it's lonely at the topmy most intimate and personal details of my dramatic life
anothergreatblog
read my profile
sign my guestbook

Visit anothergreatblog's Xanga Site!

Name: Jeff
Birthday: 10/26/1983
Gender: Male


Message: message me


Member Since: 3/4/2006

SubscriptionsSites I Read
megwillems
darceedaboot
wooduh
morg12

Posting Calendar

|<< oldest | newest >>|
view all weblog archives

Get Involved!

Suggest a link

Recommend to friend

Create a site


Tuesday, July 17, 2007

how come all good things come to an end?

Nelly said it first. Let's be honest. There is a lot of clutter out there in cyberspace. So I have decided to clean house. Well not really. Transfer house? To the 2 that would read this, I'm sorry. I have a new blog. It will receive my undivided attention for the next (hmm 2 months?) it's a pretty simple URL -
www.anothergoodblog.blogspot.com

Xanga is just so awkward (like me), that I had to change 'er up. And I figured, the site wasn't worthy of GREAT, but rather good.
So thank you, my internet neighbours. I think I'll just let this thing run it's course out on Xanga...and for now, come over to blogspot - for my trivial stupid and mundane thoughts on life.

Jeff


Monday, July 16, 2007

Donate whatever you want

Raspberry mocha frap, comming off a long brutal work day, and a cluterred, acattered work week. Waterdamaged cell phone with a raging customer, and I'm the worthless human being.

Two hour tech support for a coke,

A 6 buck egg muffin from starbucks,

I sit sipping. Contemplating as a woman with autism, perhaps she has terrets to boot tries to fundraise. Right now its "warm day eh" 5 minutes ago it was the nice shirt. Her son can walk but her daughter not yet. Shaking, twitching, saying whatever story comes to mind in an effort to mimic social norms - completely failing as she drives more away than brings to her.

"everythings gonna be alright" plays above me. She has got to feel pain?

Walk with thbe sixpack into the landrover, and I'd love to believe I'm better but I'm really not.

Her brochure folder drops, not today thanks.

As I bitch about a wage increase, qualifying my worth into an hourly sum, type on my blackberry with "have a great day" in the background.

And perspective is everything here is what I tell myself, but what's perspective but a false equalizer? The anethestic for my disgruntled emotion. Something to make me feel a tad better about the size of my credit limit. As I lay financially naked on the floor, owning up to a ripped off feeling of self worth and a complicated sense of dimmed emotions.

Its not that I have it all, its just that I'd like to know what some of it means. What does it mean to not know what you feel? To have someone call you a worthless human? To walk past someone struggling with disease? What does it mean to be paid in a coke for two hours wage, to smile and chuckle awkwardly to the retarded?

I'll finish my whip cream and listen to the kid ask his dad for a venti black coffee. Look at my watch and get some ice cream for a group of souls working to save the world.

 


Tuesday, June 26, 2007

Currently Listening
The Soul Cages
By Sting
see related

Island of Souls

I have a wager,' the brave child spoke
The fisherman laughed though disturbed at the joke
'You will drink what I drink
But you must equal me,
And if the drink leaves me standing,
A soul shall go free'

With another year passed that the summer of soul cages starts
They will come up with the city, they will come up in cages and most will never be set free. Befriending the fisherman is easier than wagering with him
Forget that, just don’t even go to sea

The boy child is locked in the fisherman's yard
There's a bloodless moon where the oceans die
A shoal of night stars hang fire in the nets
And the chaos of cages where the crayfish lie

No poetry, no anger. This is not a lament for a summer yet to happen
It’s just a comment. We are in the soul cages – we’re living it. The Island of Souls is a gathering point. It’s where, if we’re clever, we’ll let the brave child speak – and wager a bet with the fisherman, in hopes that a soul will go free.

And what's in it for me, my pretty young thing?
Why should I whistle when the caged bird sings?
If you lose a wager with the king of the sea
You'll spend the rest of forever in the cage with me'

The payoff seems marginal, the risk is huge. By any standard it’s a lost cause.

One less soul in the soul cages

Ten weeks will come and go - and the Perseus on site are far and few.
Wager a bet.

At first just a rustle of canvas
And the gentlest breath on my face
But a galloping line of white horses
Said that soon we were in for a race


I believe in it however. I believe in this story, and I believe that it can be done. There’s a vintage that’s blessed every ship in the line.


Sunday, June 10, 2007

Inside.


Love me like a baby, love me like an only child
Love me like an ocean; love me like a mother mild
Love me like a father, love me like a prodigal son
Love me like a sister, love me like the world has just begun
Love me like a prodigy, love me like an idiot boy,
Love me like an innocent, love me like your favorite toy
Love me like a virgin, love me like a courtesan,
Love me like a sinner, love me like a dying man.

Inside the failures of the light, the night is wrapped around me
Inside my eyes deny their sight, you'd never find me in this place
Inside we're hidden from the moonlight, we shift between the shadows
Inside the compass of the night, inside the memory of your face

Outside the calmness of the breath, the breath that sustains me
Outside the shaking of the knee, the body breaks beneath me
Outside I’m calmer than a storm, outside the vein is moving
Outside my eyes do not despise, they sit beneath the shadows
Outside it’s my mind that’s in retreat, it’s my mind that disownes me.

I’ve tried, I’ve won, I’ve failed, I’ve met
I’ve seen, I’ve missed, I’ve claimed, I’ve called
I’ve grasped, I’ve got, I’ve slipped, I’ve stood
I’ve pulled, I’ve strained, I’ve sat, I’ve dwelled

Love me like a drunkard, Love me like an Indian Boy
Love me like a winner, love me like robber’s ploy
Love me like a bastard child, love me like a cynic
Love me like a prophet, love me like a chemo patient
Love me like I’m brilliant, love me like I’m a fool
Love me like I need a hug, love me like I’m a success

Inside my heads a box of stars, I never dared to open
Inside the wounds that hide the scars, inside the slaughter of the lamb
Inside the communion table, we sit, hold hands and dance
Inside the mask of depravity don’t know which way we’re going.

Outside it’s not the sun that doesn’t shine, outside it’s the clouds that cover
Outside the it’s not the hope that fades, it’s not the joy that comes.
Outside we come we sit, outside we long to be elsewhere
Outside our eyes do not decide, our body has determined.

Love me like a soldier, love me like a slum
Love me like a backpacker, love me like a man on a run
Love me like I need to, Love me like I could kill
Love me like a figure head, love me like your favourite pill.

Radiate me, subjugate me, incubate me, recreate me, demarcate me, educate me, punctuate me, evaluate me, conjugate me, impregnate me, designate me, humiliate me, segregate me, opiate me, calibrate me, replicate me




-unedited.don't shoot.


Monday, March 19, 2007

The end.

Blogs sprung up faster than Gas prices over the past year - and like most, we realized that deep down within, we really don't have as much to say as at o nce we may have thought...
The internet is everyone's whore and no one's mistress. She'll tempt without delivering, she'll cause you to pour out your heart in awkward moments of passion because you hope that by teasing her with clever thoughts and well captioned photo's of your weekend away she'll remain ready to refresh with the click of the mouse. But she always ends up, cigarette in mouth whistling Honey Suckle Rose whilst strolling down boredom boulevard...
There's a better website, better blog, better photos of weekends away. And we find Blogspot replacing xanga, replacing myspace, replacing nexopia to facebook.
And facebook too will love and leave once she has had her fun. Oh sure she'll stick around for a while - make ya believe this one's for real. But it just won't - neigh, it just can't last.
And so with this - on this monday evening at 8:21, sitting in my housecoat, eating macaroni, watching bridget jones' diary that I realize I am on my own edge of reason - and I am closing down the blog for now.

there you go -



Next 5 >>