Saturday, November 20, 2004


I'm thankful for noses . . .
for cherubic children who seem content with next to nothing . . .
for the slightly cold feeling that makes being tucked away inside a blanket enchilada that much more inviting . . .
for my angel mother, whose tenderness was such that she taught kindness many times w/o trying . . .
for my patient father, who, despite having difficulty understanding my penchant for procrastination plods on prodding me nonetheless . . .
for my grandma, who has a seemingly perpetual haven of silence awaiting me in Idaho . . .
for my brother, for being the good-looking, go-getting half of our twin-ship . . .
for my sis, Ebie, whose heart is so big, so soft, so golden it can't help but get marred sometimes . . .
for the reality of modern-day revelation, prophets and apostles . . .
for our Savior and associated entities, whose graciousness and grandeur I dare not mock w/ my "much speaking" . . .
and last, but not least, for the very, very few that I conjecture to call friends, even though you're all so much cooler!

Friday, November 19, 2004

So I'm mouldy/moldy/stinky cheese . . .

Let the BLOG match the rotted, stinking shell of a soul inside of me. I say, let the fungus fly!

What you apparently creative wonders don't understand is that more often than not I'm beset by feelings I either don't care to divulge in the stark nudity of cyberspace, or that almost make breathing, let alone producing any writing worthy of wonderment excruciating.

And if I can't amaze at the very least myself (w/ the low standards for which I'm famous, at least to my professors) then I don't care to "embark."

Was it Goethe? No, couldn't be . . . Eh . . . Well, anyway I THINK it was Goethe that said, "Anything you can do or dream you can . . . begin it."

I'm done with the loftiest dreaming for now, and perhaps for a while. I'll settle for the whimsy of the worlds I've got made up in my head.

So if I don't write, my sincerest apologies to those for whom it matters sufficient to call my BLOG "mouldy."


Sunday, November 14, 2004

My not-so-humble apology . . . (since I'm not very humble)

However, I hope this to be understood as heartfelt. I thought about just adding a comment onto my previous post, but I wanted to publicly apologize for either inadequately expressing my true sentiments or stating them too harshly in my comments. I'm terribly sorry, Samantha. You're hands down one of my favorite people next to my mother. :) I'm loathe to think that I hurt you at all.

Wednesday, November 10, 2004

The bliss of Tony Bennett

I know most everyone loves punk, alternative, or pop, but criminy . . . THIS IS MUSIC, the kind that lets you exhale, takes you on a rolling dolly shot past scenic cityscapes, tea-drinkers at cute little urban cafes, and dancing at midnight. Punk can't do that. Couldn't dream of it. So there.

EDIT: For aficionados of punk/alternative, etc. offended by the above please read my comment in reply to Sam, thank you.

Just a few lyrical morsels:

Because of You

Because of you there's a song in my heart
Because of you my romance had its start
Because of you the sun will shine
The moon and stars will say you're mine
Forever and never to part

I only live for your love and your kiss
It's paradise to be near you like this
Because of you my life is now worthwhile
And I can smile
Because of you

I only live for your love and your kiss
It's paradise to be near you like this
Because of you my life is now worthwhile
And I can smile
Because of you


This is All I Ask

As I approach the prime of my life
I find I have the time of my life
Learning to enjoy at my leisure
All the simple pleasures
And so I happily concede
That this is all I ask
This is all I need

Beautiful girls, walk a little slower when you walk by me
Lingering sunsets, stay a little longer with the lonely sea
Children everywhere, when you shoot at bad men, shoot at me
Take me to that strange, enchanted land grown-ups seldom understand

Wandering rainbows, leave a bit of color for my heart to own
Stars in the sky, make my wish come true before the night has flown
And let the music play as long as there's a song to sing
And I will stay younger than Spring

Tuesday, November 09, 2004

Moldy? It is to laugh . . .

I scoff. I only do not write because I have little to say. My days lately have consisted of me suffering prostrate on the couch or slumping in my chair attempting to elude the dull ache in my back, the searing pain in my skull, or the lingering sense of guilt for my numerous frailties.

I'm also experiencing a lull in creative aspiration, if only because so much of my pinings seem pointless. So, rather than diminish, I disappear. :)

Anyway, this is the most I can come up with currently. I must begin to grind, grind, grind, at that grindstone . . . (for time it slips, like sand through a sieve; and all at once they're up and grown and then they've flown and it's too late for you to give.)

Friday, November 05, 2004


Woooo-hoooooooooooooooooo! Could there be a film more made for moi? Computer animation, super heroes, and nuclear family values?? Hahahahahahah! I LOVE THIS MOVIE! In fact, I'm going to see it AGAIN tomorrow, bright and early (eh--11:00 a.m., that is). That's it. No flashy alliteration. No blah blah blah, puke puke puke Taylorisms. It's just hands down the kind of movie I go to the movies for . . . it's energizing, even exhilarating, so enjoy. (Crap! Alliteration! Gah!)

Anyway, I highly recommend it.

Thursday, November 04, 2004

Some recent poetry . . .

As per the request of a pair of friends, I wrote some poetry:

Impassioned by the roguish brands of harvest clime
Enraptured, poked, and slit by feral nature,
Tossed and turned ‘midst color nomenclature,
I, maddened, lost, can scarce concoct this rhyme.

As haughty crimson, orange, brown and gold
In wanton fury storm amongst the fray,
And marching down their own along the way,
A global war is waged, a world waxed cold.

Yet death in chilling rest affords short peace,
A tender wrap for nature’s angry
Such tranquil bliss that through thy image sews,
A questing soul’s row pacified in fleece.

‘Tis but stark mercy to the cosmic lot,
That after grief thy wintry sleep be wrought.
A wanton air that once flowed soft in sheltered
Skies beyond,
Strolled across the meadow still that secrets
Did abscond
And blissful still the potent scent that sweltered
In the breeze,
Flowered in the mountains, over rivers,
Through the trees.

What rumors of the ages swooned amidst
The mossy rows
Of grasses slumping stalwart in the dreamer’s
What magic tales resounded as the moon-light
Lit its eye,
Within the hoary ether twixt the pavement
And the sky?

So still, so faint, so fragile was the murmur
In the wind,
That scarcely could I mark it ‘fore the zephyr
Did rescind,
Yet on the cusp of breathing, the whisper
of the night,
Came issuing like honey in thine eyes
And of thy sight.

Drifting like a specter, upon some
gentle flow
The myst’ries of the heavens in thyself did
Themselves show
Though restless are my patterns and selfish
Are my ways
In thee, oh night-time maiden my feral
Self allays.

Meeeeeeeh! Bleh, . . . ptooey! :)

So I'm at the point now where I'm shoving tissue paper pellets up my nose to stop the irritating flow and to reduce the chafing of the delicate nasal formation. I wonder if that's what really happened to Michael Jackson. He just got the worst cold in the world and ran out of Puffs Lotion--- Ooooh, and he had to use paper towels instead. So now he's got nothing left but a nub and two nostril passages flattened next to his face. It also explains why he's as pale as he is . . .

Anyway, I didn't go to class yesterday and did really nothing else. I'm at Defcon 5, energy-level speaking, so I can only scratch my head and do the comfort wiggle as I bury my face in a pillow. Usually I just go up to campus and blow people flu-saturated kisses--- (Devilish grin) ---although I'm not certain what it is I've got. My roomie Jared suggested that he'd been sick before. He must have taken the tail of the beast and I've received the jaws and abdomen---I'm being eaten alive!!!

I'll stop complaining and wish all of you healthy souls a hopeful reprieve from flu season sickness. Adieu.

Wednesday, November 03, 2004

Dumb Internet

I lost a brilliant post to the oblivion of cyberspace . . . AGAIN!!!! (Cue slurs, slander, and depraved vulgarities here.)

Since it's impossible to conjure said masterpiece, I'm limited to what miserly and miserable cocktail I can concoct from my newfound frustration and the yummy chicken-noodle soup (spruced up w/ some garlic seasoning) swirling in my contented stomach.

I DID say some marvelous things about the pointlessness of our political system, especially w/ regards to electoral results, but I cannot bear to revisit them; "my grief is still too near." I'm also fighting off a current of mucous threatening to exit my nasal passage in unseemly slow-motion.

My only good news is that I have used an entire section of dryers to get my laundry done, plus two. That makes 11 dryers. That's right. I'm doing laundry for a small island nation.

Tuesday, November 02, 2004

*Sniffle, sniffle . . . cough . . .*

I'm dyyyying. I hate, I hate, I hate Peter Pan!---er, or being sick; oh, and brussel sprouts, and slow or laggy web connections . . . and getting behind in classwork. Phooey.

I feel like I've been shot in the derriere w/ a tranquilizer dart better suited for a wooly mammoth. Ah, sweet tranquilized surrender . . . It would be grand if I was nine again and had little else to do other than to watch TV or bury my head under the blanket and make goofy noises. Maybe the fake NyQuil's still working its magic.

Oh, and Cowboy Bebop. Very cool 'toon.