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So I got my motorcycle license recently. Congrats and all that crap.
And I get my stuff. I get the helmet, and the boots, and the gloves.
Foolish boy that I am, I forget to take my jacket and try and go riding.
Now, keep in mind throughout this story that I am going to look at this bike- I named her "Ursula" despite not owning it yet... Yeah. I like it that much. She's a Honda Rebel 250cc. Beautiful. tiptop condition.
I don't have ten hours on a bike. If you ride, you know what's coming.
So I follow the guy who's showing me Ursula. And she rides like the troop I named her after. Fine machine, gets up to forty, no problem.
Of course, The problem is when I want to turn.
I spill. Terribly. I know exactly what I did wrong! Not that that helps now while I'm nursing three nasty cases of road rash and some muscle bruises, and Ursula is nursing bent handlebars and some fuel tank damage.
The crazy thing is, I want to keep riding. I love it. It's great stuff.
The whole day was surreal. I mean, surreal. The entire time I'm going to and heading from the place, motorcycles keep passing me. there's even a dang custom Harley place on the way down Balboa. Sweet lookin' bikes.
Making it even more surreal was that there was a survey on the bus to and from the location, so I might get a free monthly pass out of it.
And on top of that, Urban Dictionary's word for today? Chew Toy.
All in all I'm far too busy laughing at everything to feel too much pain, though I might want some muscle rub soon.
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So you laugh away the pain
As you look into the eyes of a Son of Man
How can you reconcile
The God you know with the God you love?
In exchange for an eternal life
You throw away your body, heart, mind
For the Son of Man
You neglect yourself, those they tell you to
Can you look with me?
Into the eyes of a God made inscrutable
By thousands of voices
crying out in dissonance- as if at the behest
Of some Enemy within
Working not to scream out, but only to silence
I seek the Center
An eye deteched from a storm of suffering.
Can you look with me?
Into the eyes of a God made inscrutable
by its own creation
Not any fault but it's own
A petulant child
Who is upset that he broke his own toys?
Inscrutable, yes
But there nonetheless- odd Serendipity
Serves a strange Master
Seeking to fix a creation shattered
by its own Creator
Immortal, incomprehensible, yet somehow understood
Through a Cross or a Star
Or a Moon or a Wheel or hundreds of little gods
Can you look with me?
Into the eyes of a God made inscrutable?
Or are you afraid?
Afraid of a death that exists in our hearts, minds
Reminded by each
And every root and branch and fruit spoiled
Every split rock and
All the grass turned brown in eternal autumn
Can you look with me?
Can you not stay awake even one hour?
The Son of Man asks
And I reply, "Nay, I am too afraid, too lonely"
To which he asks me
"Why do you cower? I am only here and myself"
And I can't say why
Because if I did he would leave that hallowed place
And so now my eyes
They turn to you and they ask if you can look
Into the eyes of God
and I realize that until they see how inscrutable It is
No eyes can see It
No ears can hear It; to look upon it is to die
Does God exist?
Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.
He cannot see you
And you can't see him but he exists as an idea
You can't understand
So you make up stories to try and explain.
Religion is not
the ceremony around a cross or the reading of a book
At heart, it is only
One man, explaining to another why he must suffer. |
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*Sigh*
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Mar. 23rd, 2006 @ 03:10 pm
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An open letter to all the ladies:
WHYYYY must you LIE with your shirt? Just tell me that.
WHY must you LIE with your shirts? It's no longer funny, no longer even semi-hip. You do not "heart" nerds. You are not a princess. You are, BELIEVE me, not a bitch, or an angel or a demon.
Why must you LIE with your shirts? You wear them as if we're not supposed to read them, and then you have text on the shirt that says "Stop reading my shirt". Why not just remove the text so I CAN'T read it?
Why must you LIE with your shirts? Could someone tell me, please? |
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Once again, I'm left waiting. I live like that. I wait for things to happen to me. But well, I can't see me stopping that. It's a hard habit to break.
Bah. Enough ansting. Wasted Time's first chapter is revised to perfection, and ready to post...
Whenever I finish ReBound. Neener.
"I'm looking up at the moving clouds
I've been hit so hard this time I just might stay down
Now, if you were me, I would come back to get you
and if this is love, well, I don't remember
You won't find anyone that treats you better
We've already been through hell and high waters
I ain't sorry, baby, don't think that
We ain't done anything that I'd take back
Go on, pretend that you ain't changed
But don't worry 'bout me, baby- I'll see you when I get there
uh huh
uh huh
I'm looking up at the moving clouds
I've been down so long but I still think you might come around
I'm making plans for when you feel better
You just might want someone more familiar
You won't find anyone else to take you back
Sometimes you're an angel, but you're usually a pain in the ass
I ain't sorry baby, don't think that
We ain't done anything that I'd take back
Go on, pretend that you ain't changed
Don't worry 'bout me, baby- I'll see you when I get there
Uh huh, uh huh
Uh huh, uh huh
I need your love much more than I want it
You left me here with another bad habit
You found paradise and crawled to the shorelines
I saw a white flash and then I saw the lids of my eyes
I ain't sorry, baby, don't think that
We ain't done anything that I'd take back
Go on, pretend that you ain't changed
Don't worry 'bout me baby- I'll see you when I get there
(Don't worry about me baby) I'll see you when I get there
Uh-huh, uh-huh
Uh-huh, Uh-huh"
--The Wallflowers, "See You When I Get There"
Yeah... I'll see you when I get there, but... I need to get there, first....Current Mood:  See you when I get there |
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You know, for al the civic builduings in Van Nuys, you'd expect there to be lots of US Postal Service drop boxes. Those things you put mail in, right?
You'd be wrong. >Current Mood:  annoyed |
| » What do you call a group of mad scientists? |
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No, seriosuly, what do you call them?
All I did today was listen to 'Layla' and consider my ideas for the future of the ReBound epic.
The main thing that I noticed, though, was that there are going to be a lot of Joseph-gadgeteer-type antagonists in the sequels.
Everyone from some idiot who decided to build a Blue Aura Generator, to Johnny B., a young inventor and all-around decent type who wants these images OUT OF HIS HEAD, to Layla, who, like all good female mad scientists, is part antagonist, part love interest, and part world-dominating femme fatale.
Which is to say nothing of what's going to happen in ReBound, of which I will only say:
"Hello, and welcome to this week's episode of Hobson's Choice!..."
And at that, it still might give the wrong people too much information.
EDITACO: Check out my snazzy new Johari Window.
I hop on bandwagons!
Oh, and my Nohari too
Mar. 6th, 2006 @ 10:44 pm
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| » Eeeeeeeemo |
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You know, sometimes, it's good just to lie there, listening to Billy Joel and realizing that, yes, your heart is still beating.
Because sometimes you wonder about that. "Am I really still alive? I sit here, and I talk to people, but is that living?"
But your heart still beats
Irrefutable proof of your supposed existence
And you smile and nod and a tear shows up
For the heart that is still beating.
... Geez, that's morbid.
But who cares?
Mar. 5th, 2006 @ 06:06 pm
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| » Okay, this just pissed me off, so this is an open letter |
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Dear guys who did '1985':
WAY TO RIP OFF THE BEACH BOYS' 'KOKOMO', JERKOFFS.
Gods, of all the songs you could have picked to change the tempo and time of, you picked 'Kokomo' and made it into a song about how this lady is supposedly sitting around pondering how her life went so wrong when, really, her priorities changed.
WTG, DICKHEADS.
That's all,
--Fabricati
Mar. 5th, 2006 @ 04:55 pm
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| » Project complete... |
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And once again, I feel that hours worth of work and careful consideration went into something a third-grader could have cobbled together in five minutes.
Admittedly, it wouldn't have looked as considered (Whatever that may mean) and not as neat (because, let's face it, third-grader+Xacto-knife= NOOOOO BILLY), but still, it looks... third-gradery.
I know, I know, that's not really the case, but that's the impression I get from working with glue sticks and pieces of construction paper.
When I work in pencil and ink, I don't have this problem at all- probably because I've worked with those wonderful media all my life. But newspapers and construction paper and glue sticks just set something off. *shrug* meh, It'll all look OK in the morning. I hope.
ReBound may be a day late. I always hate to say that. This is because I am rapidly approaching deadline, but also rapidly approaching the point at which I can say "Yes, this chapter is OVER." Let's all hope they meet in relatively short order.
I can honestly say that this is my longest chapter to date, but by no means the longest arc I have planned for my dear boy Elliot. No, that honor goes to the Magicant sequence. Gwehehehehe.
Imma go to bed now.
Bye.
Feb. 28th, 2006 @ 12:04 am
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| » Of Dairy Queen, Dragon Quest, and Blind Dates |
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Oy.
As the above title might imply, I've put a lot back on to my plate recently- Namely, I've picked up Dragon Quest VIII, have started eating Blizzards again (a bad sign), and just set up a blind date for some documentary about my horrible dating life, which, no doubt, is a wonderful excercise- I just wish it wasn't about ME. Ah, well, I knew the job was dangerous when I took it. I'm just glad I seem to love the camera.
I'm going to level with you folks out in Internetland- unless you have one hundred hours at five hour stretches you can afford to lose, DON'T PICK UP DQVIII. Dear Goddess, it's engaging at its slowest, and maddeningly "One More Cutscene, PLEASE" at its best. Mind, don't expect to not do a touch of leveling here and there, but even then, you have all sorts of neat sidequests to keep you busy and walking around.
In fact, it is this very thing what has been putting me to bed at one in the morning. Sad, I know, but true. I'm starting to miss my alarm clock, which means it's wither time to switch alarm clocks, or time to start getting more sleep.
I think it's the latter.
I have a project due in about twelve hours, only a few of which I can work. But that's okay, all i need to do is cut some board and DO it.
Well, I'd better go do that, really.
Bah.
Actually, I shouldn't poo-poo this semester. It looks like I'll finally get what I need this time around, instead of just reaching for whatever's handy and fulfills my transfer requirements.
Very handy, really it is.
See, Foggy? This is what I get for paying my bills and registering in December. Nyaaaaah.
ReBound is strting to really FLOW now, maybe because I'm not beating at it like Elliot with a large blunt object.
I think my secret is safe there as well, which is good, because that sequence is SWEET.
But of course if I tell anyone, well, it won't be anywhere NEAR as sweet.
Keep on tricking my friends, and remember- SPIRITS ARE ALWAYS WITH YOU! BOOHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHA!
Feb. 20th, 2006 @ 10:07 pm
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fabricati's journal