Friday, October 8, 2010

My girlfriend's in another country and it makes me all gooey insi-hi-hi-hiiiide.

It's happened. My thick veneer of boyish charm has been worn down to rough and jagged moonlike surface, gathering dust and craters alone in outer space.

Nah, it's not that bad. I miss my bugglyboo, but there are plenty of things here in HANNIBAL, MISSOURI to keep me busy to the point of being all worn out. This, by the way, is my favorite treatment for depression. I get up and go to school, come home and exercise for an hour, eat and go to work. When I get home from work I might do homework (ha!), read for a bit and sleep lightly to the sounds of Hannibal daredevils peeling out not far from my window. If I weren't a Christian, I'd sniper them like Tom Berenger in the movie "Sniper 2" or Tom Berenger in the movies "Sniper 3" and "Sniper".

By the way, that reminds me- why do all my Christian friends like to use that passage about Jesus whipping money-lenders to justify all kinds of violence? "I don't like this wimpy version of Jesus." they say. I recall the scene from Talladega Nights where Jesus is imagined as a baby, a mischievous badger, and a winged spirit singing lead for Lynyrd Skynyrd. It's interesting that our deities look so different from one another (even when we call them by the same name and use the same book to try and figure out what they're all about). To some people, God looks like the God of the poor and downtrodden, on the side of social justice. To others, God looks like a military general, creating hurricanes to punish the gays and whispering into George W. Bush's ear to invade Iraq. God can be a Democrat to some, a Republican to others, and a Libertarian to crazy people. My point is this- monotheists believe in one God- theirs. I'm not telling you what to do with that information. Ignoring it is probably the most practical thing.

By the way, ignoring important things is kind of how we stay not miserable. Somehow I manage have feelings other than elation and utter satisfaction even though I'm a rich white kid who can afford to do things like write for fun and pursue dreams because I don't have to work the land for 15 hours a day to not starve. In fact, sometimes I experience despair over my clearly awesome life and if I were a bit more wealthy, I'd probably pay another rich white person to try and figure out why I'm so sad when the secret might have something to do with the fact that I'm not running around in the wilderness using every iota of my homo sapien wiles to snare a wild beast and forage for berries and nuts. Seriously- we get our food out of cans and frozen bags, replace real sensory stimulation with shiny pixels flashing on all manner of flat screen and substitute real problems of survival with amateur, self-indulgent anthropological blog posts. I need to invent something that has nothing to do with words.

Friday, September 3, 2010

Sufjan Stevens - All Delighted People

At first I was confused as to why this was released as an EP when it weighs in at a hefty 59 minutes. Upon listening to it, it made more sense. "All Delighted People" is not a cohesive effort, but I'm interested in how it will foreshadow Stevens' next full-length work, "The Age of Adz" (CD coming October 12th). The aforementioned ep includes 8 tracks.


1. All Delighted People (Original Version) [11:38] - This is a big brassy, stringy, choir-y song that seems to crescendo and decrescendo over and over again in anthematic fashion. Sometimes it seems focused and the next minute a misguided guitar will cut through like a jigsaw. Stevens' voice seems a bit more confident here and it needs to be to contend with what seems like about 30 different ideas for a song that he smushed together in just under 12 minutes.


2. Enchanting Ghost [3:39] This is familiar territory, and it's damn good. He ditched the grandiose production he's been so fond of lately for this song that features a few strumming guitars, a banjo, an occasional piano and a harp playing chords in the background. It's a tight, well-written folk song and fittingly chilling at points.


3. Heirloom [2:55] A simple folk song that the Bob Dylan fan in me really loved. Guitars intertwine like on the last song (the harp is back too), but Sufjan's voice is doubled and echoed which really helps to buttress his naturally weak and trembling timbre. Another great song that is appropriately confident in itself.


4. From the Mouth of Gabriel [4:03] Occasionally, Stevens swaps out his traditional instruments for avant-garde synthesizing. In this song, they run into each other and seem to get along. His habit of exploring religious imagery with a personal dimension present as well. The juxtaposition of encountering an ancient messenger of God to the tune of a weak upright piano and heavily distorted, warbling synthesized brass is interesting, but fails to present a really great song like the last two tracks.


5. The Owl and the Tanager [6:38] This song opens up with a lonely piano (so lonely in fact, that you can hear the felt padding as Stevens' fingers strike each key). When his voice comes in, it echoes, further isolating the songwriter. Isolated he stays, and tells a story that is just vague enough to keep the listener wondering, but just explicit enough to convey a tragic and shameful feeling that is palpable beneath the ever lonely and building piano.


6. All Delighted People (Classic Rock Version) [8:07] This is exactly what it claims to be, though don't expect anything along the lines of The Who or Zeppelin. He starts off with the same banjo and leads into the same brass, but as soon as this version begins to crescendo, there's a lot more rock-based percussion and he leaves behind the strings for electric guitar. He also indulges his inexplicable affinity for rambling, aimless guitar solos (Captain Beefheart he is not). I personally don't enjoy this at all, but it comes with the territory and I expect it enough to put up with it. Overall, this version is worthy and seems a bit more victorious.


7. Arnika [5:13] "I'm tired of life, I'm tired of waiting for someone; I'm tired of prices, I'm tired of waiting for something" This cautious poem features limited, lumbering instrumentation, and each crescendo is quickly exhausted as the song continues. The music and words work together well here and the sample of what seems to be a rocking chair works well with the vocals in the background repeating "I'm goin', I'm goin', I'm goin'". Working together, these sounds paint a picture of an elderly individual waiting for death. Oh, and the cheap-sounding harps are back for the second half of this song.


8. Djohariah [17:02] The song that rounds out the hour is the most tedious, though I'm not sure it's meant to be popped in and listened to individually. The confused guitar pops it's head in throughout this groovy jam and really... just tires me out. This song builds and builds for about 5 and a half minutes before it changes pace and the chanting begins. "Djohari, Djohariah" for a minute and then back to the confused guitar solos, then back to the chanting, then at 11:43 the song starts. It's an ode to his sister (Djohariah Stevens), and it chronicles her struggles and importance as a mother. Good stuff once you get to it.


Overall, this is an encouraging ep for Sufjan Stevens because it hints at a whole new full-length album that will hopefully have some kind of conceptual and sonic cohesiveness like his past works have had. For five bucks, you'd be hard pressed to find a better hour of music. Pick it up- this rough work features some gems.

Thursday, July 29, 2010

Post-F

Abandoned buildings
Stinking haze and rotten wood,
-the town was filthy
Stuck deep inside the waning flood
-and cut off at the knees
With people stuck to their top floors
-and praying for the sun
To dry their homes and set them free
-because the

Rain came down and the
-floods came up
The rain came down and the
-river came up
The water fell down and the
-sewers filled up
And oh, the sewers spilled their souls upon the street!

Where were the children?
Oh when the rain began to fall
-I heard them laughing
You know that little kids so small
-should not play in the rain
I hope to God they got inside
-before the powerlines
Were snapped and shocked what was alive
-oh God!

What will we do, wife?
Our crops all ruined by the flood;
-where is the carving knife?
That I might drain my farmer's blood
-don't try to stop me
'Cause we don't got no food to live
-I love you too, girl
But I've got nothing left to give
-because the

Rain came down and the
-floods came up
The rain came down and the
-river came up
The water poured down and the
-sewers filled up
And oh, the sewers spilled their guts upon the street!

This is a Godsend
This flood that soaked the town below
-I will be wealthy
With more work than I've ever known
-they'll need a carpenter
To build them shelves and doors and chairs
-they're calling for me
And I'll have charity to spare
-because the

Rain came down and the
-floods came up
The rain came down and the
-river came up
The water fell down and the
-sewers filled up
And oh, my pockets, they'll be filling up good too!

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

Post-A

His road to her was a wasteland of rubber tires and a sea of salty bottlecaps
He wrote to her every day without being sure she'd get his messages
Telephone wires were crossed and cut and the airwaves were halted by radiation
Malted bald eagles, remnants of a nation, brave and free
His love was part of the debris, but he didn't know it
Down by the docks, he sat and listened to a man singing river-town blues
He tossed a couple dollars to the man so he could repair the trumpet that he used
Rusted and bent, it sung out across the water and through the bare treetops
"Thank you," the trumpet man said and gathered up his worthless paper bills;
Artifacts of a time when a lot of nothing was worth something and people fought for it
He later took them to the old diner and gave them to the woman who lived there
She laughed at his lark and pretended to give him food as their stomachs rumbled
The man who'd lost love stumbled back to his apartment, weaving among the rubble
He finished off his box of crackers and boiled a cup of water
A rotten cigarette burned between his fingers and the ash fell among dust
He brushed off an old photo album and prayed, "Why? Why, God, why?"
God answered- as a barking dog in the distance
The chemical sunset filled his room with swirling purples and reds
He fell upon his cot and turned his head against the doom
A flower in the jungle bloomed but he didn't notice
His world was hopeless and he had lost focus
On a burnt earth it seemed like Death's door was all around him
Ambitions were scorched along with the place that he had found them
He wanted to get behind the wheel of a car, but hadn't seen one drive in years
Drying tears every morning from the stinging smog, he was a lone scavenger searching for enough to get along
"Enough to get along on down the road," he thought, but there was never enough
And all this stuff from another time was running out
And coming out of caves and sinkholes were wild animals to snatch his finds
Ravenous wolves and dogs of many kinds
He dipped his musty canteen into a secret spring he knew
And she seemed to know him too
She greeted him with clear water and a symphony of crickets
He crouched and crawled among the thickets, first to find and then to leave her
He told others of the spring, but they didn't believe- or perhaps they didn't care
They were calm in their despair and boiled river water
And then they gave it to their sons and their daughters and pretended it was milk
As the man struggled through the woods to get back to the road, he heard a voice
"Where'd you get that water?"
That water- that gift from the spring that kept him walking and let him remember what hope was
He turned to see a wild animal with stars on his shoulder and a cross on his gun
The man clutched his canteen and thought to run
The animals had charred the land and now they want the spring
To dig a hole and take control and make it their thing
He wouldn't
He couldn't give the spring away and spoil her truth
He had toiled through the roots to find her
They would bind her
He turned to flee the animal and leapt through the bush with what energy he had
Thunder sounded as the animal emptied his clip
The man stared at the cloudy pink sky, thought of his goodbye and took his last sip

Thursday, March 4, 2010

Grooming

(An instant-messaging conversation)

What's the deal with Yasmin and Malakai?

What do you mean? They're friends.

No, I know that, it's just that they're always hanging out.

And why is that weird?

Well, because Yasmin is going out with Abimelech, but the only time she spends any time with Malakai is when Abimelech is not around.

He's grooming her.

Who's grooming her?

Malakai. Malakai is grooming Yasmin.

What the hell does that mean?

It means what it means.

"Grooming," what does "grooming" mean?

It means he's getting her ready in case she breaks up with Abimelech.

Getting her ready? You mean like he's trying to steal her or something?

No, it's a lot more passive than that. He's simply getting her on his side. Playing it real safe and making sure she feels comfortable talking to him.

Isn't that kind of insidious, I mean, plotting like that when Yasmin and Abimelech are an item?

I don't think so.

What do you mean you don't think so? You don't buy that "All's fair in love and war" business, do you?

Of course not. All's fair in love, but when it comes to war, there have to be conventions.

You know what I mean.

Yeah, I know what you're saying, but the thing about grooming is that, because Malakai's single, there's really nothing wrong with it even though it seems kind of sketchy.

Does Abimelech know?

Oh, I'm sure he does.

Then why doesn't he say anything about it?

Because he can't.

What do you mean, he can't?

If he says anything about it, he'll seem like a smothering boyfriend; overbearing and insecure.

It's a catch-22... So I guess he doesn't care?

I'd imagine he does, but he doesn't show it.

That's all that matters.

Now, you're getting it.

So if I see Yasmin with Malakai in a few years, I'll know how this thing went down.

Yep.

Wait a sec, does she know?

Know what?

That she's being groomed?

I have three theories on that.

Haha, I've got time.

Well, my first theory is simply that she doesn't know.

Boring.

I agree. Though I think, knowing Yasmin, it's pretty likely. She's seems like a trusting person and caring friend.

What else?

Another theory is that she suspects that Malakai may be grooming her, but opts to go on as if he isn't. It isn't fair to assume, after all.

But she likes the idea.

Well, that's another part of it. With this she can enjoy the excitement of being groomed without the guilt of allowing it because she refuses to allow herself to assume anything.

I think I could guess what the last theory is.

Go ahead.

Ok. She knows what's going on and allows it. This is as bad as flirting.

No it isn't.

How is it any better than flirting?

Where are the rings?

Don't answer my question with a question.

I'm just saying, where are the rings? This is just some petty drama. The real mess comes with marriage. Anything before that is little leagues.

How would you know?

Hey jackass, my parents got divorced.

Oh yeah, sorry.

It's alright. What I'm saying is that we're just college kids. Eventually Abimelech will have the chance to make his move.

What do you mean?

"All my single ladies, All my single ladies!"

Ah, the ring.

"The One Ring".

What if she says "no"?

Then, we've cut through the bull, haven't we?

I guess we have.

Thursday, February 25, 2010

Winter

Long Winter

Ice is
Broken glass on the ground
Cold cuts deep and sharp
Skins cracks
Winter days won over by gray
Sunshine is
Elusive and deceitful
Our winter will be hard
A day of tough dirt and
Frozen mud
Snow layers, scrape
Hard work pays off

Long-distance

I hinted at her
My winter cat scurries
And splintered casket
A withered basket
Of fruits, bad figs
Mad wigs worn by lovers
Worn by smothering
Torn up mothers who
Scorn all others
My body shivers and
Quivers as quick
While livers made sick pass
Whiskey and brandy and barley-wine
Hardly is there time enough to
Fill you in
In fact, it might kill you and
Do you in

Screw you in solid
Tight, bud squalid
Pallid, but flush
Distant, but touching and
Reaching and blushing,
Rushing and creaking and
Speaking and crushing
Across a distance and
Strung up by wires
Tiring fireside chats hiding liars
A flat man and woman who,
Lit by their faces,
Run stationary races
Stable places
Horses run, faceless
A shotgun hospital is baseless
Longer distance erases


Thursday, January 14, 2010

2nd Journal for 2010: Workouts

I've been hitting the gym lately. Not to get in shape; I think anyone who knows me can attest to the fact that I'm already very much "in shape". Working out can be about going from bad to good (which is something I would encourage you all to take part in), but for those of us who are already good it must be said that it is a worthwhile endeavor to perfect a good thing, or even polish a perfect thing.

Thanks to a decision that, a few years ago, made my tuition go from a number so big that I don't remember what it is to a number that I haven't looked at or heard spoken, the institution of higher learning that I attend now includes a membership to the Hannibal YMCA. I didn't ask for it, but I decided that I might as well start using this thing I'm paying some amount of money for. As often as possible, I drive on over to the YMCA (I don't feel as though I know it well enough to start calling it by its nickname, "Y") and shuffle through a locker-room full of wet, naked old men (who seem to spontaneously generate out of such conditions), change into my loose-fitting exercise gear and commence chiseling granite. The tools with which I attempt this feat are humble, but varied. With free weights, levers, pully things, and all kinds of weird looking chairs I task myself with reaching pinnacles of fitness that glorify the creator.

Though I am just now taking full advantage of my membership, I'm no stranger to workout equipment. In high school I took one semester of Weight Training and a semester of Advanced Weight Training. Both courses were taught by a football coach who seemed to be bitter about losing his hair. Honestly, his attitude may have had something to do with the fact that no one showed him any respect, but for my part I can guarantee I would have listened to him more if he had a decent head of hair. These classes taught me a little bit about weight training and a lot about "Jailbreak"; a variation on the Dodgeball convention that allowed for more players and more ways to reenter the game once eliminated. In retrospect, the title "Jailbreak" turned out to be an unfortunately accurate predictor of many futures belonging to those enrolled. Not in that any of the students I'm thinking of ever actually broke out of a prison; they are definitely still locked up.

My experience now is much more sophisticated. As an educated college man only months away from my graduation in December, my approach to "gym-ing" has become a fine-tuned personal science. Using audio, visual, and emotive aids, I've been able to maximize the effectiveness of my exercise time. I've thought about writing an exercise manual for those of you out there who want to look as good as me, but frankly I just don't have the time. What I'll do instead is list some of the techniques that have been treating me so well at the gym. In this way I'll be doing my part in America's healthcare crisis and our country's struggle to reclaim the title of "Most beautiful people" back from Argentina.

Workouts

Twitter-Crunches: 140 crunches, keep count with cell phone in hand by tweeting each crunch

Unemployment lifts: For every job you interview and don't receive, go back to the interviewer's office and lift their desk above your head. Who knows? This may end up getting you the job.

The Native American Guilt-Cycle: (for white people only) Set an exercise bike to its highest difficulty setting and bring mp3 player with headphones. While pedaling, listen to "Song of Crazy Horse" by J.D. Blackfoot. The song is over 20 minutes long and provides a history of the US Government's treatment of Native Americans. This provides ample workout time and you should be fueled by your righteous anger toward paleface and his empty promises.

Harry Potter pull-ups: For every Hogwarts professor you can name from the Harry Potter canon, do one pull-up. This makes sense because the more you know about Harry Potter, the more you probably need to work out.

Keyboard push-ups: Place your computer keyboard on the ground. Putting your hands at home position, begin push-ups. This isn't clever or meaningful, but I just want to see how it effects those with ergonomic arrangements differently.

I promise I'll come up with more, but I really must be going because it's late and I heard that if you don't get enough rest, you'll never bulk up and be more satisfied with your self image so you can go at least one day without spitting at a mirror.

If you have any tips, please share!

Sunday, January 3, 2010

1st Journal for 2010

I'm terrible at guessing and I guess I always will be. Every day I guess what the lottery numbers will be and I've never gotten it right. Last time was even worse because, though I guessed that I could afford two lottery tickets and a blue slush-pop, it turns out that the guy who works behind the counter now is Rick Yates; someone who I owe an amount of money that I can't remember.

I tried to participate in an office football pool once. Not only did I lose my five dollars, but one of the guys came up to me and started taunting me, "You can't play if you don't work here!", "How did you get past the alarm system?" I get it man, but don't discriminate against me because of my bad luck. I mean honestly, I'd have better odds at the Kentucky Raffle than the Kentucky Derby, but too bad I don't get a shot at either because the fates caused me to be born in Missouri.

You might think someone like me is pretty bitter about their position in life. I'm not. I know that there have to be losers if there are going to be winners, but I'd like to meet these winners. Who are all these mega-successful guys who are getting all the positive vibes I clearly lack? I mean, I've got some theories as to who they might be. A couple weeks ago, on the subway, I saw this guy picking on his guitar. His fingers were flying and strumming against the strings with seemingly no rhyme or reason and what came out was beautiful music. Now I've done the exact same thing with a guitar in my lap and it doesn't sound like music at all. As soon as I start picking everyone gets real mad at me. How am I supposed to get any better if I can't practice? And how am I supposed to practice if you don't let me use your guitar?

Another recipient of my good luck must be these jokesters I've seen at the bar. These jokesters are always joking around, telling their jokes to women; it's gross. Hey, look at me, I'm so clever because I can lighten the mood with this joke. What they don't know is that they're walking a tightrope with these girls. They're balancing on a razor's edge of comedy that could land them in deep trouble; I should know. They may be ignorant of this fact because they got lucky with their joke. It may have resulted in their getting a girl's number or even taking her home, but it doesn't always work that way. I can't count how many times I've told a joke to a girl who ended up slapping me. But Nick, maybe you should stop using dirty jokes. You're missing the point!! The jokes I'm telling are the exact same jokes I've heard those jokesters tell time and time again. But Nick, maybe you're telling these jokes to the wrong women. Wrong again! When I tell these jokes, I'm often telling them to the same women who laughed so readily at the jokesters. Huh-haw-haw-huh! There seems to be no way to predict when you'll get what reaction because I've tried every day of the week, which by the way, just gets you banned from a bar.

Basically, I just wanted to admit that I'm coming to terms with my bad luck. I used to have hope that if I held out long enough something good would happen, but that hope has been shattered. I don't even bother guessing at the lottery anymore; I've switched to just picking numbers at random. The good news is that I found a great job that pays in cash. I'm usually just delivering packages to people behind buildings and everyone I come into contact with is pretty nice. My boss is hilarious and always poking fun at me. First time I met him, he said, "If you go and tell anyone about what you're doing, I'll kill you." Haha, "Understood, boss!"