I write poems in my notebook during break at school, just not enough.

“The Ghost Trio: The Mother, the child, the religion and where I don’t fit in”

_

Ghost I: The violin signals 'women and children first'

She's naked at the door,
breathless on the phone lines,
beating around the idea of being alone.

I don’t make plans for a reason.

Reason #17: Eighteen year-olds with good looks aren’t good for their word;
they’re more of a concept you’d like to fuck the meaning out of.

_

Ghost II: The return to the mother country

Tell me.
Which sort of empty do you feel?
Skim milk empty?
Buttermilk pancakes empty?
Since your days of breast feeding,
you ain’t so heavy.
A handful, perhaps.

Next morning, I’m waking in the family bed with the feeling
I’ve been pissing into the oncoming wind;
I’m just getting my feet wet.

_

Ghost III: "Religion is the opiate of the people" - Karl Marx

Katie’s sitting
on the Butler Institute of American Art steps
while two guys copulate
on the fourth floor Maag Library floor.

This is beyond me,
and even Paul Gauguin, but
Katie and the Christians are asking God for a redo,
and that means there’s no more me and you.

So why are we here?

That's my anthem, get ya damn hands up.

Takeover. The break's over.

It's about time I quit sleeping on the job and made a proper comeback.

I don't have much time, either. It's nearly 2am already, and I have to wake at 7:15am.

So, lets celebrate. Or commemorate this date. No, not because it's Kory Manley's birthday (it is).
No, not because I fear 'the nation will forget'. Whatever.

This is the first 9/11 since the attacks that has been a Tuesday release date. In 2001, Danny and I proceeded to drive to Boardman despite the strange events that had taken place earlier that day. We arrived at Best Buy with intent to purchase Jay-Z's the Blueprint. Danny also purchased Ben Folds' Rockin' the Suburbs. I wasn't quite into Ben Folds yet.

As usual, I themed things and relistened to Jay-Z and even Ben Folds, although the latter isn't quite the classic, but it does have many memories attached.

This 9/11, I purchased Animal Collective's Strawberry Jam, likely to be number two on my top albums of the year list, and Kanye West's Graduation, as well as ordering Dirty Projectors' Rise Above online. The strange parallel is that Kanye West had a hand in producing several of the Blueprint tracks, and now that HOVA has lost his flame, Mr. West is here to carry on and theme my fall to a certain degree. That's a double entendre, you see, fore I will actually be graduating this year with a bachelor's degree in English. I'm sorry, was you sayin' somethin'?

Oh, how everything smashes together like one sweet, tangy strawberry in a bowl. This is the mess we are left with, and only a true artist can make the chaos sound so beautiful whether I'm laying on a guest bed in Colorado staring up at a Soul Coughing concert poster as I listen to Strawberry jams on my bose in-ear headphones, or maybe I'm waiting for my oil change to finish at the Acura dealership in Boardman- oblivious to the awkward scenario I will be thrust into as some lady I will never know enters the room where a stranger and I were politely chatting to gush to some other stranger about the loss of a child. Or, maybe I'm listening to "Fireworks" when it first leaked on July 4th. I'm watching the video and witnessing my summer, my entire year be invaded by this Animal Collective that were previously so alien to my ears.



2005 was the year of Blur. They inhabited me on the 4th of July and didn't let go for the rest of the year.
2006 was the year of TV on the Radio.
Now, 2007, it's Animal Collective, and that damned hypnotic Panda Bear album, which is my number one album of the year, by the way.

So, on 9/11, it is not an overwhelming sense of loss that I recall. It isn't the subsequent American attack on the middle east for some misguided sense of redemption. These weren't perfectly crafted artsy pop tunes. Oh no. This was the equivalent of a mysterious MC (lil'-Qaeda) performing a hit-and-run on the king of the rap game, Jay-Z (America), which somehow would lead to the rap community (National Government) to blame Nas (Saddam Hussein), Jay-Z's former rival and easy target.

Did Nas murder H to the Izzo? I don't think so. But, in this analogy, would we see blame being falsely pegged on Nas or some other jealous rapper? Most likely.

So, as far as the war in the Middle East goes: I'm not guilty, ya'll got to feel me.

But I can't leave the blogs alone, the game needs me.

I drive places,

During these drives, I think of things. Not all of them are brilliant ideas.

I'll go on a lengthy limb and say:

None of them are brilliant ideas.

But, here's the thing, since I don't always fit in here- I'm thinking, move to the moon. I mean, c'mon, why not?

You can visit. I bet shuttle flights aren't that expensive (last time I checked on expedia.com it was in the millions). Plus, then when I drive places, there will be a lot less traffic and no rediculous 55mph and slower speed limit on highways (much more fuel efficient, though).

And, if not the moon, well, according to the signs, I hear West Virginia is open for business. And, if you pay attention on the drive, the highway signs say you can take 60 to the Business District on the Moon! Or, maybe that's just a place in Pennsylvania. Either way.

I slept on an air mattress last night. It wasn't out of convenience and comfort. It was training for the low gravity climate of the moon.

Next week: you can find me jumping on trampolines from 7pm-9pm every night in the space uniform I ordered from ebay.

Okay. I really don't have any other jokes for this at the moment since I'm not scientifically intelligent enough to make more puns.

Let me know if you think this is a good, great or fuckin' fantastic idea. Thanks.