Says the bright poster on the coffee shop
Now behind me
Gliding my bicycle through the intersection
"I'll have to take a look at that on the way back from the post office.
I wonder what it's -"

Car in the bike lane
too near in front of me
diving for that perfect parking spot

Laws politicians can't change:
I can't break fast enough
The back wheel rises
Here comes the asphalt
Land across the shoulderblade
Thank god for helmets
Sliding past the front wheel of the car now stopped

My lungs protest but I breathe any way
Flailing limbs - unbroken
Just a few scratchs and bruises
Relax a moment
People rush to see if anyone needs help

The driver wails "Oh, my God! Oh, my God! I'm so sorry!"
shaking on the verge of tears

Repeating now "I'm okay"
Her refrain unchanged
Wander over to lean on the building
"I'm okay ... but I think I'll sit down here for a minute."

They must have called 911 before I even hit the ground.
Poking and proding
Questions and answers
I am okay but the police want us both to stay
while they write the great american novel and a ticket for her.

She's still concerned.
I talk with her to calm her down.
Walk back across the intersection
let her buy me a iced mocha.

Before we leave I sign the petition attached to the poster.
I've earned it.

It is with some trepidation that I post this write up, worrying that I will come across self absorbed as if it was about how I saw the Costco checkout girl's tits. (And I did, they were fabulous.) It begins with E2 and that quality about both E2 and the internet that you never know quite where you will end up when you click on that link.

Truly, I ran across a reference to the Anarchist Cookbook in some or other write up and was eventually referred to a web site (www.textfiles.com). I now start to show my age, since I once too traded in these text files and Apple II+ warez. During this period in my life, I also ran a BBS and I wrote a few small bits about programming in 6502 Assembly language.

I had never considered those few bits worthwhile and it never did get to the point of actually writing code but yet, to my utter astonishment, some folks had in fact valued them since they had been passed on, preserved and ultimately archived. Re-reading them now, I could see that my writing style has not significantly changed. Although it has an arrogant quality to it, which I can see now explains my unpopularity in high school, I think it's not all that bad.

Although my jaw fell when I first read the file descriptions, it struck me that digital footsteps never fade. If these writings, although under a nickname, can still be found, then you never know what kind of echos from the past are out there in the datasphere. And the digital footsteps can be followed to the feet that made them. Certainly makes me glad I tended to not get involved in mischief on the one hand and gets me kind of paranoid about computers on the internet on the other. It seems the window panes on one's monitor are transparent and in fact bidirectional. Watch what kind of footsteps you leave.

Hmm... the veritable Daylog. A place I once visited, long ago, quite frequently... but it's certainly been a while. I've been keeping up a blog, instead... hosted by DiaryLand. They suck. I miss the simplicity with which a Daylog could express my thoughts of that day, or the day before, or next tuesday, or whatever the heck I happen to be thinking of tomorrow. That's why I'm here now.

I suppose this visit to the land of 'log is to say goodbye, and farewell... for you have served me well in your time. I thank you for the (only occasionally faltering) service, for I made good use of it. Our time has come, unfortunately, to part... for a blog now suits my needs more thorougly. Even if it does suck. Goodbye, my Daylog, goodbye.

Today is the first day of the rest of your life.

A well-worn phrase, to be sure, and so cliche'd it isn't even funny anymore. Still, it fits. My wife of 7 years completed moving out today, to start a new life of her own in Atlanta, a mutual and amicable decision. She had done the bulk of it over Memorial Day weekend, but had to come back for her last cat and a few other things.

Last night we witnessed the initiations of two new members into our coven, which was another reason why she had to come back for a couple of days. It was a time for all of us to renew our vows of service, to the temple, to the gods, and most importantly, to ourselves.

I could write pages upon unnecessary pages about what went wrong in my marriage. But it all comes back to not being true to myself, ultimately...and if I could not trust myself to be myself, why should I have trusted my now-estranged wife to the degree which was necessary to make the marriage work?

She made her mistakes, some of which top mine to an insane degree. We both tried, but neither of us tried hard enough.

Let the healing process begin.

Was it the music? No. No. I knew it wasn't the music. It was something else, it was me. I could feel it gnawing at the back of my head for a long time now. I brought it up before and everyone told me I was silly for thinking it, silly for having that thought at all. I've always considered myself a silly person. This was something else. This wasn't a silly fleeting thought.

As everyone knows, humans are not perfect. We do not behave correctly, speak correctly or think correctly. We all have our flaws. I, am lazy. Many say that they are, but I am not sure this is correct. I may not be lazy, I just hate to work. I'd rather play. I can't focus, and I don't get a lot out of what I read, unless I write down notes and refer back to them. Maybe it's just me. I don't think I'm ADD.

It was nice when I could blame the pot, because I could blame the pot. "It is the scourge! The devil's weed has clouded my brain! The plant ate my homework!" Yet this was only part of the problem. Easily overdone, it was overdid. And how overdid it was.

But that's not the point, just my way of dodging getting to the point. I got my report card a few days ago. I failed Computing II, got a D in Calculus II and a C in Physics I. I don't know how well I did on last Friday's Physics II test, but I know it wasn't good. I am currently a CS major, for the second time at my second college. I am already on the verge of failing out again. Needless to say, this would not be good. I thought I'd be able to turn some things around when I came home, I thought things would change. Nothing's changed, not the clothes I wear, not the things I do, and not the person I am.

In highschool I was a devout Metal-Head. I wore black jeans and black MetallicA T-shirts. I was Metaller Than Thou, with my black nail polish and my cd case full of Marilyn Manson, Fear Factory, Megadeth and Pantera CDs. I picked up the ideal of being true to oneself from the music, and I felt I should do whatever it is that I wanted to do. So I played lots of video games and did very little homework, and never studied. Highschool, in America, is really stupid. You can easily get by in such a manner.

College is a whole different ballgame. "The tests are hard! I have to study! What the fuck is this shit?" I chose a Computer Science major because I was on the computer a lot, and I wanted to design video games, as I was bg into RPGs, specifically, the Final Fantasy series by Square. I bought a book on programming games for Linux as well as a book on the GTK+ toolkit. Never did shit with em. I read the one on making games, but never was able to actually start putting down C code, let alone designing an RPG. This should have been a sign.

I should be doing physics homework now. I was caught by myself staring at my shelf of programming books, realizing I've only opened several a few times, and understood none of any of them. I think it's time to change my major. And get a job, but that's a different rant. I'm flip-flopping between English and History, but leaning towards history as I feel I can take fact from other sources and meld it into a work of my own pretty easily. That's pretty much what I do with most of my writing on this site. I don't know if I'll be able to work any better on English than on CS. I know I used to hate writing papers, yet now I'm drawn to them. Maybe I should have taken the three stories I wrote at the age of 12, totalling 47 pages, as a hint, and become an English major in the first place. I'm going to talk to my fiance this evening, and find out what she thinks. I don't think Math, or CS is for me anymore. I'm tired of looking at tests and not knowing where to start, even with the formula sheet. I need to turn my life around and get some fucking work done, and stop finding another way to fail. Is this it? Nay, my friends. This is it. No "it better be", no bullshit. This is it.

A New Appreciation for an Old Name in Music

Today was the last day of the 2003 Herndon Festival, in Herndon, Virginia. I didn't know much about what was going on this year, having been entirely too busy for the past several weeks, and having neither the time nor ambition to find out. Regardless, leaving a party yesterday, my friend asked me if I was interested in going today, noting that perpetual local favourite Emmet Swimming was going to be playing, followed by none other than Suzanne Vega.

I agreed to go, though, in all honesty, it was to see the former band. I'd never known or cared much about Vega. As it turned out, however, we got waylaid, and didn't make it to the festival until later, after the Emmet Swimming show. In retrospect, I am glad I stayed to see Vega -- I really got to appreciate her music, after today's experience.

I, like many others, didn't know a lot of Suzanne Vega songs before today's show. Like anyone else, I was familiar with "Luka", "Blood Makes Noise", and of course "Tom's Diner"; perhaps to a lesser degree, a smattering of those in the crowd might have known "99.9Fº". Requests for these songs were, of course, yelled out incessantly by the audience and this was, apparently, much to the amusement of Vega herself. However, it turned out that I didn't pay so much attention to these songs, as I did the rest of her set.

Playing about 14 songs, including a two or three song encore, I really grew to have an appreciation for her. After hearing, for the first time, "The Queen and the Soldier", I was transfixed to my spot on the lawn, for the rest of her set, enjoying her truly vivid lyrics. Songs like "Gypsy" and "In Liverpool" (both of which share roots in a particular event in her life, apparently) were wonderful, and I was quite surprised I'd never given Vega serious consideration as an artist before.

The aformentioned "popular" songs were of course played, near the end of the set, as it really probably would have been a disappointment not to hear them. A dark cloud passed overhead, and heavy winds picked up during "Blood Makes Noise", and considering the song's subject matter, it seemed very appropriate. It was also curious to note the large number of audience members who were rocking strollers, and holding children, a crowd that has probably been listening to Vega for years, but now finds itself in a different demographic, fifteen to twenty years later. All environmental and social observations aside, however, the show put on by Vega for this small crowd of 500 or so was both intimate for all involved and something of a mind-changing event for me, in terms of musical appreciation.

I am neither a member of the self-defined "strong women" demographic who tend to follow her, nor am I one of the vocal minority, consisting of both men and women, who look at Vega in a particularly sensual and/or sexual facet. I am, however, a new fan of hers, and was pleasantly surprised by today's show.

I turned 18 today. Can't say it feels much different, even though a number of new possibilities have opened up for me.

Living in England isn't that bad, considering I'm now legally allowed to drink. It's not like I wasn't drinking before today, but at least I can go into my local pub without fear of getting kicked out for being under age.

It did make me think though. I mean, literally overnight I have been allowed to consume alcohol. What was wrong with me consuming it last week? Or last month? Does my age dictate that suddenly my body is capable of taking alcohol without damage to my 'growing' body? Or does this mystical age mean I am not sensible enough to control how much I drink?

I don't even know what I'm trying to say I guess. I have been out for a drink, so my articulation is worse than it usually is and I'm not even going to think how bad my grammer might be.

Anyway, alcohol doesn't taste so good now I can get it whenever I want.

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