Puke on Pavement

Raising Up
It's a lazy and oh so dreary day here in Macomb. Looking out across the Quad, I presume everyone is stuck the type of unproductive malaise that overcast skies and cool weather tend to bring out in all. Even the rain is impotent today; it really is Sunday weather on a Saturday afternoon.
In the midst of this restless calm I found myself with the wild eye of a shunned writer once again, and having rolled up my sleeves in a haphazard way and carefully made sure my hair looked as if I hadn't carefully done anything to it, I am ready to write. The music is turned up, the online conversations ended, and in my most anal retentive fashion, my bed is made. The Rant is drawing nigh.

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Thoughts on Towing Jehovah
So it seems I've managed to read a book for pleasure, so I thought I'd bring it up real subtle like so as to seem smart. Think it'll work?
The novel in question, Towing Jehovah, by James Morrow, is nothing short of greatness. Seriously, if you call it anything other than great, you're selling it short; I cannot stress that enough.
The story seems simple enough...God has died, as in, died for real. None of that Neitzche, people don't need religion, God has died, wackiness. The body of God, all two miles of it, has died and fallen out of Heaven directly into the Atlantic Ocean (0 degrees by 0 degrees, strangely enough). To put things in perspective, a floating dock is secured to His body with His own armpit hair.
Tarnished, unloved, brutish, but brazenly rogue Captain Van Horne is called upon by the Archangel Raphael, in the wilting angel-flesh, to tow the Corpus Dei to a previously prepared grave in the Arctic. You can imagine the reaction people, namely the crew and a small group of intellectual rationalists/skeptics, have towards finding out that first, there was a literal God, and second, He's dead. You can imagine their reaction, but you would be wrong. At least, I hope you'd be wrong, or apparently I'm no judge of character, and you're a freak.
With sometimes harsh, though certainly sometimes accurate, commentary on the Church, so-called Rationalists, Feminists, and humanity in general, Morrow weaves together one hell of a tale. I'd suggest picking it up today. Seriously, this day. Regardless of your views on religion and God's existence or ability to un-exist, this book will keep you entertained and pondering the type of ponders this world needs more of now and then.

Lexicon
As some may know, I am a member of the Associated Students of Philosophy, here at the intellectual center of McDonough County, Western Illinois University. As a member, I am privy to bi-weekly debates on a range of topics. In actuality, everyone is welcome to these meetings, but let us allow that one to slide.
As at other times in my life, in these meetings I am often forced to weed through a certain man's tangled web of Scrabble-words to find out what he's actually trying to say. What I mean is that there is a member that rarely says anything overly earthshattering, but if you weren't paying attention to him, you'd think he was saying something incredibly insightful by the words he uses to express himself. He uses tweleve words when four would do...seven letters when a simple nod would suffice. I try to believe that most people in this world, certainly in the ASP, can see through this smoke and mirrors, but you never can be too sure in with these things. I do however remember listening to Busta Rhymes use the word "manifest" sixty two times in a single sentence and people thinking he was actually saying something intelligent. Deciding to take advantage of the small chance people can't see through his act, I would now like to express my opinion on a topic I think all of us are concerned with...rainy days.
The atmosphere located immediately above my residence hall and temporary domicile has filled with large bodies of fine water droplets which are falling on occassion. Each interval of precipitation encountered by this North Quad community has a decidedly adverse effect on life for local inhabitants, but also serves a greater good, a necessary function, which must be recognized for the value it holds. But perhaps, just perhaps, I have found myself leaping ahead in my exposition in an unneeded and in fact, hindering fashion. Alas, I digress.
As previously stated, water vapor has collected in said cloud formations, or in this particular arrangement, a virtual blanket of cloudmatter. In leu of other, more dazzling and differntiable patters, Mother Nature has chosen a Stratoculmulus stratiformis as the covering to our midwestern sky. It is just that stratiformis that has given rise to a multitude of plummeting droplets of Earth's most desired compound, water. The layman calls these droplets, and indeed this entire phenomenon, "rain."
During certain irregular periods throughout the last quarter rotation of the globe, those standing below the ever-thickening sheets of rain have began to feel drops of rain hitting them sporadically, and then with a more regulated, even, but frequency-increased rate of pelting, leaving those still outside wet as wet can truly be. For just such a reason, I remain indoors this afternoon.

OK, I was going to keep going with that nonsense, but really, I just wanted to kick my own ass for sounding like such a tool. All I ask is that the next time you want to seem smart, read a book instead of trying to talk like you're writing your own.

Soundbite
I say that everyone feels fundamentally the same about most important things. You clarify that what I mean is everyone feels the same underneath the more superficial dressings.
You say you don't want to waste time in class or waste away in a job you'll hate. I say I want to spend my life throwing rocks at a rising pond and watching them skip like dragonflies daring feeding bluegills.
I say it always boils down to a girl. Fuck the money, fuck the grades, fuck the friends. It's always a girl that gets you in the end. You say it's just the way things are, and true peace lies in rolling with punches, swallowing pain whole, and digesting it fully with a grin.
You say a smile is worth a year's pay sometimes, and a good laugh is what really keeps the doctor away. I say I've had beers before that tasted like love. I've had a couple that tasted like coolant from the dripping radiator of an overheated autobus.
You probably think I'm crazy for thinking a twist-off tastes just a little fake, and a draft's only good for getting drunk.
I say sometimes it's better to keep walking when it starts to rain than to rush for cover. You say it's even better to dance and splash in a puddle. I say you're probably right.
You say it gets no better than the Doobie Brothers. I ask about the Stones or even Credence. We agree any song you can sing along with works fine.
I ask if you get depressed, and you say deeper than a thousand Hallmark hells. I tell a story about this cute girl calling for me from inside a Hallmark one time. Maybe I just don't get it.
You say you want to go home. I ask where that's at nowadays. You don't even know.
I say when you're in love, and you're in nature, you are immortal, ancient, timeless. I say it's as if you've been there forever and when you walk, omniscient owls watch while the spirits of long dead Indians reach for dropped arrowheads beside the flowing creek you hop across. You say you saw me there.
You tell me you you're tired and hope you can get up in the morning. I say I rarely suggest it.
I asked why Jesus would commit suicide-by-cop. You rolled your eyes and said it's not all about the catchy phrase. Maybe you just don't get it.
You say you wrote a poem once that ended up sounding too "emo." I say I knew someone that wrote REM's "Everybody Hurts," seven years after that single came out. You don't even look surprised.
I said that a healthy disregard for one's health is actually pretty healthy. You said for me to take my pills. Sometimes you're just no fun.
You said that you can't stay drunk your whole life....said you can't afford it. I laughed.
I say that things went from really good to really bad, really fast...which I guess is just her nature, fast. You say at least I got it over with quick. I love to hate when you're right.
You said you love to feel cold inside sometimes. I just grin and say I know how to warm you up. You say I'm not helping, and grin too.
I don't say anything sometimes. Sometimes neither do you.
You run your hand down the side of my weary face and say that we seem to share a mind. I ask why you had to take the single moment of anything slightly good in my life and tarnish it with the truth. We're not special are we?
I said I don't ever again want to be in such a hurry that I can't stop to compliment someone's shirt. You say you like my shirt, and I should wear it on a first date sometime.
You say I remind you of a guy you used to know. I say you remind me of him too. You don't see the humor.
I am they are you are we are those are we comforting ourselves with lies?

Raising Up It's a lazy and oh so dreary day here in Macomb. Looking out across the Quad, I presume everyone is stuck the type of unproductive malaise that overcast skies and cool weather tend to bring out in all. Even the rain is impotent today; it really is Sunday weather on a Saturday afternoon. In the midst of this restless calm I found myself with the wild eye of a shunned writer once again, and having rolled up my sleeves in a haphazard way and carefully made sure my hair looked as if I hadn't carefully done anything to it, I am ready to write. The music is turned up, the online conversations ended, and in my most anal retentive fashion, my bed is made. The Rant is drawing nigh.		Rants Columns Dialogues Essays Contributors Preserves Links Contact Guestbook Sign View View/Old Quotes Pictures Home

Thoughts on Towing Jehovah So it seems I've managed to read a book for pleasure, so I thought I'd bring it up real subtle like so as to seem smart. Think it'll work? The novel in question, Towing Jehovah, by James Morrow, is nothing short of greatness. Seriously, if you call it anything other than great, you're selling it short; I cannot stress that enough. The story seems simple enough...God has died, as in, died for real. None of that Neitzche, people don't need religion, God has died, wackiness. The body of God, all two miles of it, has died and fallen out of Heaven directly into the Atlantic Ocean (0 degrees by 0 degrees, strangely enough). To put things in perspective, a floating dock is secured to His body with His own armpit hair. Tarnished, unloved, brutish, but brazenly rogue Captain Van Horne is called upon by the Archangel Raphael, in the wilting angel-flesh, to tow the Corpus Dei to a previously prepared grave in the Arctic. You can imagine the reaction people, namely the crew and a small group of intellectual rationalists/skeptics, have towards finding out that first, there was a literal God, and second, He's dead. You can imagine their reaction, but you would be wrong. At least, I hope you'd be wrong, or apparently I'm no judge of character, and you're a freak. With sometimes harsh, though certainly sometimes accurate, commentary on the Church, so-called Rationalists, Feminists, and humanity in general, Morrow weaves together one hell of a tale. I'd suggest picking it up today. Seriously, this day. Regardless of your views on religion and God's existence or ability to un-exist, this book will keep you entertained and pondering the type of ponders this world needs more of now and then.

Lexicon As some may know, I am a member of the Associated Students of Philosophy, here at the intellectual center of McDonough County, Western Illinois University. As a member, I am privy to bi-weekly debates on a range of topics. In actuality, everyone is welcome to these meetings, but let us allow that one to slide. As at other times in my life, in these meetings I am often forced to weed through a certain man's tangled web of Scrabble-words to find out what he's actually trying to say. What I mean is that there is a member that rarely says anything overly earthshattering, but if you weren't paying attention to him, you'd think he was saying something incredibly insightful by the words he uses to express himself. He uses tweleve words when four would do...seven letters when a simple nod would suffice. I try to believe that most people in this world, certainly in the ASP, can see through this smoke and mirrors, but you never can be too sure in with these things. I do however remember listening to Busta Rhymes use the word "manifest" sixty two times in a single sentence and people thinking he was actually saying something intelligent. Deciding to take advantage of the small chance people can't see through his act, I would now like to express my opinion on a topic I think all of us are concerned with...rainy days. The atmosphere located immediately above my residence hall and temporary domicile has filled with large bodies of fine water droplets which are falling on occassion. Each interval of precipitation encountered by this North Quad community has a decidedly adverse effect on life for local inhabitants, but also serves a greater good, a necessary function, which must be recognized for the value it holds. But perhaps, just perhaps, I have found myself leaping ahead in my exposition in an unneeded and in fact, hindering fashion. Alas, I digress. As previously stated, water vapor has collected in said cloud formations, or in this particular arrangement, a virtual blanket of cloudmatter. In leu of other, more dazzling and differntiable patters, Mother Nature has chosen a Stratoculmulus stratiformis as the covering to our midwestern sky. It is just that stratiformis that has given rise to a multitude of plummeting droplets of Earth's most desired compound, water. The layman calls these droplets, and indeed this entire phenomenon, "rain." During certain irregular periods throughout the last quarter rotation of the globe, those standing below the ever-thickening sheets of rain have began to feel drops of rain hitting them sporadically, and then with a more regulated, even, but frequency-increased rate of pelting, leaving those still outside wet as wet can truly be. For just such a reason, I remain indoors this afternoon. OK, I was going to keep going with that nonsense, but really, I just wanted to kick my own ass for sounding like such a tool. All I ask is that the next time you want to seem smart, read a book instead of trying to talk like you're writing your own.

Soundbite I say that everyone feels fundamentally the same about most important things. You clarify that what I mean is everyone feels the same underneath the more superficial dressings. You say you don't want to waste time in class or waste away in a job you'll hate. I say I want to spend my life throwing rocks at a rising pond and watching them skip like dragonflies daring feeding bluegills. I say it always boils down to a girl. Fuck the money, fuck the grades, fuck the friends. It's always a girl that gets you in the end. You say it's just the way things are, and true peace lies in rolling with punches, swallowing pain whole, and digesting it fully with a grin. You say a smile is worth a year's pay sometimes, and a good laugh is what really keeps the doctor away. I say I've had beers before that tasted like love. I've had a couple that tasted like coolant from the dripping radiator of an overheated autobus. You probably think I'm crazy for thinking a twist-off tastes just a little fake, and a draft's only good for getting drunk. I say sometimes it's better to keep walking when it starts to rain than to rush for cover. You say it's even better to dance and splash in a puddle. I say you're probably right. You say it gets no better than the Doobie Brothers. I ask about the Stones or even Credence. We agree any song you can sing along with works fine. I ask if you get depressed, and you say deeper than a thousand Hallmark hells. I tell a story about this cute girl calling for me from inside a Hallmark one time. Maybe I just don't get it. You say you want to go home. I ask where that's at nowadays. You don't even know. I say when you're in love, and you're in nature, you are immortal, ancient, timeless. I say it's as if you've been there forever and when you walk, omniscient owls watch while the spirits of long dead Indians reach for dropped arrowheads beside the flowing creek you hop across. You say you saw me there. You tell me you you're tired and hope you can get up in the morning. I say I rarely suggest it. I asked why Jesus would commit suicide-by-cop. You rolled your eyes and said it's not all about the catchy phrase. Maybe you just don't get it. You say you wrote a poem once that ended up sounding too "emo." I say I knew someone that wrote REM's "Everybody Hurts," seven years after that single came out. You don't even look surprised. I said that a healthy disregard for one's health is actually pretty healthy. You said for me to take my pills. Sometimes you're just no fun. You said that you can't stay drunk your whole life....said you can't afford it. I laughed. I say that things went from really good to really bad, really fast...which I guess is just her nature, fast. You say at least I got it over with quick. I love to hate when you're right. You said you love to feel cold inside sometimes. I just grin and say I know how to warm you up. You say I'm not helping, and grin too. I don't say anything sometimes. Sometimes neither do you. You run your hand down the side of my weary face and say that we seem to share a mind. I ask why you had to take the single moment of anything slightly good in my life and tarnish it with the truth. We're not special are we? I said I don't ever again want to be in such a hurry that I can't stop to compliment someone's shirt. You say you like my shirt, and I should wear it on a first date sometime. You say I remind you of a guy you used to know. I say you remind me of him too. You don't see the humor. I am they are you are we are those are we comforting ourselves with lies?

Puke on Pavement

Raising Up

Thoughts on Towing Jehovah

Lexicon

Soundbite