some rough lyrics

Call it what you will
I can't think without the pills
I die a little too fast
fall asleep on the floor at last

I left notes in all your sweaters
just in case you're under the weather
I left notes in all your sweaters
your sister said you'd never get em

a bird in hand,
struggles less than a flock in a cage,
whistled to my horse to hit the sand,
just to try and get behind your face,

I returned all your cassettes,
turned to leave your cheeks were wet,
I returned all your cassettes,
your sister said we'd never met

Meditations on Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, Pt. 1

Pirsig contends that classicism and romanticism are dichotomous. As a preface to my questioning of this, I'll admit that I'm probably splitting hairs; the dichotomy serves his end in the book. My issue, however, lies in the fact that both of these paradigms admitted facets of the other as useful. Romantics didn't entirely dismiss the notion of the world as ordered and controlled, they simply placed higher value on a more imaginative interpretation of the world. I'm certain aspects of romanticism were functional in classicism in some way also.

When I think further on the subject, it becomes clear that my issue might actually be with the two characters in the book that represent these different views. The author and his son-in-law John seem too diametrically opposed at some points. It simply seems to me that they are very one dimensional in their mental approaches, but I grant that I'm only 100 pages into the book. My irritation with this might also be caused by some naivety; certainly, there are many people in the world who think very restrictively. Using not one track mind to arrive, but always choosing the same vehicle (a motorcycle? :S blegh).

Other than that entirely useless gripe, I've enjoyed the book so far. Some interesting mind doodles on sense of place, personal relationships, stubbornness, and technology. Now, I should probably read some school related material instead.

of Love

When love beckons to you, follow him

Though his ways are hard and steep.

And when his wings enfold you yield to him,

Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.

And when he speaks to you believe in him,

Though his voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden.

For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.

Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,

So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.

Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself.

He threshes yout o make you naked.

He sifts you to free you from your husks.

He grinds you to whiteness.

He kneads you until you are pliant;

And then he assigns you to his sacred fire, that you may become sacred bread for God's sacred feast.

All these things shall love do unto you that you may know the secrets of your heart, and in that knowledge become a fragment of Life's heart.

But if in your fear you would seek only love's peace and love's pleasure,

Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love's threshing floor,

Into the seasonless world where you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep, but not all of your tears.

Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself.

Love possesses not nor would it be possessed;

For love is sufficient unto love.

When you love you should not say, "God is in my heart," but rather, "I am in the heart of God."

And think not you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.

Love has no other desire but to fulfil itself.

But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires:

To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.

To know the pain of too much tenderness.

To be wounded by your own understanding of love;

And to bleed willingly and joyfully.

To wake at darn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;

To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstacy;

To return home at eventide with gratitude;

And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips.

Kahlil Gibrahn

what's the buzz

oh neglected blog, do you pine for my attention like her neck for his lips, or do you regard my inconstant affection with distaste?

you are not alive, so deal with it sissy.

~

job interview season is drawing to a close; i've been interviewd by environment canada for a migratory bird conservation position in london and have an interview on thursday for an ecology lab position right here in waterloo. ideally, i'll just stay in waterloo and build some skills and knowledge in a more useful way. i fully envision myself being a lil sissy bitch on the london team, and the interviewer intimated as much by saying i'd be doing some filing. seriously... if you're gonna hire someone to do filing, just don't hire someone, smh.

~

i wish i had mel gibson's powers from what women want. yea, i know it drove him crazy until he hated jews... but i can handle it. chicks tell me things i shouldn't know anyway, like how they're getting laser hair removal and so forth.

~

i've started writing music at a more respectable pace again. i'm not sure what the motivation is in particular, but i'm pleased it's happening. so far i've got a little waltz that i enjoy and a sad giraffe falling down a staircase. unfortunately, the sad giraffe is one that i have written similar melodies to in the past, so i may put it down. perhaps i'll let it fall down the stairs to the bottom and then set it aside once it's legs are broken.

~

on repeat this week: genesis - that's all, feist - gatekeeper, usher - OMG, kanye - graduation (cannot wait to get my hands on his new album)