I should be sleeping. But something drives me to stay awake. I'm not even sure what it is? I am in one of those creative moods, where if I had the ability, like a virus, I would enter into any vulnerable person and make them feel what I've created. My mind is alive with the curiosity of a neglected subconscious. I am listening to Norma Jean, I was listening to Nine Inch Nails. Tonight is me expelling excess mental effort. What does a locomotive do when it comes to a stop? I think it releases its steam ballast. I dunno if they even call them that. Do I look like an engineer?
I am releasing this steam.
I've posted three times tonight. Two of which were from my head. One which was presented to me today in church and felt like others should read as well.
I like to smile.
But lately I haven't done it much. But who would know any different in Seattle? Do they know that I smile a lot in california? My cheeks hurt after a while when I try to smile. That didn't used to happen? Did I leave my smile in california? Who has my smile? Do you have my smile?
Do we smile together often?
Toms, are a drug. The shoe. It's a drug. I brought them with me, and already, three people have hopped on the tom Train. See there it is. Train.
I wanna go on a train. I wanna look out the window and realize I'm on a one way track to a destination of bliss whatever. Call me sanguine.
I should sleep. I should sleep. I should sleep.
Meet me in my dreams please.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Sunday, July 12, 2009
It's a good night
I'm on a roll
The world is at war because of clever magicians.
They've killed enough doves, in a crudely formed guise
There methods are shallow, and baptized in mischief
Yet we applaud there pony act
And throw them our roses
Each magicians a player
Trying to out smart the other
Use there tactics against them
And bedazzle there devotees
I'm a follower I admit it
I give praise to performance
But the tricks they're presenting leave me tired and restless
I sleep and I wonder
'what part was the prestige?'
What part was the sacrifice
and what did we loose?
What gain was the audience?
Did we smile at the end?
Whatever it was, it all seemed pretend
The world is at war because of clever magicians.
They've killed enough doves, in a crudely formed guise
There methods are shallow, and baptized in mischief
Yet we applaud there pony act
And throw them our roses
Each magicians a player
Trying to out smart the other
Use there tactics against them
And bedazzle there devotees
I'm a follower I admit it
I give praise to performance
But the tricks they're presenting leave me tired and restless
I sleep and I wonder
'what part was the prestige?'
What part was the sacrifice
and what did we loose?
What gain was the audience?
Did we smile at the end?
Whatever it was, it all seemed pretend
The Race
By Dr. D.H. "Dee" Groberg
Whenever I start to hang my head in front of failure’s face,
my downward fall is broken by the memory of a race.
A children’s race, young boys, young men; how I remember well,
excitement sure, but also fear, it wasn’t hard to tell.
They all lined up so full of hope, each thought to win that race
or tie for first, or if not that, at least take second place.
Their parents watched from off the side, each cheering for their son,
and each boy hoped to show his folks that he would be the one.
The whistle blew and off they flew, like chariots of fire,
to win, to be the hero there, was each young boy’s desire.
One boy in particular, whose dad was in the crowd,
was running in the lead and thought “My dad will be so proud.”
But as he speeded down the field and crossed a shallow dip,
the little boy who thought he’d win, lost his step and slipped.
Trying hard to catch himself, his arms flew everyplace,
and midst the laughter of the crowd he fell flat on his face.
As he fell, his hope fell too; he couldn’t win it now.
Humiliated, he just wished to disappear somehow.
But as he fell his dad stood up and showed his anxious face,
which to the boy so clearly said, “Get up and win that race!”
He quickly rose, no damage done, behind a bit that’s all,
and ran with all his mind and might to make up for his fall.
So anxious to restore himself, to catch up and to win,
his mind went faster than his legs. He slipped and fell again.
He wished that he had quit before with only one disgrace.
“I’m hopeless as a runner now, I shouldn’t try to race.”
But through the laughing crowd he searched and found his father’s face
with a steady look that said again, “Get up and win that race!”
So he jumped up to try again, ten yards behind the last.
“If I’m to gain those yards,” he thought, “I’ve got to run real fast!”
Exceeding everything he had, he regained eight, then ten...
but trying hard to catch the lead, he slipped and fell again.
Defeat! He lay there silently. A tear dropped from his eye.
“There’s no sense running anymore! Three strikes I’m out! Why try?
I’ve lost, so what’s the use?” he thought. “I’ll live with my disgrace.”
But then he thought about his dad, who soon he’d have to face.
“Get up,” an echo sounded low, “you haven’t lost at all,
for all you have to do to win is rise each time you fall.
Get up!” the echo urged him on, “Get up and take your place!
You were not meant for failure here! Get up and win that race!”
So, up he rose to run once more, refusing to forfeit,
and he resolved that win or lose, at least he wouldn’t quit.
So far behind the others now, the most he’d ever been,
still he gave it all he had and ran like he could win.
Three times he’d fallen stumbling, three times he rose again.
Too far behind to hope to win, he still ran to the end.
They cheered another boy who crossed the line and won first place,
head high and proud and happy -- no falling, no disgrace.
But, when the fallen youngster crossed the line, in last place,
the crowd gave him a greater cheer for finishing the race.
And even though he came in last with head bowed low, unproud,
you would have thought he’d won the race, to listen to the crowd.
And to his dad he sadly said, “I didn’t do so well.”
“To me, you won,” his father said. “You rose each time you fell.”
And now when things seem dark and bleak and difficult to face,
the memory of that little boy helps me in my own race.
For all of life is like that race, with ups and downs and all.
And all you have to do to win is rise each time you fall.
And when depression and despair shout loudly in my face,
another voice within me says, “Get up and win that race!”
Whenever I start to hang my head in front of failure’s face,
my downward fall is broken by the memory of a race.
A children’s race, young boys, young men; how I remember well,
excitement sure, but also fear, it wasn’t hard to tell.
They all lined up so full of hope, each thought to win that race
or tie for first, or if not that, at least take second place.
Their parents watched from off the side, each cheering for their son,
and each boy hoped to show his folks that he would be the one.
The whistle blew and off they flew, like chariots of fire,
to win, to be the hero there, was each young boy’s desire.
One boy in particular, whose dad was in the crowd,
was running in the lead and thought “My dad will be so proud.”
But as he speeded down the field and crossed a shallow dip,
the little boy who thought he’d win, lost his step and slipped.
Trying hard to catch himself, his arms flew everyplace,
and midst the laughter of the crowd he fell flat on his face.
As he fell, his hope fell too; he couldn’t win it now.
Humiliated, he just wished to disappear somehow.
But as he fell his dad stood up and showed his anxious face,
which to the boy so clearly said, “Get up and win that race!”
He quickly rose, no damage done, behind a bit that’s all,
and ran with all his mind and might to make up for his fall.
So anxious to restore himself, to catch up and to win,
his mind went faster than his legs. He slipped and fell again.
He wished that he had quit before with only one disgrace.
“I’m hopeless as a runner now, I shouldn’t try to race.”
But through the laughing crowd he searched and found his father’s face
with a steady look that said again, “Get up and win that race!”
So he jumped up to try again, ten yards behind the last.
“If I’m to gain those yards,” he thought, “I’ve got to run real fast!”
Exceeding everything he had, he regained eight, then ten...
but trying hard to catch the lead, he slipped and fell again.
Defeat! He lay there silently. A tear dropped from his eye.
“There’s no sense running anymore! Three strikes I’m out! Why try?
I’ve lost, so what’s the use?” he thought. “I’ll live with my disgrace.”
But then he thought about his dad, who soon he’d have to face.
“Get up,” an echo sounded low, “you haven’t lost at all,
for all you have to do to win is rise each time you fall.
Get up!” the echo urged him on, “Get up and take your place!
You were not meant for failure here! Get up and win that race!”
So, up he rose to run once more, refusing to forfeit,
and he resolved that win or lose, at least he wouldn’t quit.
So far behind the others now, the most he’d ever been,
still he gave it all he had and ran like he could win.
Three times he’d fallen stumbling, three times he rose again.
Too far behind to hope to win, he still ran to the end.
They cheered another boy who crossed the line and won first place,
head high and proud and happy -- no falling, no disgrace.
But, when the fallen youngster crossed the line, in last place,
the crowd gave him a greater cheer for finishing the race.
And even though he came in last with head bowed low, unproud,
you would have thought he’d won the race, to listen to the crowd.
And to his dad he sadly said, “I didn’t do so well.”
“To me, you won,” his father said. “You rose each time you fell.”
And now when things seem dark and bleak and difficult to face,
the memory of that little boy helps me in my own race.
For all of life is like that race, with ups and downs and all.
And all you have to do to win is rise each time you fall.
And when depression and despair shout loudly in my face,
another voice within me says, “Get up and win that race!”
House of Emotion
This is not a house of glass. This is not a house of stone. This perfect frame is translucent, and this translucent house is subject to natural cause. It feels warmer in the sun, and colder in the clouds, and although the subjects inside are safe, they are all on display.
You can throw your stones. No worries. It chips, and repairs, and fades.
The house was built for honest purposes, and all materials used were to allow you to see what a family is. So when the door is shut, still, inside all can be seen. The subjects know they are watched, and they usually don’t mind.
But when they try to tell you that everything is the way it should be, you know better, because you’ve got a very public view of what is really going inside of the house.
It’s just a cage really, these are my pet emotions.
Each emotion enjoys there respective seasons, and in this house the translucent frame shows all. Friends, family, and passersby stop to see the commotion. Some may even seemed concerned, but who is to tell a family how to function?
Maybe the family of another house of emotions may come by, and the emotions will intermingle and share memories. The holidays are always a great time, ya know.
It’s funny how each house is built differently. Is there any perfect design? Some are made like fortresses and others are thin and may fall like the leaves of a season.
It would seem that certain designs would be proper with there surroundings. A home surrounded by evil may stay boarded up quite often. A home peaceful in the hills nestled by nature would keep opened up to enjoy the views of the earth. Sure there are those houses who don’t fit with there surroundings, but what do we know? The family knew best right?? Right?
But I wouldn’t build a mansion in the slums, I wouldn’t build a shack in the west hills. But the phrase, “To each, his own” seems proper.
You can throw your stones. No worries. It chips, and repairs, and fades.
The house was built for honest purposes, and all materials used were to allow you to see what a family is. So when the door is shut, still, inside all can be seen. The subjects know they are watched, and they usually don’t mind.
But when they try to tell you that everything is the way it should be, you know better, because you’ve got a very public view of what is really going inside of the house.
It’s just a cage really, these are my pet emotions.
Each emotion enjoys there respective seasons, and in this house the translucent frame shows all. Friends, family, and passersby stop to see the commotion. Some may even seemed concerned, but who is to tell a family how to function?
Maybe the family of another house of emotions may come by, and the emotions will intermingle and share memories. The holidays are always a great time, ya know.
It’s funny how each house is built differently. Is there any perfect design? Some are made like fortresses and others are thin and may fall like the leaves of a season.
It would seem that certain designs would be proper with there surroundings. A home surrounded by evil may stay boarded up quite often. A home peaceful in the hills nestled by nature would keep opened up to enjoy the views of the earth. Sure there are those houses who don’t fit with there surroundings, but what do we know? The family knew best right?? Right?
But I wouldn’t build a mansion in the slums, I wouldn’t build a shack in the west hills. But the phrase, “To each, his own” seems proper.
Friday, July 3, 2009
You're gonna have to excuse my posts for the next two months while in seattle. I don't have the internet for my computer, so I just use my trusty palm pre. It's nice, and works well, but I can't type half as fast I can my keyboard, and also I can't really read my blogs as I write tem because the screen is too small.
Todays blog is short and simple. In washington, I don't have any real true friends. Friends yes, true friends no. I don't even really have a best friend who I confide in everything. So I'm trying to make best friends with work. It's a little tough.
Todays blog is short and simple. In washington, I don't have any real true friends. Friends yes, true friends no. I don't even really have a best friend who I confide in everything. So I'm trying to make best friends with work. It's a little tough.
Monday, June 29, 2009
It's aleays right before lunch that I feel the need to write. But that's because my mind is dreaming all the way till 1 anyways... I think its true. I'm not dreaming as much lately. I sleep a very deep sleep, because work is pretty tiring I guess. But last night was interesting. I finally got my computer set up for recording. I'm excited, especially, because i've rediscovered older songs, that sing/play differently than they ever have. New emotions, concepts are beginning to make a row in my head. This new climate and city is making for special themes. I thin k my concepts of trees will take a little longer, because I have some single ideas that should be put on wax, with what has already been sonicallycreated. I'm pretty excited. I played some new songs for my roommates and when I first started playing they were loud and obnoxious. By the end, they were silent and focused; mission accomplished.
Seattle is so cool. I love this city. I could seriously live here. What about the rain? Well I definattely wouldn't want to live hetre alone that's for sure. But I think it would be a great place to live, otherwise. The people here, are my people and it makes me feel so good to be accepted. I wish people enjoyed beards and moustaches more here though. In california, we love our moustaches. I guess washington is just too far behind.
Transformers 2 was awesome. Megan fox was hot, but yes, it was a little much. But she's still hot.
The hangover was pretty funny. It wasn't as funny as some of the others, but alex was one of the funniest characters I can think of to date. It was like dumb and dumber meets jack black, meets juno. Good times.
Anyways, I can't wait to start working and lyrics and melodies, but I need to rent or find a better vocal mic. Maybe a nice nuemanns or an AKG eh? Smexy
Seattle is so cool. I love this city. I could seriously live here. What about the rain? Well I definattely wouldn't want to live hetre alone that's for sure. But I think it would be a great place to live, otherwise. The people here, are my people and it makes me feel so good to be accepted. I wish people enjoyed beards and moustaches more here though. In california, we love our moustaches. I guess washington is just too far behind.
Transformers 2 was awesome. Megan fox was hot, but yes, it was a little much. But she's still hot.
The hangover was pretty funny. It wasn't as funny as some of the others, but alex was one of the funniest characters I can think of to date. It was like dumb and dumber meets jack black, meets juno. Good times.
Anyways, I can't wait to start working and lyrics and melodies, but I need to rent or find a better vocal mic. Maybe a nice nuemanns or an AKG eh? Smexy
Monday, June 22, 2009
Its been too long I think
I was inspired to write this as I read my friends page. She had changed the name of her blog so it represented her life and who she is more fully. Which got me thinking, what does my blog title reflect of me? Is its name accurate? I've realized it is. So much so that since moving to washington, I am obsessed with the roads people have built in the cities I service. I love to drive down them for the sake of enjoying road and its physical features (pot holes, dips and hills etc), the sights and surrounding, and the the thought of what is at the end. Does it run into a beach? Does it run into a house? Maybe I can turn left or right. These different variables keep me exploring new roads,even if my friends just think I'm lost.
Is there a metaphor to this? Certainly. I suppose I love the roads of my mind, I love the roads of goals, and of friendships, and of relationship. Each of which, bring new sights sounds and options. Like some roads, you shouldn't go down them. Maybe its the vehicle in which you are driving it down that may make your trip seem uncertain of success. You may find yourself alone and realize that going at it alone will leave you stranded in a neighborhood, or situation, maybe an emotional disposition.
What roads do we choose? Why do we choose them? Why go down one if you don't know where it will lead? Because its fun. I find myself going down many roads for the thrill of where it will lead. I suppose I can look back and see that there are some roads I should not traveled, only for the fact that they went to a dead in.
I suppose I fear going backwards. I am always looking forward. It could be that, that is my struggle with life, is is learning when to stop and turn back around. Being as stubborn ad I am, I always assume there is another turn, or another road that will head toward a more sure exit, back to the roads I am more familiar with. There are times I may be with a person eho knows the roads better than I. But if I am in the drivers seat. Damned if I dont go down the path of my choose, for better or for worse.
But what about the roads we ourselves build? Like any good engineer, he studies his predecessors. He builds his roads. As a student he makes mistakes. But with a heart and resolve to become more excellent, he learns from his mistakes, and creates, more masterful roads, that others can travel down too.
I suppose I may have built a road just now.
(unedited on purpose)
Is there a metaphor to this? Certainly. I suppose I love the roads of my mind, I love the roads of goals, and of friendships, and of relationship. Each of which, bring new sights sounds and options. Like some roads, you shouldn't go down them. Maybe its the vehicle in which you are driving it down that may make your trip seem uncertain of success. You may find yourself alone and realize that going at it alone will leave you stranded in a neighborhood, or situation, maybe an emotional disposition.
What roads do we choose? Why do we choose them? Why go down one if you don't know where it will lead? Because its fun. I find myself going down many roads for the thrill of where it will lead. I suppose I can look back and see that there are some roads I should not traveled, only for the fact that they went to a dead in.
I suppose I fear going backwards. I am always looking forward. It could be that, that is my struggle with life, is is learning when to stop and turn back around. Being as stubborn ad I am, I always assume there is another turn, or another road that will head toward a more sure exit, back to the roads I am more familiar with. There are times I may be with a person eho knows the roads better than I. But if I am in the drivers seat. Damned if I dont go down the path of my choose, for better or for worse.
But what about the roads we ourselves build? Like any good engineer, he studies his predecessors. He builds his roads. As a student he makes mistakes. But with a heart and resolve to become more excellent, he learns from his mistakes, and creates, more masterful roads, that others can travel down too.
I suppose I may have built a road just now.
(unedited on purpose)
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