this has been plaguing me

what was the first college founded in the united states of america? I need a definate answer.

Alone Together

I spent the afternoon crawling down the 405
losing my mind trying to make sense
of all the bumper stickers.
And wondering the true meaning of
vanity plates.
The radio pumped classic rock
down my veigns from it's I.V.
lulling me into submission,
forcing me to stare at my own relfection
in the window of my neighbor through unbroken glass.

This highway is like a ballet,
each car leaps and slides in time
with the symphony we play.
Engines drone on with the low reeds while
the horns shout their appoggiaturas
in that all to familiar call and repsonse.
Lane changes are choreographed perfectly,
coming so close but making sure never to touch another
the make it look so easy.
My car sings out his descant above the chorus;
the same old song that never changes key.

I rolled down my window
as the piece crescendoed
to fotry-five and reached
my hand out the window
so I could finally shake hands
with somoene in my section.
But everyone knows that you don't talk
in the middle of a performance.
You look straight ahead, remain silent,
keep your hands to yourself and
never ask a question if you don't understand what's going on.
How can so many people play the same song
but never meet another musician?

Remembered

I think it’s funny how a random object can hold so much meaning to one person, yet go completely unnoticed to another person. This object may not be a particularly important or even unique thing, it is just that—a thing. It is peripheral decoration meant to be overlooked in mindless sensory grazing. To everyone around you it is nothing more than an objected painted on the canvas in front of them, but to you…to you, this thing is real. You can reach into the canvas of clutter and touch it, singularly. It alone is the only thing that actually exists. Seeing it, or touching it suddenly throws you back in the past, in the middle of a whirlpool of memories and feelings. While you are standing there, perhaps in a crowd of gray blank faces yours is light up by your eighth birthday, watching your grandfather bring an antique mason’s sword (the one that belonged to his father) and present to you.

Suddenly you’re back in the present staring down at the new-found metaphor for your life, suddenly aware that no one else sees the same thing you do. And what’s more there is no way you’ll be able to get them to. There’s no fault to be laid—to them it is just a sword. To them it is just a trunk. To them it’s just a music box, and they will never see what you see. But then again, what else is seen in that music box that you don’t see?

Anything can trigger memories and emotions. Anything can remind us of another time—maybe it was better, maybe it was worse, but either way it was different. Our past is a fundamental aspect of who we are; we base the decisions we make in life in large part off of our past. I suppose in order to understand someone, you must first be able to understand their past—where they came from, what they’ve done and most importantly why. But no one really know why walking into an antique shop and seeing an antique mason sword in a display case was so important to me. And they never will because I can’t explain it. So then how well does anyone know me? How well does anyone know anyone else? Thankfully we have more to go on than our past experiences alone, at least then, if you’re lucky, you may know what that sword means to me.

postponed

The last two posts were the beginning of a long series about the power of words. How they can hurt, how they can heal, how they can make us laugh. Howver, I haven't had enough time to think them out fully, so I will come back ot the idea at a later time.

in the mean time I offer you to think about this:

Rhode Island: It is niether a road nor an island. Discuss.

Share Some More

What's the best pick up line you've ever heard?

Share

What's the worst joke you've ever heard?