Tylenol And Winter CoatsI liked football better back in the day when Dave M. was blocking Don H. using "the BASH technique", resulting in Don leaving bloody pools of spit in the white snow from where his braces cut his lips, and CT throwing me or Scott M. or Steve W. long, perfect spirals... when Tylenol and winter coats were our only padding. I forget which one of us hit the telephone pole at top speed--Jim K. or Dave, maybe, because I was already turned half-way around to run to my house to call 911, but that was cool too, since he calmly, unbelievably, stood up and brushed snow off his front and spiked the ball. The pole did, in fact, mark the end zone. 6 points!
Sleeping RoseOnce upon a time there was a forest filled with great trees. Their massive trunks towered into the sky as herds of deer browsed the undergrowth and wild forest plants. Squirrels, weasels, mice and foxes spent their days and nights burrowing for nuts and seeds and stalking in the rich, soft loam, as did all manner of birds, which filled the air with songs both joyful and haunting.One day a wealthy man on a fine stallion came through the forest with a few others, picking his way along deer trails and among the leaf-strewn open spaces under the canopy, through which fingers of sunlight caressed the ground, making dust motes and gnats sparkle as they floated. He brushed spiderwebs from his face with irritation.Not long after that day, teams of peasant men came with axes and began chopping into the trees, laughing as they fell, setting to work cutting them up into managable parts and hauling them away to the mill on the big stream several hills away with teams of gia
Fear as FaithYou may not marry outside the faith.Your life becomes forfeitWe hold it null.We will not have our name despoiled,Our control shown weakAnd god's name besmirched.We fear the will of prying eyes,Our hard work void,Our standing gone.We fear the others not like us,The lure of freedomToo much to bear.We fear that all our young will goAnd be like them,Free to worship in a different way.So in god's wisdomDefilement of your faceSo no bright warrior will want you now.Here is the ending of your lifeAs we sweep you out of your roomUnder the rug.Our honour held as we honour god,In his wisdom so we hold our peace,And let none speak of freedom again.copyright J. Shidler 2011-01-23/24
I, RobotAUTHOR'S NOTE: I've tried a few things to fix the type going out of the box, but for now what works best is to Press the "T" button at the top right to change the font. --thanks!I've gradually come to realize why I need to be so uncomfortable at times. Whether it is anxiety or manic depressive swings (sorry, that's "bipolar disorder" this week. Changing the name has made it sound like something new that doctors just invented recently and coincidentally just invented the cure for, and falls in line with maintaining the new united corporate identity of Psychiatric "Disorderliness". "Disorder" sounds better on the doctor's health insurance claim request form, more likely to loosen the purse strings. Next week I vote we use "happy/sad predispositional long-term expensively treatable with mixed, sometimes dangerous results and quite possibly, because it's in these books and my 80 year old professor said so, unless it really isn't, some kind of insanity diso
Barrier of TimeOh so sadWhen good is badAnd everybody cares.Far away armsWith far away farmsBetween.Your summerlike heatBurns in retreat,Flames trail behind.High in your towerYou kiss the hoursAnd lay them down to sleep.Pace the parapetIn your mantelet,Longing away to fly.When every hourIs a flowerHow can we let them die?The earth moves slowAs wizards knowAnd flowers carry seedsOf floral fieldsWith space to reelWhere anything can grow.copyright J. Shidler 2011-01-23/24
Slave to The ShaveMonday: Shave.Tuesday: Shave.Wednesday: Shave.Thursday is a scruffy day.Friday: Shave twice--date tonight.Saturday is a scruffy day.Sunday: Shave.*sigh*.Monday: Shave.Tuesday: Shave.Wednesday: Shave...copyright J. Shidler 01-2011
Electronica FieldsWhat is the nature of non-natural songs?Are they meant to enfold us, to string us along,To take us away to electronica fields?But there, now I've said it, the field is the thing!Let me take you around to my fields made of sound.Stand still while I hold you with sonic surrounds.Whisker wheat taps the snare made of Xes and Ohs.Oh, no it doesn't, those are ones and zeroes.Like a fish through an ocean, chasing bubbles of air,Through an aural aurora that's not really thereExcept as a sandwich of electronica thingsThat no one can play and that no one can singAnd a blue visualization with boxes and rings.We sift softly through the house of keystrokeBreathing sweat and pet dander instead of whiskey and smoke;Sip our clear soda water as the mothership landsAnd the DJ strings loops not created by bandsTo a room where pure oxygen is sold as a drugTo the already mood-altered who stare at the rugWith electronica eyes and elastica smilesAnd the mood seems to stretch on for miles
All Tomorrow's PartiesAre we there yet?Another year;All those hours slid bySo slow, so dear.How do we save themNow they're gone?By what we learned,How they made us feel?By who we loved,Or what we feared?I'll never trade them,Those slow cold hours,After midnight,Not yet dawn,Her voice etherealThrough the telephone,Travelling long,Travelling long.Those restless days,And rolling nights.Whiskey wantonCalling out names,Sometimes all wrong,Sometimes just right,When the strong stood fastAnd the weak took flight.There's still powerIn a name,Still some moves leftIn the game.Some of usWho feel the same.Stoke the fire,And roll the die.We're travelling long,Travelling longWhen the smoke clearsYet again,The old steam engineIs a bullet train.Pretty conductorTo take your fareAnd the magic isThis train goes anywhere!Mag-levitationThe quicker rideWith a higher fareAnd a smoother glide.To all of thoseWho had halfway ticketsStanding thereListening to the cricketsWe're travel