Tuesday, September 26, 2006

sat down and wrote this poem recently at my local coffee area.

Poem #2

i was evolving out through the park
grass frolicking on the lawns
housing woody and square
the wrinkles round my thought
age and the way of sight
going out through the evening
striding through the twilight
seeing the suns flood
across the sky
early in the current
walking on through space and time

I think it's pretty good, just pondering the lyric "there's wrinkles round my baby's eyes" from the bruce dude who always goes on about fixin' cars and such.

To be where you are, just as you are, have you ever considered that? -what it would be to be "just as you are"?
It seemed to me again that any circumstance could be seen in any variety of ways.

Saturday, September 23, 2006

idiot's song

They don't bother me. They let me go my way.
They say that nothing can happen.
How nice.
Nothing can happen. Everything comes and circles
forever around the Holy Ghost,
around that certain ghost (you know)-,
how nice.

No, one truly mustn't think that there's
anything dangerous in this.
Of course, that's the blood.
The blood is the heaviest thing. The blood is heavy.
Sometimes I think I can't go on any more-,
(How nice.)

Ah, what is this a pretty ball;
red and round like an overall,
Nice, that you made it.
Will it come when one calls?

How all of this names itself rare,
driven together, flowing apart:
friendly, a bit uncertain.
How nice.

I am too alone in the world, and yet not alone enough
to make every hour holy.
I am too small in the world, and yet not tiny enough
just to stand before you like a thing,
just as it is.
I want my will, and I want to be with my will
as it moves toward deed;
and in those quiet, somehow hesitating times
when something is approaching,
I want to be with those who are wise,
or else alone.
I want always to be a mirror that reflects your whole being,
and never to be too blind or too old
to hold your heavy swaying image.
I want to unfold
Nowhere do I want to remain
because where I am bend .....

this is a lousy translation, maybe done by a computer. No use copying in the rest of it. It's from Rilke's Book of Hours.

It was a nice day and we worked on Tekki Sandan, which is one of the trickier forms.

Thursday, September 21, 2006


Bad slang words to use on an airplane:
"the bomb". Never refer to anything as being "the bomb". As in, "man, that movie was the bomb!" Or some federal air marshalls will probably be pinning you to the floor with your arm in an armlock.

I'm kind of ill today and feel weird. Maybe it's the change in the weather.

in the fridge:
fruit salad
old stir-fry w/ rice

good movies to see:
tokyo story: ozu
the devil and daniel johnston
office space

Monday, September 11, 2006

walked to the circle k

and thought to myself, what does all of this matter? Things change, stuff happens, the clouds roll along over the sky, the rivers flow to the sea, the waters roll by, but they are not the original waters, thoughts pass through the mind, dishes get washed, buses roll around, people make whooping sounds,
working all day in my daddy's garage
driving all night, chasing some mirage.

John Yoo has got to be one of my least favorite people, the talking-head lawyer that tries to justify Bush trying to hog all the power. How does he live with himself? How can he really believe that the constitution says anything about the president getting all the power, when it clearly says nothing like that? How does he sleep nights? Good job on trying to destroy the fundamental basis of our democracy, John. I'll give you a pat on the back---not. And to make matters worse, UC Berkeley gave you a job, my alma mater, so Berkeley gets slimed too.


There is a pain-so utter-
It swallows substance up-
Then covers the Abyss with Trance-
So Memory can step
Around-across-upon it-
As one within a Swoon-
Goes safely-were an open eye-
Would drop Him-Bone by Bone

Saturday, September 09, 2006

I felt

I felt the hour rising up
and stillness reigned
steam rising from my cup
light coming down in train
if only it could fill me
water to a thirsty man
take away the folded leaves
questions of can't and can
I felt the hour rising up
and the sun was setting low
i put the Moon into a cup
and sighed to see it go

-chris farrell

That's a poem I wrote like ten years ago, when I was young and foolish, or at least ten years younger than I am now. The biography on me is going to be called "The Price of Genius". Not bad, right?

Composed upon Westminster Bridge

Earth has not anything to show more fair:
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty:
This City now doth like a garment, wear
The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
Open unto the fields, and to the sky;
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
Never did sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill;
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will:
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!

If the above poem seems wordsworthian, that's because it is by wordsworth.

The Lamb

Little Lamb who made thee
Dost thou know who made thee
Gave thee life & bid thee feed,
By the stream & o'er the mead;
Gave thee clothing of delight,
Softest clothing wooly bright;
Gave thee such a tender voice,
Making all the vales rejoice:
Little Lamb who made thee
Dost thou know who made thee

Little Lamb I'll tell thee,
Little Lamb Ill tell thee;
He is called by thy name,
For he calls himself a Lamb:
He is meek & he is mild,
He became a little child:
I a child & thou a lamb,
We are called by his name.
Little Lamb God bless thee,
Little Lamb God bless thee.
-william blake, songs of innocence and experience

I really feel kind of tired today for some reason. Who knows what it might be. Maybe it is living in a country where people without money can't get any justice. Maybe that's it.

Friday, September 08, 2006

homeland security

In this new age of terrorism, it may be the case that the American people have to accept some kind of wiretapping or whatnot. Let's be realistic: there are nasty people out there that want to kill us, and Bush didn't just make that fact up to scare us. It's really out there. It's also true that that problem is getting worse because of our policies, but that's another story.
The point is, if Bush wanted more power, he should have gone through proper channels. He's not king. Ted Koppel said just that last night on Charlie Rose. He said what I'm saying, which is that there may be cases where we have to give up a freedom or two. These are complicated questions. But when George junior just goes and does what he wants like he's king, that's not acceptable.
Speaking of Ted, that guy has a lot of intelligence and poise, it is obvious. That's the cool thing about TV, I guess. Sometimes Charlie gets guys on there that really know how to talk and make a point, people that can really choose their words carefully and really leave an impression. The news hour with Jim Lehrer, on the other hand, has a lot of people that really don't know much, but I like Jim anyway, and Ray, and Margaret, and the whole gang.

What I have been reading recently:

The Get Fuzzy Experience, about a cat with a bad attitude
"Tropic of Capricorn" by Henry Miller, because George Orwell said he was worth reading and he had some similarity to Walt Whitman.
"Collected Essays of George Orwell". A great writer that has fallen off in popularity.
The Book of Job. Over and over.
"How to Compost": fun with composting.
"History of Shotokan", about the old inventory of this particular style. Karate history is kind of nebulous because nobody wrote much of anything down.
The expiration dates on milk bottles. I got a bad milk at Fred's today. Fortunately they were nice about giving me another. If you check the dates out, some of them sit there for weeks....

Seen on the street: "Without Beavers there would be no water. Without water, there would be no life. Choose the Beavers. Choose life."

I try to not feel superior to people that are still out there wreaking havoc on their bodies with drugs and alcohol. I try not to feel superior, but I fail.


DDNR (abbreviation) : Drunk Did Not Return. Condition of no longer being able to continue a specific activity due to over-consumption of alcohol. Often invoked in the middle of a board game, card game or physical activity and/or recorded on a scoring sheet. Can be used as an adjective or verb.
I know it's Sue's turn, but we'll have to skip her. She’s DDNR in the other room. Don't forget to mark Allison DDNR for the second round! Tom Can't play this hand. He's DDNRing.

Good Shotokan karate Seminar coming Up: Friday Sep 14th 5-7pm, Boy's and Girl's Club. Featuring Sensei Chris Smaby, 7th degree. He is a great instructor and also trains police in real-world techniques. Be there or be normal.

I'm feeling very persecuted these days. It seems like people just get messed over and despite being good people they keep getting messed with, kind of like Job or something, which I am reading a lot of, by the way.

I'm taking a Linux class this Fall. I figure it is kind of a neat thing, and I like messing with computers, so why not? And there is no way I want to spend the money to get Vista, which will just be a waste of time anyway.

So Bush suddenly wants Congress to pass a bill that makes all the illegal stuff he did legal? Why should they? Time to call Bush to account, lock him up, throw away the key. Tell him it's a fraternity prank.