done.

cool cartoons found on th’ Book.
the mirror post

stop making sense

Photo on 8-22-14 at 4.40 PM

nothing is better than this… issit?

Photo on 8-19-14 at 11.55 AM

our medium is handwriting. but
*don’t* trust even this little
bit of score; i can’t keep a beat
*even in real life*… not like a
drummer, say… with my rhythmic
body and *darn well* haven’t learned
how to put the *numbers* in.
syllable counts and beat counts just
blur up fast when i try to get a handle
on suchlike matters so i always give up
right away.

but scribbling out this display here
*was* helpful in learning to play the
damn thing out note-by-note. (i’ve been
wandering around the house singing this
for a few weeks now).

230px-Hamilton-appealing2

john 1:1 at w’edia.

Photo on 7-25-14 at 7.30 PM

this mac-book is new today.
it resembles Legion.
its name is (hereby)
Mephistopheles.

Fisto, for short.

trouble mousing around. bailing.

Introduction
(Lines 1—40)

God (as I choose to call my higher power)
Grant me an audience for half an hour
And I will, if I can, do all the rest.
My subject is the story I know best;
I mean my own. It starts in a motel,
The night of my divorce. I felt like Hell.

Think of a pilot, learning how to fly,
Who, though he should know better, flies too high,
Then falls in the Atlantic and is drowned.
His body and the plane are never found.
There’s something like our marriage in that story,
The way it shoots to misery from glory.
The similarity might not be strong,
But, as to suffering, I’m never wrong:
Divorce is brutal. Trust me when I say
I’d rather be that pilot any day.

Lisa, in a voice that tore my heart,
Had told me, “From now on, we’ll live apart.”
I’ll keep your stuff till you’ve got your new place.
The First Street house is mine. I want my space.”
And so, a stranger in my own home town,
I left my room to have a look around.

Across the street, a Big Red liquor store
And Waffle House. A porno shop next door.
“The restaurant then. For now, I’ll do what’s right.
I’ve got no strength for sex and drugs tonight.”
The waitress, call her Ruby, perked me up.
I never saw the bottom of my cup.
A refill and a smile, and off she’d glide;
She wore her sixty years with grace and pride.

“Why look upon myself and curse my fate:
I couldn’t stand to only serve and wait.
I’ll bet that woman’s life is harder still
Than mine, by far. And, if I only will,
I could throw all my misery away
And love my life the way it is today!”

If that was true—and I don’t think it was—
I proved myself an awful fool, because
For years I didn’t love my life at all.
The story starts with my decline and fall.

These are the fathers of Joseph the Carpenter:
Abraham, Isaac, and so on. Why bother?
None of it’s relevant genealogically
touching on Jesus if Joe’s not his father.

“Make straight the way for a voice in the wilderness!
Here comes The Branch! He’ll be King of the Jews!
I, John the Baptist, preach soteriology!
This is the end of the world! That’s good news!”

Verily, verily, Jesus of Nazareth
sat on a hill and he spoke from on high,
never once mentioning parthenogenisis,
reincarnation, or how he would die.

Andrew, Bartholomew, Matthew and Thaddeaus,
James son of Zebedee, John his dear brother,
Phillip and Thomas and James son of Alphaeus,
Simon called Peter, and Simon (the other)
followed him faithfully all over Galilee
hearing his parables all through the land.
“Why won’t he talk to us nonallegorically?
Sure, we can hear, but we don’t understand!”

Then in the city of Holy Jerusalem
Jesus’s enemy, Caiaphas, said
“How dare he speak to me authoritatively?
Infamy! Blasphemy! I want him dead!”

Treacherous wretchedness! Judas Iscariot
came to Gesthemane leading a mob;
tipped off the enemy osculatorily.
Jesus forgave him, of course; that’s his job.

Jesus was sentenced by Pliate the Governor;
tortured to death as he ranted and raved.
“God has forsaken me! Lama sabachthani!”
He is still with us. Repent and be saved.

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    Vlorbik On Math Ed ('07—'09)
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