Change

The only constant thing in life is change...I'm sure everyone has heard something like this along the line. While change is constant people aren't so much. I've been told that people never change...they are incapable of it. On a whole I agree with this. Because of Murphy's law, and life in general, there can be no total generalization that covers everyone. Its not possible.

History shows us that people on a whole make the same mistakes over and over, given enough time for a lesson to be lost. Civilizations fall with their leaders because the lessons learned are lost. Rinse/Repeat.
In most anime, or Japanese drama's the main female character will make a decision and horrible things will happen. (break up, death, she's a robot, life change, etc...) Then she'll cut her hair. A sign she's not the same person she was. (i've not seen any guy characters do this...but i can only watch so many)

This is not change. Change is hard. No doubt about it. Its something that has to be done over time, not something that happens in an instant. Sharp object that can cut are points that are in the same abundances as declarations of change. Examination...steadfastness... awareness...the NEED...all need to be constant if change is to occur.

Such a long list of requirements. This is why true change is so hard for people to come by. Its too much work to change something. Especially if it goes against one's culture.  How can we move when weighed down by all this? How can we move forward when the chains hold us in place?

Does familiarity bring contentment or does it breed contempt? In each individual's answer dictates their ability to change and their openness to it.

Dan Fogelberg's "Leader of the Band"

An only child alone and wild                                                       
A cabinet maker's son
His hands were meant for different work
And his heart was known to none --
He left his home and went his lone and solitary way
And he gave to me a gift I know 
I never can repay

A quiet man of music
Denied a simpler fate
He tried to be a soldier once
But his music wouldn't wait
He earned his love through discipline
A thundering, velvet hand
His gentle means of sculpting souls
Took me years to understand.

The leader of the band is tired
And his eyes are growing old
But his blood runs through my instrument
And his song is in my soul --
My life has been a poor attempt
To imitate the man
I'm just a living legacy
To the leader of the band.

My brothers' lives were different
For they heard another call
One went to Chicago
And the other to St. Paul
And I'm in Colorado
When I'm not in some hotel
Living out this life I've chose
And come to know so well.

I thank you for the music
And your stories of the road
I thank you for the freedom when it came my time to go --
I thank you for the kindness
And the times when you got tough
And, papa, I don't think I
Said 'I love you' near enough --

The leader of the band is tired
And his eyes are growing old
But his blood runs through my instrument
And his song is in my soul --
My life has been a poor attempt
To imitate the man


I'm just a living legacy
To the leader of the band


I am the living legacy
To the leader of the band.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qsocZrEcp0Y if you want to listen to it...


This is a song my sister said reminded her of our Dad. At first, ya maybe. After the third time I'd have to disagree. The song is about a child that tried to follow in his father's footsteps, and failed. "My life has been a poor attempt to imitate the man" I don't think that our Dad would want any of his children to follow in his footsteps. I'd think he'd rather have us learn from his past than imitate him. Do as I say not as I do type of thing. 
A child being nothing but a legacy of a parent is rather demeaning to the child. While some traits do pass from parent to child, the child is more than what they've gotten from their parents. The child learns and grows, in part, away from their parents. Some more than others, depending on the child. I have traits of both of my parents but there are things that are just me. My experiences and memories could lead to the same places that my parents have gone, but the trip was different. Therefor it is different than what a parent has learned.  


Dan thanks his father for setting him on the path that he loves and feeling that he'd never be able to repay him for that gift. "He earned his love through discipline A thundering, velvet hand" also fits, as anyone who has spoken to him, for any length of time, heard his prideful boasts. These fit, but thats about it.

Huh...really...

Ya'll got a story and a blog today cause I was ninja'd by Asian and Company yesterday. Lemon Water was a dream that I had a while back. I wrote it down one day, and when I went back to write it up it made no sense...more than usual anyway. I had to flush it out a bit. It was a very vivid dream with colors, smells, and the soreness that came with that particular video game. I liked playing with the caring green eyed monster.

I like playing with literary references.  Like using musical references. The people that laugh I KNOW i have something small in common with them. So a laugh is had, the conversation continues, and it helps measure the audience. A different kind of verbal filter. While I don't have one myself, I'd like to think I'm more aware of the particular words I use.

The English language is complex and have large amounts of antonyms and synonyms. Proper usage is key to being able to express oneself fully. "I'll call you back in a bit" and "I'll call you later" are two different things. "I'll be back in 4 hours." is different than "I'll talk to ya next time I'm not busy." "Yeah I'll (insert task here) vs "I'll get to it." Awareness comes from being a student of them or have them screw you over in some way. Most people go out half trained with this particular weapon and bad things happen. Some go around half trained and half aware of the dangers! Being vague is as fun as doing those other things, but you have to be aware of what is there, as well as what isn't. What isn't said is just as important of what is.

THIS COULD HAVE HAPPENED...

               

                                This could have happened, but it didn’t.

                

The night was chilly but the sky was clear. We were headed back to crash after a night of video games, bubble tea, and  a crap load of car trips. We had just left a friend’s house after spending a good four hours playing catch phrase. SO much shenanigans!

                “Team Awesome kicked ass!” I said getting in the car, “I haven’t laughed that hard in a while.”

                “You mind if I call my girlfriend? I haven’t called her since I got here.”

                “No…why would I care?”

                “I was just asking.”

                “Well…I’m just saying.”

                Eyes rolled as the phone moved to the proper up right possession. The phone call had to do with the backing up of a type of bodily fluid, and was not a conversation I wanted to hear. To drown out the mushy talk I started singing to myself.

              People are talking, talking ‘bout people.

 I hear them whisper’n, you won’t believe it darlin’.

They think we’re lovers, stuck under cover.

I’ll Just ignore it, but they keep saying,

we laugh just a little too long,

 we stand just a little too close.

We stare just a little too long… maybe they’re seeing something we don’t darlin’

                   “I’m done now, you can stop singing.”

            “Lets give them something to talk about  

     “Nope stuck in my head now I got to get it out”

 A little mystery to figure out.

 Lets give them something to talk about,

 How about

LooooOOOOOOVE?”

                Silence then, “Wow.”

                

                 “I don’t think I could do that again if I tried.” I laughed, going along with the mood. “Sorry if I interrupted your call, damn song been stuck in my head all night.”

               

                “No worries. I love your voice.”

                

                                          This could have happened, but it didn’t.

                

                 The fire pit was more of a wire basket, but it was warm and real fire. Tony and Sam were cuddling on the one side of the fire while I was trying to read from the book. 

                

                “Being dyslexic sucks.”

                

                “Oh?” Sam asked.

                

                 “I’ve trained myself to flip things, and then if I need to make it backwards, I don’t know which one is backwards, or which way to flip it.”

                

                 Tony laughed, “Well, I’m not having you help me with my taxes this year.”

                

                “You wouldn’t be all that smart for asking an English major to help with your taxes anyway.” I dropped the book. “Look a squirrel!”

                

                 “Don’t!” Tony whispered loudly, “I’ve been trying to get them to come down to me for a week… I’ve gone through three bags of peanuts.”

                

                “I’m the biggest nut you got, buddy. Let me try.”

                

                  Never taunt a squirrel with a bag of chocolate covered peanuts. Period. You’ll only get wired squirrels. As Tony went inside to get garbage bags to clean up the mess the squirrels had made, I waved Sam over.

              “I just want you to know that if you do anything to hurt my friend, I will find you and there is no place you can hide.”

                

Sam’s eyes got really big and then migrated towards the door. “I wouldn’t…I couldn’t…”

                

               “Then there is no problem.” I responded, turning around smiling as we heard the door open.

                

                                          This could have happened, but it didn’t.

               

                I hadn’t paid too much attention in the locker room, the pain was that bad. I don’t know how I managed it but I jammed all my fingers on my right hand during the first half. Usually not a big deal to me (getting hit was part of the game) but apparently the nerve endings in my hand weren’t as use to hurting as my head was. The combination of them had me a little off balance.

                

               The others either didn’t care I was hurt or I was better at hiding it than I thought, because they went on like it was any other half time in the locker room. Half-hearted plans and laughs were thrown about at half time, while I tried to get my hand back into working order. Finger dancing and air piano playing could only do so much. I figured as long as I used it as little as possible, I’d forget about the pain while playing. It would hurt like crazy later, but such was life.

               

               Yells cheers and hoots greeted us as we ran out of the locker room. I kept to my left hand while warming up the fifteen minutes before the second half started, which worked because I was better with my left, anyway. I thought it was great a right hander that worked could  work the left side of the court.  Unfortunately the only other lefty on the team was JV and there was no way the coaches would bring’em up for this game.

               

                I don’t know how, but the southpaw JV noticed.

                

                “Hey! Are you ok?” Number thirty-six asked.

                

                “Yeah, I’m fine.”

                

                “Why you going left so much?”

                

                “I’m good with my left. You know that.”

                

               “Ya, but your messing with the guards, they’re not comfortable over there.”

               

                 I was quiet at that. Their comfort wasn’t my problem, and they should past it around to shift the defense anyway. Free shooting was starting and it was time to help educate the shorter, less strong posts on how to rebound. As I shifted to move away, pain shot up my arm and my head swam. I looked back to see my hand clasped in Number thrity-six’s hand. “your fine…right?...” I heard “Keep up the good work…” through gritted teeth. I yanked my hand out of the uncomfortable grip.

                

                The coach said we weren’t supposed to be overly emotional on the court, so anything that happened on the court stayed on the floor. Performance pressure, the loving support of my fellow teammates, and of course pain cut through my control as soon as the second-half whistle blew. We didn’t win that game, and I don’t remember much else about it. The next time we played that team, they flinched around me.

                

                                        This could have happened, but it didn’t.

                

                 I’ve come to understand that memories are fickle things. How one person puts together a series of events in an attempt to recall the past. Stories that have been retold over and over can become collective memories. It is said that, to the brain, only stores the things most vivid in a way that we can recall. WE choose what is highlight before the information is packed away in the long-term storage. What do memories say about the people remembering? What would happen if these imperfect recordings were all we had to live by?

                

                                    It could have happened  like that, but it probably didn’t. 

RED WINGS

The wind was sweet between. It did not have the brimstone smell of below, nor the stagnate air of above. I considered that the green things of the Between had something to do with this, but I didn’t care as long as it was. The wind lifted my hair off my neck, as well as shifting my primaries away from the branch I was perching on. The stark difference in color between the green and brown of the world and the deep red of my feathers was telling. I did not belong here. I stood to leave the between, and stretched carefully. I wanted to keep the contact I had to between as much as possible. This place should not be soiled by my unnatural presence.

The sweet air carried me over the green. The wind slid over my wings and changed from a gentle breeze to a whirlwind. The cold air brought water to my eyes just as much as the beauty did. I couldn’t stay away from the paradise that was the between, but I wouldn’t belong here and I would taint it as little as possible. As I soared, caressed by the blue I felt a warm up draft that pushed me towards the above. Following the wind’s directions I passed into the upper.

The white and blue of the upper seemed pale compared to the green and brown of the Between. There were others dancing on the wind, as I was. Their bright hair flowed with the beat of their wings. Loose feathers danced in the breeze as I floated, watching them. Yellow, white, and silver wings carried them over the green. My red was not muted by the light, so I did not pass unnoticed and soon attracted the notice of the silver winged. Not to be chased out of the sun, I danced my own dance of the cooling wind of the upper. I smiled when I saw a familiar face break away and headed toward me. My smile faded a little when I noticed that the white wings approaching me were starting to silver.  He joined me and we danced, in that moment the I did not care that it was  our last dance.

I felt his pleasure in the movements of my arms and legs, as well of my wings and primaries. He felt my amusement at his showing off the new dips and turns he had learned since the last time we danced together. Flinching at my uneasiness over the silvering of his wings, he sent reassurance. I sent him back warmth and understanding and his joyous flip-twist made me laugh. Shocked, I heard drawing of weapons and silver wings headed in my direction. With apologies and regret my stunned friend I found a cold pocket to take to the Between. There were none within reach;I realized this could have been a trap. He must have been close enough to feel my feelings of betrayal, he immediately straightened and flew to intercept the silver wings. He did not draw his sword, but sent a reassuring picture of what had happened. The silver wings slowed, to study the information sent. He repeated his flip twist and amusement radiated from all of the silver wings. Even though the silver wings would not acknowledge me, I sent them an apology and closed my wings. I couldn’t leave through the cold pocket over which they hovered it so I dove through the air to the Between.

They would not follow me through, I cried. The next time I saw my friend he would be a silver, no longer able to dance with me. The Between approaches quickly when not carried by the wind, even faster when there are no wings. I opened my wings carefully and wove in and out of the larger inhabitants of the green. Concentrating on dodging the hard brown parts of the green, I put aside the pain of not  saying  goodbye to my only feathered friend. I flew out of the green, and landing on the solid grey of the earth. The stone did not mark my passing , there were no living things here for me to taint. I was not use to the dancing of the upper, and my wings needed a rest. I moved across the grey to sit on a piece that reached for the upper but stopped half way. Stretching my wings I picked out a few broken feathers, then folded them against my back.

The grey was not always flat, and I had injured my wings. I could fly to the top, but dry flapping took more energy than climbing. It was a quick climb that I had done many times before, so soon, I was resting on top of the grey, looking over the Between.

Blues, greens, yellows, more grays, browns, and whites spread out as far as I could see. Such colors, and so many difference landscapes Between. There was ground as solid as the air I flew on, blues that changed from solid to liquid and back, and innumerable shades of green and brown grew everywhere. No matter where I looked, or how far I flew, there was no color like mine. I sat down to watch the beauty, wrapping my arms around my legs, lifting my wings off my back. I was tired. The wind lifted the weight of my wings, and the grey took the weight from my arms and legs. It was a wonderful feeling to be unburdened for a time. Granted, it made them heavier when I had to pick them up again, but it was well worth it.

My rest was ruined by a noise behind me. I sighed to myself. Returning my burdens to their rightful place, I faced the intruder of my solitude. The hissing noise alerted me to his location. His expression was puzzled. He motioned to me, mimicked my leap, and cocked his head. I repeated his hiss, my eyes wide.  Amused he showed me his teeth . I ran at him, pushed, wrapped my arms around him, and launched into the Between.  Spreading my wings, I released my reluctant prisoner into the air.

I laughed as he spun his wings out, surprising me with the change in his black leathery wings. The bony parts that had been dark now shimmered gold in the retreating light. He was growling when he caught a gust up to my level. Pointing to his spikes, I raised an eyebrow. He waved off the obvious question to catch a warm updraft so he could fall at me. A small sound escaped as I danced out of his range. He snapped his membranes out to stop his dive to look around for me. I danced in clumsy mimicry of my feathered friend, dodging most of his playful attacks. His grin faded as I dove in, and hit. It was a good thing the grey had climbed so high, or we would have damaged the green below us. We separated and opened our. Joy escaped as we dove together and our laughter echoed through the between.

He stretched to tap me with the most nimble golden bone. When I jerked away sadness entered his eyes. We landed. He opens his wings to show me how they alter the light that shines through. The light that ran through them changed from yellow to a dark sparkling shadow. Arms motioned to the altered light and then to my wings. Coping his angry hiss, I wrapped my arms around my middle and shook my head. Breath escaped him in a short rush.

I heard more leathery wings snap open. We were surrounded. The fading light had not alerted me to the pure golden wings that crept about us. I looked to my friend. Regret ran down his face. I had not seen that since his wings were purple, lined with black. He stepped out of the circle and wrapped his, pure gold wings around him. I saw him shiver before the circle closed on me.

I managed to launch myself off a gold wing into an up draft. They couldn’t get above me, so they couldn’t force me to the ground. Dodging attacks, I made my way back to the green, warm updrafts sending me far from my attackers. I passed through the white barrier of the upper. The feathered wings weren’t dancing; they were waiting. My friend no longer smiled at me, could not or would not hear me. He no longer had white in his wings either.

I wept.

Dove.

They followed.

Both sides met each other in the green of between.

I knew this sound well. I danced through battle. Each pair of wings that fell made my wings shine brighter, although I touched no one on either side. The seeping fluid made it hard  to fly, and eventually pulled me out of the sky. The green was gone, and only a few silver and gold remained in the air. It had happened again; the fight, the death of the green, and the loss of my friends. No matter what I did, who I chose they would always kill each other. Old pain, loneliness, and despair returned and control snapped.

The silver ones were pushed back through their barrier, and gold was pushed back into the grey.

I moved throughout the fallen with my seeping wings dragging on the ground. No matter how minimal the contact the horror repeated. Both sides would fight and kill, the green would die again. The same carnage would happen again as soon as the green was repaired. All because I was lonely.

“No.”

I ripped out my joy, my temptation, my freedom, and my burden. Regret ran down my back, into the ground.

“Never again.”

What I cannot change...

I walk on curbs

I pace on grass

Jump walls

and climb hills

Why do I move in such a way?

Why don't I walk on paths already made?

I've seen those who can't

Feel the soft ground under their feet

See the view from the top of a hill

Or take the impact from landing

I walk, run, climb, and race

Because there will come a time

Where the hills will grow

and the curbs will roll

no longer able then 

I will walk on paths

already made

by me

Oranges by any other name...

Today I achieved something awesome...The Perfect Peel. Peeled and orange in one peel. I've only done it three times...counting this one. Then Beth threw it away before I could get a picture so no screen shot. 


Now nothing rhymes with orange because of the nature of rhyming. (I learned things in school) That got my brain moving. Orange can't rhyme, so can it be used in poetry? Poetry is word smithing at its finest! Smiths in the past have been known to make wonderful and horrible things with limited means. Surely orange can be molded. There must be more to the act than just the surface change. 


Shakespeare claimed that a rose by any other name would smell as sweet. Maybe. But the smell isn't the only part of a rose. There are other meaning behind words. That is the wonder of language. It changes and moves along with the people who use it. Words are symbols that we attach meaning to. Some meanings are mutually accepted by the culture they are in, some are encased by geographic boundaries. The internet has made an entirely different system of meanings. It's all how it is used and who accepts it.


So "rose". What other meanings could there be? I'm not particularly fond of the smell of flowers, and I can't remember ever getting a rose. What I remember of roses are the warnings about thorns, and bees. Is a rose still a rose if it lacks one trait? Isn't the name we call something encase all the meanings it has? The ones hearing it are the ones failing...not the language. 


Letters are symbols that make words. Words are symbols made out of symbols that make sentences. By changing one part, you change the whole. So ...5ry mrS, u m1553d...