Rainbow Basin

I held you as close as the heavens hold
the earth, but I was envious
of the sky,
blushing with anticipation,
as it caressed the hills
with cloud-soft strokes,
until finally sliding the sun slowly
down into the waiting ground.
Beauty imbued the horizon in hues
of darkened orange and reddened blues,
unseen before, but somehow so familiar.
The earth whispered
through the wind and gasped,
while the sun delved deeper still
into crimsons and purples
until it pushed, finally, far
beyond our view.
And there was in the atmosphere
an incredible energy
growing with panting breezes,
the leaves shivering with
excitement on the trees.
Unable to sustain itself,
the sky collapsed into black.
We were left with wonder on our faces
as the view was made more beautiful
by it's passing.  We got up to
pass the time
until another evening faded.

Stay Together for the Kids (A Sob Story)

I guess I had it pretty easy. Not quite as easy as my baby sister, but easier than my older brother at least. He was old enough to know what was going on. I was only three years old when my parents divorced and four when my mom got remarried. I wasn't too conscience of what was going on; the only thing I can recall about it is a fleeting memory of standing in the bed of what I assume was my step-dad's truck "helping" to move our stuff out of my father's condo.

In our new house I remember playing in the dirt with my dog Boober and getting up early in the morning to watch "Gilligan's Island" reruns with my brother, completely unaffected by the radical change that was just made in my family. I knew that we didn't live with our father anymore, and that a new guy with a funny mustache had moved in, but I never really gave it a second thought. For the most part, this new guy didn't bother me, so I didn't bother him (or so I thought). For all I knew, this was how all families worked. All kids spent the week with their moms and the weekends with their dads, didn't they? I continued on, naive, not knowing that anything was amiss. I never really had any complaints, until she came along.

I can recall one weekend visit, riding in the back seat with my brother and sister. My father said that we were going to pick someone up. I'm sure my eight-year-old mind wished that we were going to pick up Donatello the Ninja Turtle, or maybe Teddy Ruxpin. We didn't.

"Guys," my father said, "this is Deborah," talking about the woman who had just gotten in the car. She turned to look at the three of us. At that instant I saw beyond her large glasses and saccharine smile, and I knew that for some reason I was not going to like her. I couldn't put my finger on it then, but soon she would give me several very tangible reasons not to like her. Where I was used to being trusted and smiled upon, she was used to skepticism and a raised eyebrow. And where I was used to patience and positive reinforcement, she was used to reproach and invective. My father married her a year or two later. I cried at the wedding, because I was pissed. How could my father marry someone like her?

She had three daughters who I tried to like, but ultimately grew to loathe. They were simply extensions of Deborah, slimy tentacles reaching places that they didn't belong. Their omnipresence and periodic reports to their mother about the actions and whereabouts of my brother, sister, and I made us all feel uncomfortable visiting my father. It was like living in the novel 1984, constantly being watched and fearing the wrath of Big Brother. Our only safe haven was our father. No one dare fuck with us when he was in the room, not even his wife. Unfortunately, he was rarely home, and when he was, he was usually resting in his bedroom or holed up in his den organizing his card collection. He was seldom there to save us, and I slowly began to resent him.

About the time my father remarried, my mom and step-dad moved us hours away. Weekend visits to my father's became holidays and summer stays with his new family. This is when the strain of divorce began to affect me. As time passed I watched my father change from a goofy, smiling superhero into a bitter, petty man. I watched my step-mother turn as fat and ugly as she was on the inside. I watched my mother hate those two, and I was confused as I tried to emulate her while staying loyal to both parents. I watched my step-dad's seemingly infinite patience with me, and I was annoyed at him for being a better dad than my biological one.

My step-sisters and -mother I tolerated, but my faith in my father was waning. When we did visit, we saw less and less of my father, and visiting step-relatives that you don't care for, isn't a very pleasant way to spend a summer. Over the years the summer stays got shorter, and we visited my father fewer holidays. I'm not sure why. And the child support checks arrived later and later, and sometimes not at all. Again, I'm not sure why.

His wife openly complained about how expensive we were, but I didn't realize how much they viewed us as a financial burden, a monetary nuisance, until my freshman year of high school. My brother, a senior, was looking to go to college, and my mom asked my father if he would help pay. He didn't want to. She hired a lawyer to make him pay the state-set "minimum" of child support. He hired a better lawyer that said he didn't have to. At his lawyer's request, his interest in us kids was suddenly renewed. He wanted to see us for every available holiday and all through the summer -- I'm assuming so it wouldn't look so bad that he had thusfar financed very little of our lives. I don't think my brother and sister were, but for a while I was fooled into actually believing that he cared. Then I went to visit him for one last summer, and nothing had changed. None of us went back to him again after that.

Well, that's not entirely true. I think my sister saw him once when she went to visit our grandparents. My brother visited him once or twice, maybe because he felt sorry for our father. But I think for the most part, none of us really cared for him too much anymore. I haven't been back at all. The realization that this / we / family was all just a matter of dollar signs to him hit me pretty hard. Someone putting a pricetag on their love for you makes you feel pretty worthless.

I haven't seen my father in a long time, about seven years, almost a third of my life. And except for a few hastily written emails that I received on my 19th birthday, I haven't heard from him either. Sometimes I feel bad that I miss that asshole. But then again, maybe I shouldn't feel bad. After all, he wasn't a bad man, just bad at loving me.

More than Meets the Eye

Who would win in a fight between Optimus Prime and Voltron? I guess we'll find out in a couple years when they both hit theaters. It'll be "Robots in Disguise" versus "The Defenders of the Universe." Personally, my money's on the Transformers!

Saving Light One Day at a Time

I'm all for making Daylight Savings Time longer. How 'bout you?

Nerd Alert!

I got a new project to keep me busy at work yesterday afternoon. I'm supposed to revamp part of the Language & Literature website (the Language Learning Center pages). For me, this is exciting. Not just because I actually have something to do, but because I love tinkering with websites. I'm not so good with the graphics and design, but I love all the inner-workings.

Luckily, I get to recycle most of the old graphics, so I don't have to worry about that. Tomorrow I'll have to work on updating the content, which will be kinda boring. But today I redesigned the whole back end of the website -- cleaning up the HTML and JavaScript, and adding a splash of PHP (I *heart* PHP!). I just wish that the server the website was on had MySQL. I want to fiddle around with a database using PHP so that I can become better acquainted with how to do all that stuff.

On a side note, Microsoft FrontPage kinda sucks. I'm using it to help with editing the site. It adds a LOT of unnecessary and dirty HTML. I'd rather do it all by hand and have it look nice than use the stupid WYSIWYG editor. The only good thing FrontPage does is help to keep all the files organized.

For the Internet-Savvy Adulterer

This appalled me, both the fact that the website exists, and that it has enough demand to keep it in business.

Chicago

I'm leaving today for Chicago. I'm going to be visiting Stellar and Nic-O for the weekend. I think we might be going to a Renaissance Fair and then some big party that Stellar told me about. It should be a fun vacation.

Wrong Place

This article from Slashdot sounds like it belongs in The Onion.

Imaginary

| Superhero | Part 4 |

She saw him in crowd. She didn't know why her eye was drawn to him. In his plaid button-down shirt and worn blue jeans, he did not stick out of the crowd. He wasn't attractive. Not to say that he was ugly, but his long nose and mouth slacking open didn't exactly rev Miranda's engine. Nevertheless, she stood on the street corner among the crowd, waiting to follow the rest of the flock into the crosswalk. She noticed his poor posture and awkward gait as he walked toward her in the adjacent crosswalk. He seemed like a thousand other people she had seen in this city, but there was still something about him that made her continue to stare.

A burly man in a brown business suit walking the opposite direction smashed into a long-haired twenty-something hippie-looking chick in front of the long-nosed man in the plaid shirt. The burly man bowled right over the long-haired girl, spinning only slightly from the impact, and shouted something angrily at the young woman, who was knocked to her knees by the much larger man. The guy in the plaid shirt stopped behind her and looked over his shoulder at the man in the brown business suit. Without an explanation the man in the brown business suit dropped his suitcase and began screaming. He batted at some invisible attacker on his shirt and pulled at his tie which only served to choke him. The man flailed wildly and pulled at the tightening tie on his neck. The others in the crosswalk tried their best to avoid him; irritated faces began to appear in the crowd. The burly man continued his hysterics until he stumbled into an even burlier man who grabbed him by the collar and threw him down onto the ground. The man in the brown business suit immediately stopped his screaming. He lay on the ground wide-eyed and bewildered, breathing heavily.

Miranda looked back to the man in the plaid shirt. He had apparently been watching the man in the brown suit as well. He turned back to the young woman in front of him, who was collecting the contents of her hemp tote bag that had been spilled onto the street. He reached down, picking up a small box of some sort. As he was about to offer it to its owner, she snatched it out of his hands and quickly shoved her possession back into her bag. She stood up, gripped her bag tightly, and quickly resumed crossing the street. The man in the plaid shirt stood still for a second watching the long-haired girl walk away, until he was nudged from behind by another pedestrian. He continued through the crosswalk.

The crowd waiting with Miranda on her corner began to cross the street, but Miranda followed the man in the plaid shirt with her eyes. Closer up, he looked much younger than she had first thought, and Miranda saw sadness in his eyes. As he passed only a few feet from him, she had the urge to follow him. She gave in to her urge.

She followed him into a corner store, watching him from the magazine rack. He lazily walked to the cooler, picked up a quart of milk and a shrink-wrapped sandwich. On his way up to the counter, he picked up a can of Li'l Smokies. I hope that's not his dinner. Her stomach felt empathetic for his.

At the counter, Plaid Shirt asked the clerk for a pack of cigarettes. The clerk rang up the total. Plaid Shirt opened his wallet, dug around, and pulled out nothing and set it on the counter. Plaid Shirt shrugged with embarrassment. Miranda moved over to the candy rack to get a better view.

The clerk gave Plaid Shirt a brief look of disdain, picked up the imaginary tender and punched some buttons on his register. The drawer sprung open and the clerk counted out nearly eighty-five dollars in change and handed it to Plaid Shirt.

Miranda was confused. She grabbed a pack of Skittles and stepped up next to Plaid Shirt at the counter. She looked back and forth from the man in the plaid shirt to the clerk. As he finished organizing his money in his wallet, he noticed Miranda's sideways glances. He quickly shoved his items into his pockets and walked out of the store.

Miranda was staring after Plaid shirt, when the man behind the counter asked, "Hey, you gonna buy something or what?" Miranda looked up at him, put her candy on the counter, reached into her purse, pulled out nothing and set in onto the counter. The clerk looked at her with disbelief. Miranda stood her ground, looking from where she had set her money back up to the clerk. Finally, with a sigh the clerk said, "Sorry, lady, we don't take imaginary money here, only real cash."

She squinted her eyes and looked at him. "Nevermind, I don't want it." Miranda quickly walked out the door.

The clerk shook his head, "I hate working here."

Pissed Off

I guess you can only piss on your friends so long before they tell you to piss off.

Getting a Good Education, Duh!

As I was walking into the building about half-an-hour ago, getting back from my lunch break, a fairly good-sized rodent (I'm guessing about 10 lbs. or so) ran by me and into the bushes. I think it was a woodchuck. What the fuck is a woodchuck doing on campus?

Online Onslaught III

Come witness the carnage at Online Onslaught III. Vote off your least favorite bloggers until only one remains. I already got kicked off for unsportsmanlike conduct, but it should still be a good time.

It's a Lie

Found while perusing my cell phone's notepad function:

"It's A Lie Until I Believe It ...joe"

I'm assuming "...joe" is Pancake Wrangler, because that sounds like something he would say.

God Hates Fags

This makes my heart scowl. But this makes my heart giggle.

something

Sometimes i dont want o be me ,and sometimes i want to be normal, but i wonder if norml is better than an emotionless, drunken bastard. At least i've got character.

Easy 'A'

I found a picture from my senior year of high school, taken during my "independent study" in Mrs. Meneely's art class. This picture is of us trying to look like we're actually doing something, but I'm pretty sure we're not. Basically, Brian (left), Justin (back turned) and I just jacked off the entire hour, completing approximately 5 crappy projects each over the course of an entire school year. Ah, the good ol' days!

Flowers

| Superhero | Part 3 |

The delivery man knocked on the door and looked down at the slip of paper to confirm the address. Yup, Room 425. As he waited for an answer, he eyed the two policemen standing one door down, at 423. They knocked on the door and it opened within seconds. "Ma'am, we're here about a noise complaint," said the taller officer.

"Thank god you're here, officers," said the old woman from inside 423. "It's the man next door. He was screaming and making such a ruckus.

"Thank you, we'll check it out," the shorter officer assured her. "Please, stay in your apartment, ma'am." The old woman kept her head poked out of her doorway while the two officers turned towards the delivery man. Suddenly feeling uncomfortable, the delivery man looked away and knocked on 425's door again.

The two policemen approached and the taller one said, "What are you doing here?"

"I'm just delivering these flowers for a...," he looked at the slip again, "...a Brandon Collins." He offered his slip from the flower shop as proof.

The shorter officer gave it a cursory inspection and then handed it back. "Please, stand aside."

The taller officer pounded on the door and shouted, "Mr. Collins, this is the police. We've had a report of screams coming from your apartment. Please, open the door." There was no response.

The delivery guy asked the shorter cop somewhat excited, "Is this dude in trouble?"

"Please, stand back sir."

"Mr. Collins, this is the police. If you do not let us in, we will be forced to enter your apartment."

Smiling at the prospect of some excitement in his otherwise boring day, the delivery man said, "Sweet, this is going to be awesome!"

The old woman from 423 piped up, "Officers, I think he might be hurt, he was screaming bloody murder."

The door from 428 opened and a balding man with a mustache stepped out into the hall and inquired, "'Ey, what's goin' on out here?"

The delivery man turned and said with enthusiasm, "The cops are gonna break down this dude's door!"

The shorter officer, annoyed at the growing audience, spoke, "Everyone stay inside your apartments." Turning to the flower delivery man, he said, "I'm going to need you to take a few steps back." As if he hadn't spoken at all, no one moved.

"Mr. Collins, this is your last warning. If you do not open the door in five seconds, I will be forced to kick it in!"

"What'd this guy do?" asked the mustachioed man.

"Fuck if I know," replied the delivery man.

"Mr. Collins, we're entering your apartment now." The taller officer tried the door. It was locked. He took a step back and kicked in the door. He looked back at his partner and said, "I'll look around, you take care of these guys." His partner nodded. The taller officer removed unbuttoned his holster, placed his hand on the handle, and cautiously walked through the door.

The delivery man tried to look over the shorter officer's shoulder into the apartment, "Do you think he's still in there?" The shorter officer didn't say a word, but listened for his partner.

Ten seconds later he heard a gasp. "Holy shit!"

"How's it going in there?" the shorter officer said over his shoulder.

"Carl, keep everyone out. I'll call an ambulance. My God, there's so much blood!"

Pictures of Shorelines

If you insist on pictures of shorelines
then I insist on pages of your lines
meant for me,
to be sent to me.
Remember watching the storms from the lifeguard stand.
Remember feeling the tingling in my fingertips
when I touched your lips.
And I recall how you sat on the same side of me,
it always seemed that you'd always be on my side.
You're my best side.

And it's early June, so the sand's still dry,
and you have got the boldest eyes,
and I can't help but think it's right,
that inside you it's me I'm finding.
And I'm still waiting.
And it's early June, so the sand's still dry,
and the storm off shore is not far behind.
And I'm still waiting.

And sometimes you don't say a thing for a long while.
And the ships off shore hold stories that we'd make.
And sometimes we are held at bay by these miles.
But less of you is more than I can take.

And the moments that we've shared could last a lifetime.
And the faith I have in us will keep you near.
And several of these miles placed in between us
mean several of these words being sent by mail.
I hope this letter finds you well.

--Further Seems Forever

Regret Later

I'll have later in life to regret not regretting right now.

Gospel of Thomas

I ran across The Gospel of Thomas the other day. And here's a little info. on what it actually is. It's a pretty interesting / confusing read, but here are my favorite verses:

28 Jesus said, "I took my stand in the midst of the world, and in flesh I appeared to them. I found them all drunk, and I did not find any of them thirsty. My soul ached for the children of humanity, because they are blind in their hearts and do not see, for they came into the world empty, and they also seek to depart from the world empty.

But meanwhile they are drunk. When they shake off their wine, then they will change their ways."

113 His disciples said to him, "When will the kingdom come?"

"It will not come by watching for it. It will not be said, 'Look, here!' or 'Look, there!' Rather, the Father's kingdom is spread out upon the earth, and people don't see it."