 ZerosRequiem
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Name: Joel
Birthday: 1/26/1986
Gender: Male
Interests: I am: a techno remix of Wagner's "Ring Cycle"; a subterranean seed-pod epidemiac; a citizen of Neon Chinatown; a Rivergreenway Conquistador; a blooming depression junkie and language lover; too wild, too rude, and bold of voice; an emergency flare; Venus as a boy.
Expertise: See above.
Occupation: Student
Industry: Other
Message: message me
AIM:  ZerosRequiem
Member Since:
2/7/2005
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| I heard a new song by Me'shell NdegeOcello called "Blood on the Curb." There aren't lyrics on the internet for it yet, so I did my best to transcribe them from an interview on NPR:
good morning
[something] come breakfast
stare down my mirror then i shear off my hair
two squares they’re my best friends
alive with pleasure
kiteboarding over the roadway
i wanna kill you all
then dash
the blood excites me
my anger and my evil are captivating
blood on the curb excites me
my anger and my evil are captivating
my anger and my evil are captivating
what good is loving me
if i
if i can’t feel it
i can’t feel it
when the bell tolls
i’ll be outside waiting for you
when the bell tolls
i’ll be outside waiting for you
the blood excites me
my anger and my evil are captivating
blood on the curb excites me | | |
| It's the Charlie Brown Christmas Tree, Charlie Brown!
Thanks Mom and Dad!  | | |
| I had an unsettling dream last night.
Fort Wayne was on the coast in North Carolina (as dreams go), and somewhere "in medias res," I looked up and saw smoke pouring from the top of the One Summit City building, Fort Wayne's tallest building. Two images are conjured here. The first: when I was in the second grade at St. Paul's, one of the eighth grade boys pointed out the window near our lockers at the end of the school day to show us smoke pouring from the church steeple across the street. St. Mary's was burning. The second, more obvious: smoke from the World Trade towers, call 9-11, the invasion of the homeland. So, in the dream, I saw smoke from One Summit City above me, and behind me, in the distance, smoke from the Lincoln Life building, and a third building I can't remember, perhaps the Lincoln Tower. I saw smoke and understood that we were at war. Instantly there was an incredible rush of people in the parking lots by the ocean, and there was, I think, clear water rising. At the moment I saw the smoke, I also knew, as one knows in dreams, that the attackers were also on the ground. We were at war. I saw one, a strong African man with thick braids and broad shoulders. Somali pirates. The threat had moved extreme east. My dad and I went to a secret performance of "The Vagina Monologues," an anti-war performance organized instantly in the after-math of the attack, which was stormed. The attackers were white. They began separating the audience, one group to be beaten, and one to watch. Dad was led by gunpoint to be beaten... but wasn't I also at gunpoint on the ground? I was face-down, I was face-up, I was pleading, silent shouts and facial tension, things were wrong.
I woke up to the sound of my alarm on my cell phone. I first heard the sound and thought, "What's that noise?"
This unsettling dream was unsettling on different counts. First, the events and images of the dream were conjured from real-life: Fort Wayne, the coast, 9/11, St. Mary's. And they were all smashed together in such a way as to build confusion on confusion. None of the details went together, but that incongruity took a back-seat to the fact that, regardless of what didn't make sense, danger was immediate and life-changing. But the way the events and images were coiled on and through each other led to a different count of imbalance: I woke up with a sense of sad, having remembered and imagined unpleasant images, but without a linear narrative, I was tongue-tied and hard pressed to expel the poison of the experience. The dream felt significant, but its significance has no chance of being tried on a judicious audience because it just can't translate. | | |
| Sometimes they all seem crazy. I read what they write, and I think, "Yes, that MIGHT make sense, but not for this situation," or I just think, "Nope. Crazy." I think, nope, can't hang your hat on that one, steer clear.
Though I'm not filling in the details, you can read this post and understand there's a whole lot of arms-length going on. | | |
| watching things rise and fall... rising and falling myself. | | |
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