BAMboozled » daniel

The Pier

daniel — Thu, 25 Sep 2003 01:00:00 +0000

The wind was gusting to and fro

I hunched down on the pier-

The wood was creaking, thunder rolled

And yet I strained my ears

The ship whose sails I longed to see

The boom’s crash that I sought

The call of sailors o’er the wind

Was naught but in my thoughts.

Although I prayed with all my heart

For the sea to let him go

I felt deep down ’twas not to be-

He’ll sleep in the brine below.

Flying

daniel — Sat, 24 May 2003 01:00:00 +0000

As I drove home tonight, my car spun out, smashing me against the center divide.
At eighty miles-an-hour death is quick and merciful. The raccoon I swerved to
avoid wasn’t so lucky; the truck that was following so closely on my tail
crushed the lower half of its spine. Paralyzed it waited, the life slowly
ebbing from its veins. As I drove on, I saw myself plastered against the
windshield, murdered in my sleep, slitting my wrists, finally, after all those
last second saves, succumbing to the urge to fly just for a moment, before the
ground kissed me that hard kiss – the five story kiss beginning on the roof and
ending as a stain on the cold concrete of the sidewalk. I kept walking, leaving
my battered remains for the street sweeper to wash away with the rest of the
night’s garbage. I walked alone, hidden in a shroud of secrecy, until I could
stand walking no more. I burst out running, egging myself on…always pushing
myself faster. My heart pounded; I ran on. My track coach used to tell me it
was only once I went as far as I thought I could, and then kept going, that I
was truly doing my best. I never got past that moment of despair…until
tonight. But, still running, long after I had given up, I wondered what would
happen if I kept going forever – going as far as I thought possible, pushing
past, and running on, the same cycle over and over – and then, as I ran out onto
the Golden Gate, leaving the sleeping city behind me, I knew. And as I jumped;
as the numbing water reached up to envelop me in its dark embrace, I saw clearly
for the first time.

The Illustrated Man

daniel — Wed, 14 May 2003 01:00:00 +0000

Ray Bradbury’s The Illustrated Man is a highly engaging collection of short Science Fiction stories told using an introductory story about a man totally covered with tattoos that move magically. These tattoos move during the night and show scenes about the future. In between some of the stories depicted by the tattoos, the tale of the Illustrated Man, as he is called, is woven back into the book, tying the entire book together. This inventive literary device is very effective in giving the book a cohesiveness that is often lacking in a collection of short stories.

The stories themselves are all very engaging, and, though short, seem to provide more insight into human interaction than many novels. One particularly poignant tale titled Kaleidoscope contains almost no plot, but still manages to be one of the most moving stories I’ve ever read. A rocket ship is ripped apart, flinging the men contained inside in different directions, with no hope of rescue. In this hopeless state, with only their radios to keep them in contact, the best and worst of human nature is laid bare. The removal from everyday life allows the reader to see much more cleanly feelings that are normally hidden deep under layers of walls imposed both by the self and society. The final paragraph is incredibly touching, and shows the beauty even in seemingly senseless and hopeless events.

Not every story is as good or insightful as Kaleidoscope, but not one is a waste of time. All are entertaining, engaging and give the reader something to reflect on. Some point out the insidious nature of TV and other modern inventions, while others warn about the dangers of becoming too reliant on science rather than imagination and feeling. Still others show, with deadly clarity, the insignificance of children in the minds of adults. One questions the difference between “real” and “artificial” intelligence, decades before AI was seriously considered as a scientific idea. The book is very forward thinking, and, much like the Illustrated Man in the introduction, gives a powerful glimpse into the future. However, by the end of The Illustrated Man, I never wanted to hear another story about a rocket ship again. With a few exceptions, the stories all used this as a plot device, and by the end, it got old. Even considering that however, The Illustrated Man is a book that I would recommend to any Science Fiction buff – and to just about anyone else.

Preaching to the Choir

daniel — Sat, 29 Mar 2003 01:00:00 +0000

Roses must hate spring
Couples ever snipping buds
Killing for their love.

Glancing behind me
I thought I saw a dragon
‘Twas naught but a cloud.

(and now for something completely different)

Red drops in white sink
Blood gushing like a faucet
Death can be pretty.

We type back and forth
The wires bring us closer
But you’re right next door.

Though we make it numb
Without pain we could not know
How much joy we feel.

Without a kicker
The soccer ball sits so still
Murdered by neglect.

Awake

daniel — Sat, 08 Mar 2003 01:00:00 +0000

It was hard to get up this morning. Well, actually, it wasn’t the getting up that was the problem; it was more the staying
up. Falling asleep standing up is never a good thing, but doing so in the shower has got to be far worse than in most places.
Luckily, my shower is a stall type, not a hybrid shower/bath. The cold tiles instantly jerked me back to my senses, but the
experience proved something that had hitherto been only a suspicion: it was time to pull out the big guns.

When most people think of a high-caffeine drink, they think of something exotic; something with a flashy name that makes one
think of energetic lightning. Red Bull, Jolt, RC Edge, Depth Charge…the list goes on and on. Not me. When I really need
a pick-me-up in the morning, I go straight to the original. Coffee. Not a macchiato, not a fucking grande non-fat latté with
gourmet flavour (spelled with the ‘u’ because it makes it seem more fancy). No. Call me old school, but for me, there’s nhing
better than a cup of good, strong coffee. No cream. No sugar.

Notice the quantifiers. I am very finicky about my coffee. My drug of choice is Peet’s Major Dickason’s Blend, because it can
be as strong as all hell, and not be bitter. And let me tell you: my coffee is strong. When I make coffee, I put three scoops
into one cup. The liquid, when done, is opaque; even at the very edge of the meniscus, it is impossible to see through.

My coffee tastes like espresso. Well, not quite. It’s as strong as espresso, that’s for sure…but espresso, even the
best espresso, has a certain bitterness to it. It’s not a smooth taste. A cup of my concoction, on the other hand, is rich and
full, without leaving a metallic aftertaste. If you’ve ever had Cafesinho (Brazilian coffee), Turkish coffee, or Vietnamese
coffee, you know how strong mine is. But I drink a large cup of mine — none of those wimpy little espresso cups — and I drink
mine black — no sugar or cream to pollute the purity of my perfectly brewed mug of goodness.

Some may call me an addict; some may call me obsessed. Well, that may be. But the importing thing now is: I’m awake.

The Path

daniel — Sun, 17 Nov 2002 01:00:00 +0000

Walking down a path
I didn’t notice the eyes
But I was noticed.

Drain

daniel — Wed, 28 Aug 2002 01:00:00 +0000

My eyes lock onto themselves
Empty pools of darkness in the Mirror.

Flash!

I see them crying,
I blink, my eyes are dry.

Looking through the mirror
I see myself, younger, straighter,
Not yet bent over by grief.

Splash!

The last tear I ever shead
Falls into a puddle
Mingles with the rain.

I look up at the older children
Laughing at my tears.

I stand, brush myself off,
And dry my eyes.
But inside I cry on.

Flash!

Back in the present,
The light from the hallway lamp
glints off the razor’s edge.
I look down at my arms,
Rub the overlapping cuts.
Today I cut deeper, find a vein.

Splash!

Blood runs dark red
over my hand and down the drain
I follow my blood down
Into darkness.

The Hypocrite

daniel — Tue, 02 Jul 2002 01:00:00 +0000

I wear a cloak of gold and lead

It hides me from the world I’ve fled

Outside, my face may show a grin

But just to quell the pain within

This cloak I wear, this thing you see

Is nothing, but you think it’s me.

Inspired by Dante’s Inferno, Canto XXIII (lines 55-60)

Lust

daniel — Mon, 01 Jul 2002 01:00:00 +0000

I’m here for lust and now I find

That one small question haunts my mind

“Was it worth eternal pain?

A broken house, my soiled name?

For just a silly one night stand

That made my soul forever damned?”

Inspired by Dante’s Inferno, Canto V (lines 34-36)

Love

daniel — Sun, 30 Jun 2002 01:00:00 +0000

The wind, he moves a thousand different ways.
First north, then south, then east or west he whips.
So some men say they love one for all days.
Then see another passing by who rips
The first love clean away. Not so, I say.
My love for you shall like straight arrow’s flight,
stick to its target, ever true and gay,
so happy with my love and heart’s delight.
This song, though sung of love, is only words.
And words can lie, like all things come from men.
These words are true, like love songs of the birds,
Are bound to truth by powers none may ken.

A world of lies will fall apart in time.
True love o’er any obstacle can climb.