word.
I must watch myself very carefully.
Motivation is not easy to find... and I seem to avoid it some days.
I know that I certainly dont want to be a bartender, or mechanic, or lift operator for the rest of my working life, but goddamnit, sometimes I have a hard time just buckling down and doing my schoolwork. Yes, I'm sure this is a common problem, but I seem to make it uncommonly complex. F'.
On the upside, I really like Oregon. Especially the rivers.
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v226/nkoenigsknecht/hiking011.jpg
And Chrissy's pretty awesome. Plus she's in Oregon.
Time to play everyones favorite new game. The hip, happening hit thats happily haulting the whole nation, thats right, its "Name That Poem!!!" Give it a shot.
Poem #1, (bonus points awarded for naming the stanza)
My first thought was, he lied in every word,
That hoary cripple, with malicious eye
Askance to watch the workings of his lie
On mine, and mouth scarce able to afford
Suppression of the glee, that pursed and scored
Its edge, at one more victim gained thereby.
OK, now that youre warmed up, heres #2
You are so beautiful and I am a fool
to be in love with you
is a theme that keeps coming up
in songs and poems.
There seems to be no room for variation.
I have never heard anyone sing
I am so beautiful
and you are a fool to be in love with me,
even though this notion has surely
crossed the minds of women and men alike.
You are so beautiful, too bad you are a fool
is another one you don't hear.
Or, you are a fool to consider me beautiful.
That one you will never hear, guaranteed.
For no particular reason this afternoon
I am listening to Johnny Hartman
whose dark voice can curl around
the concepts on love, beauty, and foolishness
like no one else's can.
It feels like smoke curling up from a cigarette
someone left burning on a baby grand piano
around three o'clock in the morning;
smoke that billows up into the bright lights
while out there in the darkness
some of the beautiful fools have gathered
around little tables to listen,
some with their eyes closed,
others leaning forward into the music
as if it were holding them up,
or twirling the loose ice in a glass,
slipping by degrees into a rhythmic dream.
Yes, there is all this foolish beauty,
borne beyond midnight,
that has no desire to go home,
especially now when everyone in the room
is watching the large man with the tenor sax
that hangs from his neck like a golden fish.
He moves forward to the edge of the stage
and hands the instrument down to me
and nods that I should play.
So I put the mouthpiece to my lips
and blow into it with all my living breath.
We are all so foolish,
my long bebop solo begins by saying,
so damn foolish
we have become beautiful without even knowing it.
Motivation is not easy to find... and I seem to avoid it some days.
I know that I certainly dont want to be a bartender, or mechanic, or lift operator for the rest of my working life, but goddamnit, sometimes I have a hard time just buckling down and doing my schoolwork. Yes, I'm sure this is a common problem, but I seem to make it uncommonly complex. F'.
On the upside, I really like Oregon. Especially the rivers.
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v226/nkoenigsknecht/hiking011.jpg
And Chrissy's pretty awesome. Plus she's in Oregon.
Time to play everyones favorite new game. The hip, happening hit thats happily haulting the whole nation, thats right, its "Name That Poem!!!" Give it a shot.
Poem #1, (bonus points awarded for naming the stanza)
My first thought was, he lied in every word,
That hoary cripple, with malicious eye
Askance to watch the workings of his lie
On mine, and mouth scarce able to afford
Suppression of the glee, that pursed and scored
Its edge, at one more victim gained thereby.
OK, now that youre warmed up, heres #2
You are so beautiful and I am a fool
to be in love with you
is a theme that keeps coming up
in songs and poems.
There seems to be no room for variation.
I have never heard anyone sing
I am so beautiful
and you are a fool to be in love with me,
even though this notion has surely
crossed the minds of women and men alike.
You are so beautiful, too bad you are a fool
is another one you don't hear.
Or, you are a fool to consider me beautiful.
That one you will never hear, guaranteed.
For no particular reason this afternoon
I am listening to Johnny Hartman
whose dark voice can curl around
the concepts on love, beauty, and foolishness
like no one else's can.
It feels like smoke curling up from a cigarette
someone left burning on a baby grand piano
around three o'clock in the morning;
smoke that billows up into the bright lights
while out there in the darkness
some of the beautiful fools have gathered
around little tables to listen,
some with their eyes closed,
others leaning forward into the music
as if it were holding them up,
or twirling the loose ice in a glass,
slipping by degrees into a rhythmic dream.
Yes, there is all this foolish beauty,
borne beyond midnight,
that has no desire to go home,
especially now when everyone in the room
is watching the large man with the tenor sax
that hangs from his neck like a golden fish.
He moves forward to the edge of the stage
and hands the instrument down to me
and nods that I should play.
So I put the mouthpiece to my lips
and blow into it with all my living breath.
We are all so foolish,
my long bebop solo begins by saying,
so damn foolish
we have become beautiful without even knowing it.