by a strange, pale white creature with one eye that floats about two feet above the ground, and creates a soft humming noise. The citizens have affectionately named her the “mother worm”. Every Thursday, at precisely four in the morning, everyone gathers around the hill, and begins to chant odd incantations in Latin to the mother worm for eight minutes straight before returning to bed with no recollection of anything that happened in the morning. Whenever the-

ELANOR:

Crazin? Crazin? The walrus is back. He seems angry. I -waaaaa!

WALRUS:

ROARRR!

CRAZIN:

Ahh! Uhh… okay this concludes this instillation of the Timberhill Reporte

tossing a ball Stream of Consciousness

Muscle contract, extend, and I then release in from my five way grip and it soars not as hard as I had wanted, but bounces with considerable force from the wall. Repeat. Am I enjoying this, I suppose so. Why am I enjoying this? How would an enjoyment of tossing help a proto human hunt, eat, reproduce? And yet it happens to be a rhythmic, almost hypnotic action. Bap. Bap. Bap. It seems like the poor round thing must be all but dead now, bruises cascading down its supple hide. Bap. Bap. It's sunny today.

The esscense of nature

The creature rose up from the ground,

and glared at all the people.

there was no peace within the town

as the monster ate the steeple.

Up from the ocean, through the sea,

more creatures began to rise,

with massive seething rage let loose,

and anger in their eyes.

To march upon the land again, 

to eat and reap the town,

the monsters writhed in morning air.
with evil, ravenous sound.
Then when the town was shredded to
the barest bones of  structure,
the beasts climbed back into their deep
black Continental rupture.

200000 leagues under the sea

This book continues to be a great read for me. I really like many of the characters in the book, but my favorite by far is capital Nemo. He is a mysterious, intelligent man who keeps to himself almost all of the time. The imagery of the story is so vivid that it almost seems like a real account of an actual voyage. The book has a lot of educational content as well, but like I said before, it doesn't talk down to the reader. If I had to have one complaint about the book, I would say that a couple of the "companion" characters (those who have read the book will know which ones) seem a bit one-dimensional. And it's not that they're bad per say, it's just that their interactions with each other seem a bit forced and predictable, because it seems like their characters fall into these generic archetypes that the reader kinda expects. Also Portuguese Man-o-wars don't travel in schools. Buy in large, a really solid book. I recommend it for anyone who has the time.

Memory

Memories of childhood
are picked in the brain
Til nie unrecognisable
perfection do they feign.
They soon become far brighter
than the sadness of the present,
They bear little resemblance
but still are far more pleasant.
Through the days of adulthood,
these memories are candied,
Our minds distort imperfectness
the facts are deeply buried.
But is this really terrible,
to alter the real cause,
for now it's far more sweeter
than whatever really was.

Flajella the skin

A foggy, shady, tepid day
among the Timber forest
when once was heard a weeping noise
a ghostly, somber chorus.
The people of the town then wanted to investigate,
but the priest of Timberhill
warned them not to tempt the fate.
still yet a group of two young men
departed from the town,
they heard the wretched wail when it
reverberated down.
They took their pitchforks tightly held
with slightly shaken grip.
past the timber brooks and streams
where brackish water drips.
The the timber swamp holds many secrets,
spirits, monsters, beasts,
the citizens ignore the things
and leave them to the priest.
But as the lads then neared the place
the weeping first began,
they were enveloped by a fear
and turned back round and ran.
For as they gazed across the way,
they saw a slouching figure
A sight so strange to make them
wish that they could pull a trigger.
It was a sagging, wrinkling shape
the tone of which was pale.
the stretched and then contorted limbs
were thin and very frail.
the face had two dark wholes in it
Instead of peering eyes
And not a mouth or nose was seen
to issue forth the cries.
And no muscle was inside the thing
nor bones and blood and bile
no skull supported deep inside
the creature's long profile.
But in the end, we ask ourselves,
is strangeness such a sin?
And thus ending the fable
the one of Flajella the skin.

the cager

Part 8: the cager

The cager traps. The cages raise.

Small infants in an iron cage

To hold them all it must be hard

To keep them inside metal bars.

People inside are until they grow old,

 forced to keep its heart from growing cold.

Old House

Lanney and Egbert went to a house that all the children dreaded.

For according to them, under the house was a demon’s tomb embedded

They threw lots of stones, and broke all his bones and locked him up tight in a box

With a beast of mischief and a butler named Dave to keep him trapped with locks.

Egbert and Lanney went to the house to prove the myth was fake.

Lanney brought with her a club with spines, and eggbert carried a rake.

But when they chased off the beast of mischief and Dave stared out of the glass,

The demon came out of the basement stairs, and the screams they screamed were their last.

The ocean

Wide, vast, and seemingly infinite, it streaches as a nebulous, dark plain to the darkened horizon. The solemn, perfect line that separates sky from sea seems to silently utter ancient and profound things that far surpass words. It speaks with a calm, heartless tone of timeless intelligence, and seems obviously aware of its own indisputable dignity and poise as it silently urges me to join it. To go back to the churning, moving, source of  life that breathes and consumes and creates with an infinite, raw power. It is where life began, and more than likely, it is where it will reach its indefinite, terminal demise. When asked if the sea is truly a creature, both the everyman and the scientist would deny, without hesitation, however, I have a different theory, and this all goes back to the true definition of life, which is of course nonexistent.  Just like us, the sea is made up of many smaller living organisms, as well as manny inanimate and non-living ones. Just like us, the sea must consume, it must survive, and if it fails to do so, it will die, such is the nature of life.

200000 Leagues Under the Sea pt. One

This book i one of my favorite classics of all time so far because of its memorable characters, and amazing writing style. But the best part of the book for me at least, is really the story and concept. Many of the visuals and scenes described hear are so iconic and dramatic that they are remembered fondly to this day. The author clearly has a marked affinity for the sea, and it is transparently clear here, and this is one of the only books that I'v ever read that was educational without talking down to the reader. Another part that I enjoyed about the book was its use of scientific terminology and realistic human reactions to the events happening here. Both of these literary attributes coupled with the luxurious vocabulary and word choice create an amazing experiential novel of epic proportions. I truly can't wait to keep reading, and become astonished once again.

paul

Part 7: Tall Paul

Tall Paul did not have a home.

But he had the streets and roads to roam.

He had no food from farming fields

But he had fruit that a garden yield.

He had no shirt upon his back

But he made one out of burlap sacks

He didn’t have a single friend

But he had lots of time to spend.

“Far to tall to get inside”

said all the people. They didn’t lie.