Sungrazer

Dec. 16th, 2010 12:15 am
thepeopleseason: (life isn't your own anymore)
Aristotle thought nothing of our attraction
(in that, he was correct),
I, merely Earth-bound breath,
a vast distance between us
(in that, he was correct).
Einstein painted a floor of spacetime,
the weight of your brilliance
pulling me into your thrall.

Wise men and fearful fools
have long drawn my dances with you,
the slow and silent concerto
which marionettes my body
towards your shine.

Perhaps one of them has found the truth
(perhaps none).

I know only of the pushpull of gravity
compelling me to face you,
as your heat and radiance strip away bits of myself,
the arms-length waltz,
beckoning and exorcising
along my elliptical orbit
until it consumes me.



Revised. I'm still not satisfied with the stiltedness of "a vast distance between us," and the brevity of the note about Einstein. I wanted to paint a better image of diminishing in the final sentence, but I'm at a loss to figure out where at the moment, because of work.
thepeopleseason: (Default)
This is my song for you.
For every stanza, I will sing my notes
to touch your ears
so that you will hear me.

This is my poem for you.
Each syllable a prayer.
Like a deep chanting of holy men
Will you listen?

This is my hymn to you.
I cast my words like stones across water
to stir your hands.
If only you could hear me.

This is my dirge for you.
Every lyric a lifetime.
Can you hear it?

Untitled

May. 24th, 2010 06:12 pm
thepeopleseason: (Default)
I couldn't find our corpse today.
I recall when you gave it to me,
Bloodied and swollen,
Unadorned and unclothed
From a night shared within your bed.

I couldn't find our corpse today.
The cadaver filched from my arms,
From evenings clutched fast to the frozen flesh
For warmth and weary reveries,
An empty weight sinking dents into the mattress.

I couldn't find our corpse today.
Only slight wisps of the perfume
Of three summers gone,
Packed away in a dusty corner,
Holed and bloated and fetid and rotten.

I couldn't find our corpse today.
Amidst drunken days and troubled sleep
My long wake has ended.
Neither requiem nor blessing nor prayer for absolution fall
All hushed and silent,
Sins unpurged and unpardoned.
Time, both pallbearer and crematorium,
Has robbed me of my monument
And swept away the ash.

Many

Apr. 29th, 2010 11:38 pm
thepeopleseason: (Default)
Some writers and physicists,
plying their trade in fiction and fantasy and quantum events,
craft their universes in stacks
or gardens of forking paths.
Each track an Earth of a different decision,
every way an infinite array of consequences.

On one of these Earths
(at least one),
our fingertips brush lightly against each other,
our breaths mix sweet and hot
amidst kisses and sighs
and know nothing of the vast spacetime that divides us here.
thepeopleseason: (Default)
When, as you're waiting for the elevator, you decide to munch on one of the fries that you got with your burger, but you lose control of the bag and the fries all spill out of the bag onto the floor, leaving nothing save a single fry in the fry bag and forcing you to clean up the hot greasy fries with your bare hand.

Oh, no, wait. That sucks.
thepeopleseason: (Default)
When, as you're checking your work voicemail the message indicates that you need to delete some messages, so you go to the beginning to hear the love messages that your ex left for you years ago.

Oh, no, wait. That sucks.

Advice

Aug. 5th, 2009 05:02 pm
thepeopleseason: (Default)
If you decide to send your female co-worker the message "Shut your pie hole," translated into French via Google Translate, make sure you pass along the translation link, before she translates the phrase back with Babelfish and promptly sues you for sexual harassment.
thepeopleseason: (Default)
A note to anyone playing Fallout 3:
If you've installed the Broken Steel add-on before attempting the Finding the Garden of Eden main story-line quest, there's going to be a section of the quest where you're walking through Vault 87 (I'm pretty sure it's the Lab section--it might be the Crew's Quarters, though). You're going to come across a two-story room (like in every other Vault) that'll be the second door on your left after going up a set of stairs. Once you enter, two Super Mutant Overlords will come out and blast the bejebus out of you.

This is a pre-programmed encounter that I'm guessing was with Super Mutant Masters before I decided to pay money to up my character's level cap from 20 to 30. As soon as you step into that room, the encounter activates.

So here's a hint:
Backtrack to the stairs, and go into the first room on your left. Walk across that large room, and exit through the door on the other end. After taking care of all the other Super Mutants around, enter that same room from the other side (where the Overlords would be coming from). The encounter will activate, but this time, with the original Super Mutant Masters without Tri-beam Laser Rifles. Much easier to deal with.

I hope my seventeen hours of gameplay yesterday (note: not all at that part of the game) helps you out.
thepeopleseason: (Default)
Tired of all of those surveys made up by high school kids?! 'Have you ever kissed someone? Missed someone? Told someone you loved them? Drank alcohol?' 49 questions for the people who are a little older...

What bill do you hate paying the most? )
thepeopleseason: (Default)
I work.

I go to my job in the morning, and I get on the computer. While I sign on to all my various communication services, I do not closely monitor them all the time.

Where am I going with this?
  1. If you ask me what's going on, I'm going to tell you that I'm working. This is not an invitation to tell me everything that's going on with your day, your weekend, your life. While I am genuinely interested in what you would like to tell me, the middle of the workday is not necessarily the appropriate time, as it's more than likely that I'm either in the middle of creating code for my job or speaking with my co-workers about creating code for my job.
  2. If we have a conversation, and I stop responding for an extended period of time, there is a high probability that I have been distracted with work-related subjects. This is in no way out of any disinterest to communicate with you. It is work.
  3. If I don't answer you immediately after you message me, it's more than likely because I'm doing something work-related (such as creating code or having a meeting). If you're interested in talking to me, please don't just message me and then log off. That is akin to calling someone, hearing them pick up, saying something, and then hanging up.
  4. I have this nasty tendency to leave myself logged in to my messaging clients around the clock. If you message me and I do not respond at all, it's likely because it's after hours. Send me a note on Twitter or Facebook, and I'll more than likely get back to you in a more timely fashion than if you wait for me to see your instant message when I come back to my computer at work.
thepeopleseason: (burrito)
This has nothing to do with the new Facebook layout.

Back in 2002, I started this Livejournal, because, as [livejournal.com profile] batnandu suggests, I'm something of an emotional exhibitionist. Drawing compelling content from the dross of my daily life, however, is a Herculean task--were I more dedicated to poetry, short fictions, photos, or videos, I suppose I could have some gems to offer every day. As it stands, I'm that post-modern, neo-geek, sarcastic, hipster-douchebag that only ever drops the occasional grain of wit (I'm guessing this is why Twitter might be so popular) amidst a sea of memes and self-absorbed whining.

So if you go back and look at the succession of posts following that November, 2002 debut (no, really, don't waste your time), you'll find a series of memes and quiz results offered from sites like quizdiva.com, quizilla.com, or okcupid.com. With such a frequency that one of the people who (for some yet-to-be-determined reason) follows this LJ said, "please stop taking quizes, for the love of god."

And yes, I did eventually tire of seeing the insipid things populating my friends page--I even wrote a filter for my friends page to automatically cut them.

So it's with a supreme sense of resignation that I see the latest items scrolling onto my Facebook homepage:
  • "What painting are you?"
  • "Which Great Philosopher are you?"
  • "Where should you be living?"
These are the same kinds of things I stopped posting a long while ago, and it seems that Facebook is just recycling the whole Online Junior High Slambook concept again.

But here's where it's even worse--each application that Facebook approves for its users need approval from each individual user before they allow it to post on that user's page. The quiz application developers, in their idiocy, instead of creating a single quiz framework application to access the user's information, set their quizzes up so that each individual quiz has to ask for access to the user's details. So every Facebook user wanting to take the both the "Where should you be living" quiz and the "Which 80s band are you?" quiz has to approve access for both quizzes individually, when the access required for both is essentially, "Can this application post its crap onto your news feed?"

And all for those unspecific, non-committal gestures at your personality.
thepeopleseason: (Default)

On February 13, 1998, I drove up to Gainesville, Florida from Miami after work in preparation for a weekend visit to my long-distance girlfriend as well as a consultation with my graduate advisor. I had planned a nice evening out with my girlfriend for the next day, following a stop-off at a friend's birthday party. I had high hopes that we'd have a nice intimate weekend with one another.

As we waited for the meal to arrive, we talked about the various things that were happening with our lives--the details that don't come readily when exchanging email or instant messages. I talked briefly of my job, and the boring minutiae of my days in Miami. She told me a short story about one of her classmates, who had asked about our relationship. She recounted the details of that conversation, how her classmate had asked if we were still together. I asked for more detail on her answer.

"Well, I told her that we're not."

I would glance at my watch then, and see the clock hands near vertical, the longer one just slightly past the shorter one. I've convinced myself that I'm the first person in the Eastern timezone to be dumped on that Valentine's Day, some eleven years ago.

If only because it makes for a more interesting story.

thepeopleseason: (snowman)
Watchmen succeeds in capturing the main plotline of the comic, and there are some lovely sequences where Snyder emulates the slow-paced pull-out that Moore and Gibbons created when introducing a new issue. You can tell that Snyder used the comic as storyboards, using the art to set up angles and shots. There's a bit of over-exposition in a couple of places, where the script has characters Legolas the plot points. The guy playing Ozymandias is at times so soft-spoken and wooden, it robs his particular scenes of power--Ozymandias is supposed to be cool and emotionless for the majority of the plot, but there are a couple of scenes in the books where he emotes more, and I didn't really see any of that in the movie. I would have preferred an older, more mature actor in the role.

Pacing was odd--for a three-hour movie, it flowed pretty well, but emulating the comic in plot and focus gave the movie a certain meandering quality, pointing the audience in different directions as to who to empathize with or pay attention to. Not a problem during a 12-issue comic series, but an issue for a largely single-threaded movie. Part of me thinks this would have worked a great deal better as a television mini-series.

There were some changes to the ending that I would have preferred unchanged. I'm not talking about THE BIG THING, but the epilogue. I think the changes undermine some of the themes of Watchmen, but for the most part, I thought the movie a very, very good adaptation of the comic.

Incidentally, for those of you who haven't read the comic, both the movie and the source are very, very dark and violent. You have been warned.

As I've twittered way too many times, "3 out of 4 'HURM's."

And now, a tagged meme... )
thepeopleseason: (orange wedge)
When you're plugging your phone into your computer, you draw your hand across your keyboard, and the edge of a piece of paper there slices open your cuticle.

Oh, no, wait. That sucks.
thepeopleseason: (why did you make me like this)
It occurs to me that one thing that some women are attracted to about me initially is my ability to sit quietly and listen to what they're saying. Unfortunately, I have a feeling that eventually translates to boring a few months/years down the line.
thepeopleseason: (when she loved me)
I think I have a superpower.
It's one I think I can't control.
The power works subconsciously
And scares me to my bitter soul.

I got the news as I drove home
Eight years ago (this very day),
A man had died, a man I knew--
The man who stole my love away.

His fearful widow, full of tears,
the greatest love of my short life.
I cut her heart and cut her child.
My guilty will was the knife.

Am I the fulcrum upon which pivots,
Karma's lever, scythe, and hammer?
Does my mind speak in secret words,
The syllables of Death's own grammar?

I couldn't find my love today,
She gave her heart to another.
I thought the man was my friend.
Betrayed and failed by my brother.

I think I have a superpower.
It's one I think I can't control.
But days like this, I can't help wish,
I'd flex my mind and take my toll.


Dear Romie: I'm sorry.

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thepeopleseason

February 2011

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