tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33136001108104429802024-03-13T14:43:32.042-05:00The QygaxExperimental Musings of spoken language in written form.Qygaxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06598764872275867442noreply@blogger.comBlogger26125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3313600110810442980.post-43369783921939706652013-01-14T15:22:00.002-06:002013-03-24T17:54:20.240-05:00Patato<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzdf-5bra7WvFv7yegZ3pZkkOEavw9VhRcUx2e84mirago0TXSQGSQesGaF8lnGdah_h7jT_CedMshwXMraIQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />Qygaxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06598764872275867442noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3313600110810442980.post-35033729169904492882012-01-04T23:45:00.000-06:002012-01-04T23:45:17.256-06:00The Qygax: Step Step<a href="http://theqygax.blogspot.com/2012/01/step-step.html?spref=bl">The Qygax: Step Step</a>: One foot two foot step, step, step. Left, right left repeat the steps. With socks no socks shoes and heels. Bedroom, bathroom kitchen ad...Qygaxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06598764872275867442noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3313600110810442980.post-68504913203006795702012-01-04T23:41:00.001-06:002012-01-04T23:44:25.548-06:00Step Step<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ui12NeKReI8/TwU4oQnhZ1I/AAAAAAAAADI/2Bt6lfsltQY/s1600/P8312429ab.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="196" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ui12NeKReI8/TwU4oQnhZ1I/AAAAAAAAADI/2Bt6lfsltQY/s200/P8312429ab.JPG" width="200" /></a><br />
One foot two foot <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">step, step, step. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Left, right left </div><div class="MsoNormal">repeat the steps. </div><div class="MsoNormal">With socks </div><div class="MsoNormal">no socks </div><div class="MsoNormal">shoes and heels. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Bedroom, bathroom </div><div class="MsoNormal">kitchen adore</div><div class="MsoNormal">front room backroom </div><div class="MsoNormal">through the door. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Inside outside</div><div class="MsoNormal">concrete floor.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Sunrise moonrise</div><div class="MsoNormal">step step step</div><div class="MsoNormal">pillow talk dream talk</div><div class="MsoNormal">repeat once more</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Qygaxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06598764872275867442noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3313600110810442980.post-35227105371505539152011-12-30T22:51:00.000-06:002011-12-30T22:51:34.158-06:00The Qygax: Found<a href="http://theqygax.blogspot.com/2011/12/found.html?spref=bl">The Qygax: Found</a>: What do you want from me Building a hole in the sea Walking around Head on the ground What did you expect to see Where do you search y...Qygaxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06598764872275867442noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3313600110810442980.post-23548117602646035532011-12-30T22:48:00.002-06:002011-12-30T22:50:39.114-06:00Found<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-a7i9BQZebLI/Tv6UT2qGe-I/AAAAAAAAAC8/ENB1oWclpd8/s1600/DSCF3904_640x480.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="235" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-a7i9BQZebLI/Tv6UT2qGe-I/AAAAAAAAAC8/ENB1oWclpd8/s320/DSCF3904_640x480.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>What do you want from me<br />
Building a hole in the sea<br />
Walking around <br />
Head on the ground<br />
What did you expect to see<br />
<br />
Where do you search your soul<br />
filling the old flag pole<br />
dreaming your fall<br />
The red glowing ball<br />
Where did you want to go<br />
<br />
When did you suddenly cease<br />
Drowning in your own silent peace<br />
Laughing aloud<br />
Filthy and proud<br />
Who do you plan to please<br />
<br />
How are you deep, do you think<br />
Turning your head in the sink<br />
Boiling the hands<br />
That touch silver sands<br />
How much will you miss when you blinkQygaxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06598764872275867442noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3313600110810442980.post-51128863495492311612011-10-11T01:02:00.002-05:002011-10-11T01:02:30.705-05:00Said of sayingMy arrogance has gotten the better of me, again. How is it that I will pull myself out of this abyss of selfishness and hurtfulness? I know what I had said and I suppose I meant it, but I did not mean the extent of the damage I caused. I suppose it is true that what is said can not be unsaid.Qygaxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06598764872275867442noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3313600110810442980.post-85158094717796991892011-07-30T21:38:00.000-05:002011-07-30T21:38:03.187-05:00The Qygax: The Importance of how to Spell BOB(according to ou...<a href="http://theqygax.blogspot.com/2011/07/importance-of-how-to-spell-bobaccording_30.html?spref=bl">The Qygax: The Importance of how to Spell BOB(according to ou...</a>: "1st: Regulate how to spell BOB (They are several ways to spell BOB b-o-b, B-o-b, B-O-B, B-O-b, b-o-B, b-O-B or if you consider it palindr..."Qygaxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06598764872275867442noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3313600110810442980.post-16169646597744204002011-07-30T21:37:00.002-05:002011-07-30T21:37:51.390-05:00The Importance of how to Spell BOB(according to our politicians):<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjusa6ZhKTCwTW3rHaIuoitvBsp9oYZ083K5nFUE5UvDzERiwdGkWNmx6Drc1-UeGbuQUMp2RyV2jyh9BbCFkifwG_n2bvxGt0OaSyZ6ZNzAb-ji6FkmJASHwG6NEY_YWxhaFvETxdTGcs/s1600/P8312428ab.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear:right; float:right; margin-left:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="196" width="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjusa6ZhKTCwTW3rHaIuoitvBsp9oYZ083K5nFUE5UvDzERiwdGkWNmx6Drc1-UeGbuQUMp2RyV2jyh9BbCFkifwG_n2bvxGt0OaSyZ6ZNzAb-ji6FkmJASHwG6NEY_YWxhaFvETxdTGcs/s200/P8312428ab.JPG" /></a></div><br />
1st: Regulate how to spell BOB<br />
(They are several ways to spell BOB<br />
b-o-b, B-o-b, B-O-B, B-O-b, b-o-B, b-O-B or if you consider it palindromic properties then it can be spelled as b-o-B, B-O-B, b-o-b, B-o-b, B-O-b, b-O-B)<br />
2nd: there can be no compromise with spelling BOB.<br />
3rd: BOB is extremely important <br />
4th: BOB must be defined<br />
5th: Think like a politician (If we do not know how to spell BOB, then how can we function?)<br />
6th: Think about how expensive BOB is<br />
But that’s ok, because when we can all agree on how to spell BOB then all will be right <br />
<br />
Now for the application of BOBs’ importance<br />
Example: <br />
Here is the president’s stance on ‘BOB’ (Taken from his speech in Berlin, 2008):<br />
Yes, there have been differences between spelling BOB and BOB. <br />
No doubt, there will be differences in the future. <br />
But the burdens of defining BOB continue to bind us together. <br />
A change of leadership in Washington will not lift this burden. <br />
In this new century, Americans and Europeans alike will be required to spell BOB. Partnership and cooperation among nations is not a choice; <br />
it is the one way, the only way, to define BOB<br />
That is why the greatest danger of all is to allow new ways of spelling BOB to divide us from one another.<br />
The spellings between old BOB on either side of the Atlantic cannot stand. <br />
The spelling between BOB and BOB; BOB, BOb, Bob, bob, bOB and boB can not stand. <br />
These now are the spellings we must define.Qygaxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06598764872275867442noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3313600110810442980.post-44870816967328147072011-06-12T03:12:00.000-05:002011-06-12T03:12:51.647-05:00The Qygax: My Old Friend<a href="http://theqygax.blogspot.com/2011/06/my-old-friend.html?spref=bl">The Qygax: My Old Friend</a>: "Slithering in crackling, creeps and slowly seeps My old friend So renewed I hardly knew who Presented, uninvited My old friend How l..."Qygaxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06598764872275867442noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3313600110810442980.post-15533321406096731292011-06-12T03:10:00.001-05:002011-06-12T03:11:17.825-05:00My Old Friend<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqDZ3y3MXgeo3iCxli8bgdfz2G_V0_NIEChFWs9VqKhQTnFvqzW5zNS-hU33YdBg_qR9w_4QXltqqxanksqTBJ8O3BmkeEteqQ1VICh1TpFXFqmNyQAr7xpc5geUrIwQY1JFpTnDSWuUU/s1600/anxious.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqDZ3y3MXgeo3iCxli8bgdfz2G_V0_NIEChFWs9VqKhQTnFvqzW5zNS-hU33YdBg_qR9w_4QXltqqxanksqTBJ8O3BmkeEteqQ1VICh1TpFXFqmNyQAr7xpc5geUrIwQY1JFpTnDSWuUU/s320/anxious.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Slithering in<br />
crackling, creeps<br />
and slowly seeps<br />
My old friend<br />
So renewed<br />
I hardly knew who<br />
Presented, uninvited<br />
My old friend<br />
How long<br />
Time has gone<br />
Memory disappears<br />
of our last tears<br />
My old friend<br />
Searing, seething<br />
and then appearing<br />
A hand, to tend<br />
A darkened hue<br />
Of you<br />
Of me, of we<br />
My old friendQygaxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06598764872275867442noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3313600110810442980.post-81220795100309661442011-05-01T00:18:00.002-05:002011-05-01T00:19:51.921-05:00Opinion....Ok, so I am writing again and wanted some content opinions (not grammatical, but thank you). So feel free to comment with your thoughts. <br />
<br />
Today…<br />
What is there to say about this day?<br />
I wonder…no.., I have doubt; a doubt that stares right back at you, unblinking and glaring. That doubt that everyone has, ordinary and inane, yet when it is you it sits with, it animates, weaving today into one day that could end that day or, if it so chooses, stretch an infinite expanse; day after day towed behind you, weighing every step you take so much that you just stop…standing still, static amongst the flow. You are neither upstream, nor down, like a rock in the silt, torpid within the energy that rushes by. <br />
And here sits doubt, a cigarette and coffee to share, how considerate. Does it intend a visit over drinks or will it linger? It has been long enough since last it came, so I suppose its stay may be extended. “Back by popular demand!” I laugh to myself. <br />
It is not that I doubt; it is that I have doubt. There is a difference, truly. I do not doubt what I am it is what I am that I doubt. I know where here is and I know here is…well.., here; faith of the tangible. Perhaps this is why doubt only drops in, though its stay may surpass its welcome, it always moves along…perhaps, it is faith then. <br />
Then…then what? Then faith? Faith is not what is said about today or an alternate doubt, though I suppose some would argue. Can you picture it ‘Faith and the Hopes’ first edition comic book that features their first meeting with their archenemy Dr. Doubt. Faith stands tall, blue cape flowing in the wind, chest trust forward emphasizing its capital ‘F’ Happy people walking about, enjoying the beautiful day, oblivious to anything beyond, moving throughout their lives believing in all they do, then suddenly dark clouds roll in with impeding doom, of some sort, forced to talk to those that surround them, and then a question, obviously planted by the malevolent Dr. Doubt and his evil minions of the conscious. No, doubt is just as inherently benign as faith. There is no outside force that supplants doubt, only ourselves. <br />
So today, perhaps, is just a day…banal and uneventful as the one before and the next. Even for the adrenaline junkies, desensitized by their own devices, a day is just a day.<br />
<br />
Staring at the yellow wall that stands blankly behind my computer screen; old holes from pictures that once were smiled upon by the previous inhabitants, filled with plaster and paint bulge forward like boils. I can not be sure of my state when I stood in that warehouse of a store flipping through small swatches of ‘Peach dreams’, ‘Aged olive’ and, of course my choice, ‘Golden mango’. I hate yellow. I blame that fluorescent lighting that hung twenty feet above my head, photons barely bouncing off of black shelves and concrete. “Bright and cheery” is what people say, ugh, the thought of it makes me ill. Yellow glares as it distorts the perception of its viewer, blinding them into a state of submission. Yes, that’s it, I submitted, it was not a choice given to me but a command with no alternative, not even an opinion. I suppose I will repaint or just hang posters. <br />
Lighting another cigarette I move my gaze from the hideous hue to the pile that has taken refuge upon my desk: old bills I’ve yet to pay, a couple of half drank cups of coffee, a stack of cd’s and a needle that stands straight stuck into my mouse pad. <br />
A needle, I wonder why that is there. I don’t remember a time when I would use it. I have neither patience nor the skill to desire to prick my fingers hemming or reattaching a button. Oh, well, there it is all the same, for whatever reason, I felt the need for its presence. <br />
I should be working, but my mind wanders, filled with ideas and thoughts of philosophical whys and whatnots. When will my time, which I accepted, in this studious endeavor be over? I read and learn of valence shells and theorems, of lifeless ideals from those who where dead when they lived, puffed chauvinistic men with motives we speculate, placing our own thoughts into their decomposing lips. Just give me my paper and push me to the next stone walled prison, where I will work a never ending shift for a master that I pray will choose me, singing “All glory to you” to the man who sits in a luncheon filling his gut with fancy animal egged hors d’oeuvres. <br />
I could go on writing of my mind’s delirium, but I’m afraid you would be like me, impatient and bored of the sounds that blend together on a page to form, hopefully, some kind of coherent expression of some kind of language. So in my kindness I will not intentionally cause such suffering. <br />
Turning my attention back to the task at hand, I glance at the time posted in the lower right corner of my screen. 8:00am screams as it deceptively ticks as it shreds our life into measured pieces of seconds. As a child I thought of time as an infinite entity; a friend. Holding me close, comforting me with its endlessness. Time has betrayed us, it was no friend. Quietly it soothes us into compliance, then in our blind security of it we see it, too stunned to act, it devours us whole, leaving us grasping at every second hoping that maybe, just maybe this moment will be the moment that was promised, never ending and everlasting. <br />
I was ten just yesterday, it seems. I smile at my aspirations then. I was going to make sure I was happy. There was no way I was going to change. I would always cry when I was hurt, laugh when I found things funny, sing when my heart was filled, be truthful and honest, and love whether someone cared or not and always, with defiance, believe that there was more than just time; a grand fantasy of joyful lives and games, a forever sort of holiday.<br />
Time! Damn you! Damn you. Like my father you have abandoned me with only one direction, forward. It is not that I was so naïve to think that life was fair and kind, but ignorantly I believed that time could ease the pain in life. I feel betrayed not because the lies of relief I was led to believe, but in the vindictiveness, I now realize, in its lack of speaking. There is no relief; I can accept that. How cruel time is, laughing like a broken sound track as it compounds every millisecond of you into one event you can’t escape.<br />
Click-clack, tic, tic, tap<br />
The sound of the keyboard fills my yellow room; Echoing back to me in a song of work. Its repetitive beat lulls me into a calmness of accomplishment. I can see the fading light at the window sneaking through the shade that I bound tight to the glass of the panes, so that I may not be distracted by the rushing bodies outside. How bright the streetlights can seem on certain dark nights. How strangely quiet tonight seems. How beautiful this silence is for me tonight, when I need it most. No buses or cars, no sound of drunks leaving the bars. An answer to my prayers, I am alone. <br />
Clack-click, tap, tap toc<br />
Words flow from my fingertips faster and faster<br />
Tac tac tic<br />
As each second passes urgency sets in and each word gathers more meaning. Succinctly I describe each step of each portion of the processes that I had done, as it now seems such a long time ago. Efficacy and efficiency become one and the same. I pound out each sentence without a thought of the previous work that has brought me to this point…a new theory proven and passed scientifically statistically significant. And the thoughts of doubt at answering the borage of questions that I know will come from such work as I have just done dissipate in wisp of smoke.<br />
Ahh, smoke. Rising slowly above the orange glow that sits at finger length in front of me. The bluish tint swirls and wafts its way to my now yellow caked ceiling. How I hate yellow. Tomorrow I will edit and hope for approval of not my work but of myself. The denial will break me and lead to little if any funding for further investigation into what I have proved to have existed. I can not allow my mind to hold tight to the nods I hope to get. Approval will have to wait until the morning.Qygaxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06598764872275867442noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3313600110810442980.post-66117652984377489312011-04-07T22:36:00.000-05:002011-04-07T22:36:48.672-05:00The Qygax: Today's Today exceprt -<a href="http://theqygax.blogspot.com/2011/04/todays-today-exceprt.html?spref=bl">The Qygax: Today's Today exceprt -</a>: "Yes [the hushing voice] I fear the face I know so well, so well I know the face of what I might fear that I fear my face. My face, pale and ..."Qygaxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06598764872275867442noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3313600110810442980.post-56798022833805010382011-04-07T22:34:00.002-05:002011-04-07T22:35:11.178-05:00Today's Today exceprt -<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghkm6AM3mYHCyxS3s9smjHuN1dR97Fkuk4RH9qi4c0bU2GUIoOupFoduHyjw5gh_w5GF0lN1YEJYJdV85J2YLF3JTRInrMhwP96lRbfZ4ryRUCBAeoAgJD18Ky4nA6P4sCIiGcklatOU4/s1600/Smokinga.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghkm6AM3mYHCyxS3s9smjHuN1dR97Fkuk4RH9qi4c0bU2GUIoOupFoduHyjw5gh_w5GF0lN1YEJYJdV85J2YLF3JTRInrMhwP96lRbfZ4ryRUCBAeoAgJD18Ky4nA6P4sCIiGcklatOU4/s320/Smokinga.JPG" width="320" /></a>Yes [the hushing voice] I fear the face I know so well, so well I know the face of what I might fear that I fear my face. My face, pale and cold choking on the browning tar I fill my neurons to quiet them down or risk the buzzing that echoes. The humming of potentials and could have beens grow louder now. What is it that I am not part of, where is the party that I am unaware of? Who is it that looks at me without speaking my name thinking not of me but of their own perfect skin? Who is it? Where have I missed the turn to go to no where of any importance but to just sit and be driven out of sanity by sloth and insipid silent chatter? Tell me where this happens and I’ll meet you at eight! Am or pm, though I would much prefer the evening, you see, I am not much of a morning song; that is if I can choke out the words through my hacking cough.<br />
So you see I’ll meet you at noon and spend some time at the lake hiding from the deerfly that hunts for only me, I still don’t know why he thinks I taste sweeter than you, perhaps he has a preference for what has gone sour. <br />
It is ten than that I shall see you past May, in the early winter’s frost on the sand cherry tree. There we can bury my fish count them three. Seven you say, that is pm, correct? For I might be late from my lunch I never ate. <br />
Let’s make it six, for I hate the lot that I sit in with all the click clackers on their way home. Tomorrow then, maybe next week, I know you are busy as we, another time, another time, just let’s make it in the evening, because you know how I feel about mornings.Qygaxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06598764872275867442noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3313600110810442980.post-30236240291175137302011-03-29T10:00:00.002-05:002011-03-29T10:07:26.972-05:00A slow Rockabill<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ51swEvY-a3XItNdY4a-ndMqbBXKt8zEJWqZNFKJsYTN9MiKpyUNuEEtKBJQG_Y4V0UeTBMjrSF3-vIcCyF198S1UtHfKd9K_DR4vBWcQpGjktr7Kqvh6zava7NLEKwY7DDpgKtk8uMQ/s1600/P9142479a.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ51swEvY-a3XItNdY4a-ndMqbBXKt8zEJWqZNFKJsYTN9MiKpyUNuEEtKBJQG_Y4V0UeTBMjrSF3-vIcCyF198S1UtHfKd9K_DR4vBWcQpGjktr7Kqvh6zava7NLEKwY7DDpgKtk8uMQ/s200/P9142479a.JPG" width="197" /></a>So I’ve got a dollar and locket and I am heading on out the door<br />
I didn’t need the things you bought me I don’t want them anymore<br />
Love is found in the open not hidden behind the door<br />
So when I say that I love you…no, I don’t mean it anymore<br />
<br />
Run Baby Run, and just dance on out the door<br />
So swing baby swing with your feet across the floor<br />
I’ve got a dollar and a locket and I don’t want them anymore<br />
<br />
I knew you when I met you, I knew your score<br />
I wanted to want to be your good time without nothing more<br />
But you never changed and I never asked you to change<br />
And I will Run Baby Run, and just dance on out the door<br />
swing baby swing with my feet across the floor<br />
I’ve got a dollar and a locket and I don’t want them anymoreQygaxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06598764872275867442noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3313600110810442980.post-23008817220517324692011-03-01T09:35:00.003-06:002011-03-01T09:47:53.890-06:00The Body of the Law In the Penal Colony<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy10Vz6ekpJJ2irQnTijmTa-_cb9YKDUPizfQGV5tloPKRqKIgP7ZDtPNZpfrMoSlCUWzJoQY7hycJtBNfMVVBCqvflgzPNsyWFXJXuQUg0_zgwGzt0_0toT0rBhflgem-d-AaL2-imgU/s1600/theview..JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="162" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy10Vz6ekpJJ2irQnTijmTa-_cb9YKDUPizfQGV5tloPKRqKIgP7ZDtPNZpfrMoSlCUWzJoQY7hycJtBNfMVVBCqvflgzPNsyWFXJXuQUg0_zgwGzt0_0toT0rBhflgem-d-AaL2-imgU/s200/theview..JPG" width="200" /></a>The purpose of government is to sustain a form of security for the benefit of those within the governed community. The people who chose to reside under a communal rule adhere by laws that they agree upon, whether it is by the act of voicing their agreement or whether it is by just continuing to live under such laws. They enlist members to enforce the rules set down and to pass a judgment on those who have disobeyed the agreed upon regulations. As humans we value the security offered by, not only, the government enacted but by those who carry out the enforcement and judgment of the law. It is the security of the physical personal body that we seek when we agree to live under certain rules. The rules set down by the generations before the current establishment shift and change according to the moral reason of the present ideals of the community. In Franz Kafka’s short story, In the Penal Colony, the shift of how to uphold the moral law occurs in connection with the view of the body.<br />
<br />
The plot of In the Penal Colony revolves around the opposing views of an outsider and that of an officer, whose duty is to enforce and pass judgment on the people who reside in the colony. The officer is enthralled with a machine, called “the Harrow”, which is used for punishment of the unlawful and he believes in what the machine represents in its actions; which is justice in action. A just member of society, to the officer, is one who properly performs the duty given to them for the sake of the community, or risk anarchy, no matter the nature of the punishment as long as justice is maintained.<br />
<br />
In order to understand the beliefs of the officer it is necessary to understand the meaning behind his actions, and his conduct within the context of society. Looking first at the definition of the words, law, morals and reason, we can understand the symbolism portrayed in, In the Penal Colony. Law means, in summary, a rule, custom or practice set by the community for the community, and looking further, the word law is akin to the old English word licgan, to lie (a direction). When traced from the origin, one can see that the sense of the word, law, is meant to give us direction, allowing us a stable relation to how we are to live in our society, a map in a sense. Morality is, essentially, the principles of conduct relating to right and wrong. Reason, in essence, is the action of thinking, calculating and explaining. So what does moral reason have to do with law and the body?<br />
<br />
Law, according to St. Thomas Aquinas “abides by reason, not by itself”<a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=3313600110810442980#_ftn1">[1]</a> and in this sense law is two things in this context of conduct: it is our reason for acting in a certain order and it is from our reason that we have law. Our reason for setting a law comes from how we think about our community, answering the question of how we live together while being able to reap the benefits of our living together. If we were to remove moral reason from this process what purpose for law would we have? As we see with the officer, having only the action of obeying a law does not aid in his ability to uphold the law, it has become a habit of action, as with all habits without will, it becomes unstable, as did the machine. Society was losing the will for the use of the machine, no longer were funds being appropriated for upkeep and resulted in the slow decay by communal neglect.<br />
<br />
Morals can be considered that what is good and right and good and right can be described as something favorable or profitable and, if a law is good or right, it forbids the cause of that which is not favorable or that which causes a loss, thus bad or wrong would be considered unfavorable. If we were to only think of law as a tool by which we are ruled, in this case the machine, than it becomes evident that the machine was no longer profitable or prohibitive of wrong and thus ceased to be considered good, and fell out of repair, physically and in popularity of use. The body itself can be seen as good or bad, and when it is considered bad it falls out of favor and thus becomes useless. The officer’s duty was not only to enforce the law by means of judgment but to give the body purpose again, in which he did so by the act of inscribing the law that was broken upon the lawbreaker to their death. <br />
<br />
The body is, in its physical form representative of life. It performs the actions of the mind’s desires and interacts with its surroundings as well as with the other bodies. These interactions also can reflect the ethics of the individual and within the responses to the surroundings, the values of a society and/or community. How the body is seen, whether it is in death or in life also reflects the values of the individual and of the society, in which the body resides, expressing the importance of humanity or the lack thereof.<br />
<br />
The role of bodily inscription can be understood as the page, on which history is written in terms of culture<a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=3313600110810442980#_ftn2">[2]</a>, but this explanation does not represent the full meaning of the “Harrow” and the officer’s function in context to the entirety of the judgment and punishment; it only gives a surface analysis of the literal act of writing and language. The act of inscribing the moral opposite of the action performed by the criminal is an act of cultural language, but, more so, it makes concrete the notion of the intangible moral action, in the same manner as a parable or a fable in the physical form, with the exception that the one to learn from the tale expires at the hands of the lesson. The action, or reason, of inscribing is the way in which the conduct of the criminal becomes moral. The physical body, for the officer, is not seen as separate from the conduct but is the driving force of the purpose of what was considered immoral and not solely nor necessarily the act of language and history disfiguring the body<a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=3313600110810442980#_ftn3">[3]</a>; in the case of the condemned man the body was the cause for his lack of duty fulfillment, for he slept when he should have been saluting. It is not disfiguring of the body that the importance rests on, but the words inscribed, in multitudes. The significance of the actual inscription is minimal, beyond the use of writing and delving out the sentence of death, this is seen in that the machine not only wrote the law disobeyed, it also carved decoration onto the body. The body is not a tool for history but it is the physical purpose for action of the mind within history, not a “blank page” to scribe<a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=3313600110810442980#_ftn4">[4]</a> language and law; it is what upholds or disobeys the reason for the conduct. The machine can then be understood as the vessel that reconstitutes justice within the body of the condemned, it prepares the flesh for sowing the new seeds of growth, inscribing deep the code broken by a criminal. It seems that the machine is meant to reach the inner most of the human form in order to renew the hardened surface, not for past but for the future. It is interesting to note that he prisoner is not meant to understand what is being discussed. He is a member of the society yet he knows not of his crime or punishment. It is as though he represents the actual shift of the body of law; an unspoken agreement between the current generation and the present needs that must be fulfilled by the law as well as the silent change of moral reason, the physical representation of the shift. <br />
<br />
Moral reasoning needs to be behind our laws for our laws to make sense. Remembering that law is two things in the context of conduct of our society at the individual and communal level; it is our reason for acting in a certain order and it is from our reason that we have law. Removing the reason for the law erases the purpose of the action which gives the direction for the future of our society, thus making the laws useless. In order for law to exist the law must be governed by moral reasoning. The officer was no longer seen within the community as having moral reason in his conduct, he could no longer give reason for the actions of his judgment and therefore he lost his cause to act and thus his will and direction within society. His purpose and the purpose of the “Harrow” no longer fit the definition of just and moral actions. He appeals to the stranger to express to the members of society that there is still a need for him and his machine within the penal colony. He fails at this and must face that he is no longer considered favorable and just within the confines of the community and passes judgment upon his own body. He could not be ‘right’ under the shifting law nor could he perform his duty of justice, and therefore saw himself as unjust. The officer replaced the condemned man shortly after his punishment began and reset the machine to scribe “Be Just”. The new inscription became an act of law and reason as well as making permanent the purpose for the action of law, directing reason and reiterating the usefulness of his own body, for he could no longer be of use to the community under the new ideals, which would make him unjust.<br />
<br />
Society allowed for what is now considered immoral and inhumane because of their desire to ignore the truth about what they approved of, they became apathetic. It is apathy that allows atrocities in the absence of any justice or reason. Society pretended to be ignorant of the punishment to escape societal guilt. If they pretended to be unaware of such activity then they could neither be associated with the acts nor be considered guilty of such brutality.<br />
<br />
The officer saw purpose in duty and that duty was carried out by the body in order to maintain the law of the society. The role of the traveler paralleled the role of the changing ethics of the society that the officer felt he would have to conform to. The officer lost his direction for his actions as well as his purpose, he was no longer relevant or appropriate to the needs of his community and he had to accept either the new moral law or, in order to maintain his purpose and reason, die while performing his duty. In choosing death he not only held to his beliefs but his body remained useful and not criminal and thus he was just, for at that moment in time the officer was the physical representation of the body of law in the changing ideals of law within society.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=3313600110810442980#_ftnref1">[<span style="font-size: x-small;">1]</span></a><span style="font-size: x-small;"> Aquinas, Thomas. "Summa Theologiae." Political Philosophy: The Essential Texts.<br />
By Steven M Cahn. New York: Oxford University Press, 2005. 173-184. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=3313600110810442980#_ftnref2">[2]</a> Butler, Judith. "Foucault and the Paradox of Bodily Inscriptions." Journal of<br />
Philosophy 86.11 (Nov. 1989): 601-607. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=3313600110810442980#_ftnref3">[3]</a> Butler, Judith. "Foucault and the Paradox of Bodily Inscriptions." Journal of<br />
Philosophy 86.11 (Nov. 1989): 601-607. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=3313600110810442980#_ftnref4">[4]</a> Butler, Judith. "Foucault and the Paradox of Bodily Inscriptions." Journal of<br />
Philosophy 86.11 (Nov. 1989): 601-607. </span>Qygaxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06598764872275867442noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3313600110810442980.post-72830610412536768782011-03-01T09:26:00.002-06:002011-03-01T09:29:00.024-06:00Time<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3R0DJFnlbkaZ1gIWtHIvQ5S2BloI39WnyYsjwsARiA4LJkVWr20yoP3YLVXtEGo4dkDzaGqev6M0tU4HbdEK7laBoMVTL2uORxqIJaq0whifWh7a-Agd4N3Z7AkpRlqukuCiRJC1_hwc/s1600/rnd1_1201x1200_900x900.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3R0DJFnlbkaZ1gIWtHIvQ5S2BloI39WnyYsjwsARiA4LJkVWr20yoP3YLVXtEGo4dkDzaGqev6M0tU4HbdEK7laBoMVTL2uORxqIJaq0whifWh7a-Agd4N3Z7AkpRlqukuCiRJC1_hwc/s320/rnd1_1201x1200_900x900.jpg" width="320" /></a>My Clock ran four hours backward today<br />
can't tell why, its hard to say<br />
I thought at first it was just a dream<br />
Or perhaps I had cut a seam<br />
Have I learned to turn back time<br />
Or was my clock just out of line?<br />
Time, you see is a dimension<br />
Not a measurement, as those have mentioned<br />
A question of time which has no answer<br />
I hope the effects are not like cancer!<br />
But I can say this one fact about today<br />
I did see time spin fast backward as I layQygaxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06598764872275867442noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3313600110810442980.post-5076944504524455212011-02-24T11:18:00.002-06:002011-03-01T09:29:21.687-06:00The Avalanche<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDTQ3_hms_AgRPydIsLG1VqJww-7hWtBlQwLKilEEAd6ihNS3U8JXIA38kDm4g3f-Lvpfi4jpSLX2-NFje3VyRWaECKjQUHe_boo2tfZhYUtF_Rt11N0OkzGwC2dw9Yi_DalcHzZ01FbI/s1600/P9142477a.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDTQ3_hms_AgRPydIsLG1VqJww-7hWtBlQwLKilEEAd6ihNS3U8JXIA38kDm4g3f-Lvpfi4jpSLX2-NFje3VyRWaECKjQUHe_boo2tfZhYUtF_Rt11N0OkzGwC2dw9Yi_DalcHzZ01FbI/s320/P9142477a.JPG" width="303" /></a><br />
<br />
The cold winter wind so brutally blew in<br />
surrounding me without sympathy<br />
from the arctic north this bitterness was brought forth<br />
My boreal anger for those who have made me so cold<br />
I revenge upon my unseen foes An avalanche! so icy and bold<br />
In the settling of these breaths that swept <br />
I see it was none but me on this frozen land<br />
harsh is this dawning of being inept The destruction by my hand<br />
I looked for the reason of this meeting of my end<br />
but like the winter season I saw no wrong to mend<br />
So I stripped thickened skin, I looked hard and deep within<br />
I found only this tiny soul blacker than a lump of coal<br />
I once called my loving heart no longer being joyous and filled <br />
only treacherously torn apart then ended and stilled<br />
now my emotions ferment in this solitary moment<br />
and then remembrance of…of what? oh…the wisdom I never sought<br />
too many of these empty years finding just my crawling tears<br />
and the memories I leave, to no one who will grieve<br />
and sweetened by my death the words of my last breath<br />
of how all the winds are bitter and nothing can be any betterQygaxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06598764872275867442noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3313600110810442980.post-68929582259031024982011-02-17T10:26:00.001-06:002020-06-06T21:24:05.634-05:00Neon Lights<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQC387ClkdXEc_DK87EvJhhcY_KXSwSuyVJ3F34Mhqs_z1myqEKIdvJMbJ9JnlWg7BT9Y0uMm3bMpwbp7TFh2ZpdDXSG6RkaQw0QeHtHpuOm352rzBLWdUeGV7GNaLSJhrAqbRfFdgOpI/s1600/Watching.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1332" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQC387ClkdXEc_DK87EvJhhcY_KXSwSuyVJ3F34Mhqs_z1myqEKIdvJMbJ9JnlWg7BT9Y0uMm3bMpwbp7TFh2ZpdDXSG6RkaQw0QeHtHpuOm352rzBLWdUeGV7GNaLSJhrAqbRfFdgOpI/s320/Watching.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Never see her maybe behind me<br />
Taste fine kid cocoa<br />
Creamy, simple stir in time<br />
Free mix store at home<br />
Sense city ash or blue<br />
Best has all u can eat parking<br />
Enjoy daydream at kiwi<br />
Daily frills service at jet limits<br />
Up still? Heal library<br />
Quick that over means behind thereQygaxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06598764872275867442noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3313600110810442980.post-23137628234467635272011-02-15T10:39:00.002-06:002011-02-15T10:39:25.055-06:00To Mother:You have a very big Toe<br />
Do you think it might snow<br />
To the floor I fell<br />
And boy OH boy do you smell<br />
I told you to shower<br />
But you said “I smell of a flower”<br />
Maybe the skunk I muttered<br />
while a swarm of flies around you fluttered<br />
With a swat I tried to kill<br />
But with your stench my nostrils did fill<br />
To the floor I tumbled, <br />
while over me you did stumbled<br />
Out like a light<br />
Egad what a sight<br />
You have a very big Toe<br />
Do you think it might snowQygaxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06598764872275867442noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3313600110810442980.post-18152200813569756902011-01-31T23:53:00.002-06:002011-02-01T00:03:08.294-06:00Bauhaus and Yeats a comparisionIt is said that a picture is worth a thousand words, but one must remember that words have the ability to paint a vivid picture, and if the words are carefully chosen the image they depict can be more emotionally moving and elicit a deeper meaning than any picture ever could. Two examples of such word imagery are in William Butler Yeats poem The Second Coming and in a Bauhaus song titled Departure. Both works develop scenes that stimulate the visual mind of the reader or listener, using not only descriptive words, but they also combine these words to suggest movement in time and space as well as communicating the deeper meaning of the visual content. In The Second Coming Yeats utilizes visual imagery and connotations while Bauhaus combines tactile and visual imagery along with connotations in Departure, producing movement, shadow and a growing darkness.<br />
<br />
In the first stanza of Yeats poem the reader gets a sense of a moving spiral or whirlpool that is “widening” while it oscillates in order to encompass the “innocence” in the “blood-dimmed” water that is being “loosed” upon the world. This whirlpool is in motion, “[t]urning and turning” preventing communication between “[t]he falcon and the falconer.” The dizzying spin creates a gap that grows with each revolution between us and nature. This chaotic rotation creates for us an acceptance for life to spill its essence into the “tide” waters, not only changing the color of the blue water to red but “dimm[ing]” the waters so that no light is reflected, leaving it dull and murky with “blood.” Paralleling Yeats in lines two through four of Departure the speaker impresses upon the listener a sense of rotation and spiraling, parallel to that of the “gyre.” In the case of Departure the motion is not of a “gyre” but of “[t]he walls of [an individuals] room.” The “walls…alter angles [e]longating and shrinking alternately then twist around,” Bauhaus uses visual imagery in this line to describe the idea of a room, almost breathing, in a rotational motion. This room is also filled with “pools of moonlight and shadow[s]”, again visually paralleling Yeats’ water symbolism, with the exception that Bauhaus’ water reflects in regions, expressing the exposure to the “prophecy” by contrasting the light as opposed to a dulling and polluting effect, as described by Yeats.<br />
<br />
The Second Coming, in the first stanza, builds upon the idea of an acceptance of the ever growing separation between man and nature, as the “widening gyre” and “blood-dimmed tide” grow and cycle, particularly in the fourth line: “Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world.” In this line the lack of resistance of such an anarchy is expressed as having a wide reach across the globe; whether it is read as “[m]ere” meaning nothing more than what is stated, as if the “anarchy” is common place, or if it is to be understood as being compared to a lake that is shallow and wide. In either understanding the connotation remains the same, for it is far reaching and accepted by the people in this world due to its vastness. Departure also includes this idea of an implicit yet vast destruction at hand, but at an individual level. This visual notion is exemplified in the last line of the first stanza and the first three lines of the second stanza:<br />
<br />
The latch became a fingertip, touching his own <br />
Energy sapping as a new form, transversing the edge of his emotions <br />
His power became his agony, his power knew no bounds <br />
Whereas before, his peace withstood the vastness <br />
<br />
The “[e]nergy” that called upon him undermines and takes hold of him, not only moving across his “emotions” but in opposition to them. The unseen “form” causes a change in “his emotions” removing “[h]is power” and “his peace”, in which he had control of, but now has become chaotic, revealing just how great the span is. <br />
In the second stanza of The Second Coming Yeats shifts his imagery from that of a spiraling down fall of acceptance and destruction to that of the destructor; a being carved of stone, a sphinx, with “[a] gaze blank and pitiless.” This beast originates from the “sands of the desert”, a land already empty of the lushness of life, with one duty, to destroy what is currently the social structure of the nations of the earth in order to allow for the rebirth of a new world. The visual imagery of the beast’s “gaze [as being] blank and pitiless as the [desert] sun” supports the idea that the beast has but one purpose, to destroy without compassion or mercy, for humans have fallen and thus summoned him from sleep. In a similar manner Departure utilizes the last stanzas to speak of the destroyer revealed. The one who is to bring destruction is spoken of throughout the song, but he is unaware of his purpose until the end. The last five lines of the third stanza disclose the face of the judge for “he would always see his own face” as the man who “filled the shoes[,s]hoes that no man would want to wear.” <br />
<br />
Yeats and Bauhaus also parallel each other in describing the land in which the “beast” travels through. In The Second Coming it is a desert under a blinding sun, devoid of life while in Departure it is a forest, covered in darkness, in the process of becoming parched and lifeless. Connecting the two stanzas Yeats uses the sun’s blinding and harsh attributes in the desert to that of the world that is described in the first stanza as becoming a similar wasteland, poisonous and devoid of the water that life depends upon to flourish. Bauhaus takes us to the moment before the land is devoured by the “molten sunflower”, consuming not only the man but the beating heart of the land. He can longer feel hot from cold nor see color from darkness, all “visions are blinded.”<br />
<br />
Yeats emphasizes the destruction of the world by again using visual imagery to depict the motion of the “beast” and those that would reap the benefits of the decaying bodies he would leave in his wake, the “desert birds.” The “[r]eel[ing] shadows of the[se] indignant desert birds” references not only the “gyre” in the first line of the poem but also impresses upon the reader the purpose of the beast; to reap the unjust. The “desert birds” are not only circling like vultures to prey upon the bodies of the dead but they also express the idea of the righteousness of such an apocalypse, for they are “indignant” in their flight. Yeats also plays upon the idea of the “gyre” in that the birds cast “[r]eel[ing] shadows,” which not only expands upon the idea of the falling “darkness” as having one purpose, but they “[r]eel” with the “mov[ement of the beast’s] slow thighs.” The “shadows” become one shadow cloaking the world, alluding to the multitude of the “desert birds” and the size of the stone creature, impressing upon the reader the amount of destruction to be inflicted upon the world. Although Bauhaus describes the birds a “dreadful” and not justly angered, the idea of birds as a symbol of an impending destruction is maintained, for he moves “[u]nder the dreadful birds” all with “[a] sense…of shadow[s].” <br />
<br />
In lines nineteen and twenty of The Second Coming the cause of such a violent time is described, placing the blame for the destruction upon the world itself. Using imagery with time and the actions of people the speaker suggests “[t]hat [the] twenty centuries of stony sleep / [w]ere vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,” causing the beast to experience the growing frequency of the fall of man. The use of “stony sleep” as a visual image not only expresses the extent of our misgivings but also implies two notions: one being that the beast made of stone slept and the other being the visual projection the word “stony” offers. A sleeping stone, when imagined, is deep and difficult to wake, if it is even possible, yet our actions have awoken such a being, for what we offered it were “nightmare[s]” while our societies, like a cold mother “rock[ed its] cradle” unsympathetically. Departure, again offers a similar explanation for the judgment. “[B]abies” have lost vitality and the will to live, “new loves” are no longer finding excitement in the newness of their relationship, “apatheti[c]” people speak empty rhetoric and no “safety” can be found in “mothers.” The world is dying, for “eternal’s stone…[has been callously] destroyed” by people. <br />
<br />
Yeats ends the poem by having the speaker ask a rhetorical question, “[a]nd what rough beast...[s]louches towards Bethlehem to be born?” The speaker implies the acts of a human faith, which stems from the city of Bethlehem, has brought destruction upon the “innocence” of the world for the last two-thousand years. Yeats also combines the idea of the growing “shadows” of “darkness” to the “[s]louch[ing] of the “beast” over the center of the city that is considered holy to this faith, connecting not only the expanse of the “darkness” the beast brings, but also alludes to where the “center” of the “gyre” is, connecting the beginning of the poem to the end, again referencing the circular motion of the “gyre.” <br />
Also comparable in the two pieces is the idea of stone as being constant and everlasting, both pieces use irony to depict the stone as weakened and essentially broken by man; for Departure “eternity's stone… is already destroyed” and in The Second Coming the “stony sleep” has been disturbed, lending to idea of the impact people have had on something we believed to be as strong and prevailing over time.<br />
The song Departure, by Bauhaus, is similar to The Second Coming in the use of imagery of shadows, motion and the awakening from a sleep to express the looming doom of society, along with parallel themes, such as the use of birds, a moving “beast” and the supposedly unbreakable force of stone. The destructor, or the judge, also acts upon the world in an unbending force to destroy. The difference is who this “beast” is; for Yeats it is a Sphinx like being, “with [a] lion body and the head of a man,” while in Departure it is a reluctant man. <br />
<br />
Departure does something The Second Coming does not. The song by Bauhaus implements tactile and auditory imagery to impress upon the listener the urgency and inevitability of the damnation that is to be inflicted. In line seven the speaker describes “a knock on the [man’s] door” as having the “same dark-brown tone of the wood of which the door was made,” using tactile and visual imagery to explain not only the sound of the knock, but the weight of the knock, being thick and heavy, while also communicating destruction is at hand, for it has come to call. The auditory imagery also creates a feeling of urgency. In the sixth and ninth line of the third stanza the figure that brings doom walks past his window in the evening with “the click of heels” echoing to the man in the song. In the ninth line this echo of footsteps emphasizes the ringing “prophecy” that is to be this man’s duty.<br />
<br />
The Second Coming and Departure both speak of a world on the path to destruction by its own hands. Although Yeats’ poem is effectively descriptive in producing the ideas of an oscillating and growing force of destruction, the full meaning of his words are lost on a reader who may not know from where he has pulled some of his imagery, such as the “stony sleep” from William Blake’s The Book of Urizen, which portrays Urizen as the fall of man in which he becomes the Sphinx, as described in line fourteen, to bring destruction. In contrast to this, Departure is not as dependent upon the knowledge of other writings, such as the understanding of “eternity’s stone” to be that of Urizen’s brother, Eternals. Although The Second Coming offers powerful imagery and motion it is not as effective at painting the scene for the reader, on the first read, as compared to Departure; some of this weakness is due in part to the poem lacking a musical score and some of it relates to how Yeats referenced the idea of the fall of man. Departure allows the listener to grasp this idea by using the song itself as a reference of the full meaning and individualizing the destructor as a man, making it more effective as well as more easily pulled from memory by adding a musical component. The Second Coming also loses some of its effectiveness in that the poem can too easily be misinterpreted to be prophetically Christian, and it is not the actual tone of the piece. Overall Departure is powerful in that is utilizes music and a humanized and general tone to reflect the idea of an ending of an age. It also effectively uses imagery to describe the events that are to take place, as does The Second Coming. Several reads and some research will improve upon the meaning and the powerfulness of Yeats’ poem, which is only a fault when in a rush for understanding, for The Second Coming offers movement beyond words and music to expound upon the flow of the speaker’s message, making The Second Coming, despite its short comings, to be more effective, for every word Yeats chose has purpose to the entire work as opposed to Departure, which if some lines could not be understood would not entirely affect the meaning and the tone of the piece .<a href="http://theqygax.blogspot.com/p/literary-debate.html"></a>Qygaxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06598764872275867442noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3313600110810442980.post-59108350304719574692011-01-31T23:24:00.000-06:002011-02-01T00:02:16.254-06:00The ThoughtWe are born, <br />
mature, <br />
create families <br />
raise the next generation <br />
and die believing our line will continue indefinitely. <br />
Thinking little of what surrounds us <br />
we move forward, <br />
better, bigger, faster <br />
and more powerful then just yesterday. <br />
Our supremacy clouds our vision <br />
leaving little empathy for our neighbors <br />
separates us from nature, <br />
while our failing faith spans the realms of truth, belief, religion, government and our own existence. <br />
A weaving of lives extends out from a central point, <br />
and as each stitch expands the tapestry <br />
we move farther from what was once ourselves. <br />
Despite our growing apathy <br />
we value what we desire <br />
and believe we deserve without acknowledging the possible consequences. <br />
Has the time come for Rome to burn? <br />
<br />
human kind is in motion in time, <br />
from one set of genetic material to the next; <br />
propagating the species <br />
we breed and raise the generations to come. <br />
As we spin the web of bloodlines, <br />
we pass on the traditions of our culture <br />
ensuring the strength of the outer web <br />
believing this will ensure the strength of the external tendrils we are too tired to properly set. <br />
Aging in our security <br />
we wholeheartedly plant our values in the dry stripped earth, <br />
for the next generation to reap the harvest; <br />
staking the lives of the future and of nature on our tolerance and faith. Passively biding our time for a technologically advanced and sterile life, <br />
prophesizing of the day when all our desires become attainable, <br />
a second age of man <br />
Who is the being that will end the misery that has been seeded in our past? <br />
What will remind us of our gratuitous indulgences <br />
with which we have put before nature and our neighbors.Qygaxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06598764872275867442noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3313600110810442980.post-32830683879093055242011-01-21T10:43:00.000-06:002011-02-01T00:02:16.254-06:00An Excerpt from “Today”<b>An Excerpt from “Today”<br />
Chapter: Yesterday’s Tomorrow</b><br />
<br />
(Quiet) I saw you in the window…<br />
(Quite) I saw you in the window…<br />
What? 2,4,6,9.<br />
I saw you in the window.<br />
Oh, the window… the window…the panes have been reflecting… j k l m.<br />
When?<br />
Yesterday<br />
Yes, yesterday, I was…when? A delusion?<br />
Tuesday, I saw you<br />
No, not Tuesday…day of the week…day of the week…Think! The alpha not the beta reception is almost complete. This will provide all that I need to know, I hope.<br />
It was Tuesday! Yes Thursday then, right?<br />
Oh, was it then it came to me? 4,8,9,12…was it at the moment that the vulgarity of my existence was realized…5,4,8,3…I really thought it was yesterday…4,9,3,7…Tuesday is always yesterday…5,6,9 and10. The sound of tapping fills my ears, traveling quickly through the canals filled with hair; vibrating the sound of flesh on bone. Tap, tap tap at the hollowed home. STOP!<br />
(Quiet)<br />
STOP!<br />
Thumping the pumpkin that sits iced on the ledge of my porch made of brick red, concrete and mortar; the flesh of the orange hollow globe, half-frozen, half-liquid and oozing from its growing black sore. From October, it came to its place on the edge, now January it inches more slowly to its death. Carved not a face on its wrinkling flesh but instead left to rot from inside it stands, looking out on the people in the snowy streets, who howl and cry out from over boozed bars to retreat from their lives in which they pretend to lead. I am counting the days when it will release its contents at their feet. Gray, green and moldy with flecks bright blue what a wonderful palette of colors will be spewed. A smile is creeping at the sight I will see, how happy the days of this eventual time.Qygaxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06598764872275867442noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3313600110810442980.post-37111175628710971672011-01-20T09:55:00.002-06:002011-02-01T00:02:16.254-06:00I have heard the many feet step heavyI have heard the many feet step heavy<br />
Upon the barren soil levied<br />
With our souls and our futures gambled<br />
For plastic fleetings of our brambles<br />
Oceans burned and youth torpidity<br />
Enduring valiance gives way to pavidity<br />
Consumed are we and require<br />
All things trivialized by desire<br />
Where are our voices carried<br />
Demands of prize on those we bury<br />
Who is it that we compare<br />
The Resplendencies of our tare<br />
Rushing the path with our lampions<br />
Expecting to glimpse our champions<br />
I have heard the many feet step heavy<br />
Upon the barren soil leviedQygaxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06598764872275867442noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3313600110810442980.post-43560060626226830442011-01-19T01:12:00.000-06:002011-02-01T00:02:16.255-06:00ER the musical [opening scene]ER the Musical Opening Scene:<br />
(For Susan)<br />
[Susie enters the Emergency room bleeding profusely from her hand<br />
The receptionist greets her and the Hospital begins to buzz with excitement around Susie]<br />
Receptionist: So you’re getting stitches<br />
Nurses: So you’re getting stitches<br />
Doctor: Tell me what brought you to this place<br />
Nurses and orderlies: do tell, do tell the circumstances of your fate that brought you to this place<br />
Doctor: did you climb a mountain’s shear face<br />
Patient next door: or perhaps it was grueling race where you’re competitors pushed your pace<br />
<br />
Susie: no, it was nothing like that<br />
<br />
All: do tell do tell <br />
Doctor: maybe in the ocean’s vast span where sharks encircled and grabbing at your hand. <br />
Nurse 1: Bravely you fought, punching, kicking and…<br />
<br />
Susie: no, no it was nothing like that<br />
<br />
All: do tell do tell I want to know more, <br />
Man on Gurney: did you stand at death’s front door<br />
<br />
Susie: no, no it was noting like that, I …<br />
<br />
All: do tell do tell <br />
Radiologist: I am eager to hear all the trials of the miles you tracked bringing you here<br />
<br />
Susie: Hush! <br />
All: oohhh<br />
Susie: I will tell you <br />
All: ahhh <br />
Susie: I will tell you <br />
All: hmmm<br />
Susie: but you must be still and I will tell you all that brought me here<br />
<br />
Paramedic: A wild beast attacked <br />
Nurse 2: and you gave back without fear<br />
CNA: strong and tall you survived their snares<br />
<br />
Susie: Hush and I will tell you of all what it was that brought me here…OW<br />
<br />
Nurse 1: Just a prick and wait for effect <br />
Doctor: soon we will begin the suture set<br />
<br />
Susie: It was in the morning and I had much to do rushing through my house I had much to do. Cleaning and dishes and preparing for work, I was trying to get to all that I forgot before, trying to do things in twos and more. Reaching and grabbing with trembling fingers wet from shower and my chills that lingered. Delicate wine stems needed to be placed when suddenly <br />
Candy Striper: A car came crashing through and…<br />
All: Shhhhh, she’s just about through<br />
<br />
Susie: (looks to her hands) Uneventfully the glass cracked and…well that is brought me here<br />
All: Oh (all dispersing back to the other patients)<br />
Susie: humph, can I get a pain killer (she asks to an empty room)Qygaxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06598764872275867442noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3313600110810442980.post-43770455260483124712011-01-17T23:18:00.001-06:002011-02-01T00:02:16.255-06:00Beat Boxing, Tap StyleFffp-taa, Fffp-taa, Fffp-taa<br />
Every half second this sound rang solidly in my head <br />
Fffp-taa, Fffp-taa an unheated beating drum, out of tune without a mute<br />
And here I sat searching for ending the source<br />
My pounding mind the casualty of this green beat boxer<br />
Thump, thump my head to the wall<br />
Ears ringing, eyes rolling and head thumping out of rhythm and out of my mind<br />
How could such a tiny drop of sustainability cause such trauma<br />
I am no mountain intrepidly still and yet it wears me away second by half second into the eternity that is this night, a welcoming of entropy is dearly needed, unsatisfyingly dull and with pause…like a dog on an untuned piano<br />
Caroline, WHERE ARE YOU NOW?!!!<br />
Fffp-taa, Fffp-taa, Fffp-taa…. Fffp-taa, Fffp-taa, Fffp-taa<br />
Ahhhhhhhhh<br />
The cork the tape the knot<br />
Failures all of them<br />
Standing here Fffp-taa, Fffp-taa, Fffp-taa…in front of the assailant…Fffp-taa, Fffp-taa, Fffp-taa<br />
It laughs and goads and arrogantly prods…Fffp-taa, Fffp-taa, Fffp-taa<br />
Is says, Fffp-taa, Fffp-taa, Fffp-taa<br />
A woodpecker on a dying tree…a hollow echoing…Fffp-taa, Fffp-taa, Fffp-taa<br />
In my head<br />
Hands like a sharpened rake, I drag across my scalp faster and faster to change the pace of that derangingly simple sound…Fffp-taa, Fffp-taa, Fffp-taa<br />
Fffp-taa, Fffp-taa, Fffp….wait….I have it!<br />
With dilation and elation wide eyed and bushy haired, I run to the basement and pull from an old rusted box…a wrench<br />
A wrench…A savior of night and life<br />
With a bounce and a prance I find my way to the main water port, <br />
A small struggle but strength I have, and overcome the fused joints and I turn and I turn and I turn and I turn and I wait…I listen <br />
And do I hear? No…and nothing not even a single Fffp-taa<br />
Dragging myself to my bed that was a field of turmoil and now a cloud of…oh, it doesn’t matter, leaded eyes close and REM drifts in, creeping body buzz of sleep <br />
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz<br />
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz<br />
Zzzzzzzzzzzzz……<br />
Hmm, what, who….but, what<br />
I, uh, no…no….NO<br />
Fffp-taa, Fffp-taa, Fffp-taa<br />
Fffp-taa, Fffp-taa, Fffp-taa<br />
Fffp-taa, Fffp-taa, Fffp-taa<br />
Fffp-taa, Fffp-taa, Fffp-taa<br />
Fffp-taa, Fffp-taa, Fffp-taa<br />
Fffp-taa, Fffp-taa, Fffp-taa<br />
Fffp-taa, Fffp-taa, Fffp-taa<br />
Fffp-taa, Fffp-taa, Fffp-taaQygaxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06598764872275867442noreply@blogger.com0