Short little breaths, staggered and few.
The butterflies in my belly used to dance and sing a chorus for you.
Succinct is the doubt in me,
Gathered, surrounded, and suffocated by the roots you sink.
Aim and fire at your brightest star before you think.
Another star gathered for your basket,
Turns into a man in your hand.
For what it's worth I abandon just about everything I can.
So don't worry about me,
I'll leave adoration destitute and free.
Deserving no epitaph,
Only a simple and trivial toast to the past.
Oh how close apathy is within our grasp,
Emotionless and detached.
There's secret talks for which there's no path,
Only furthering and solidifying this exhausted wrath.
A fiber optic cable for you to watch,
A blinding collapse for me to dodge.
A strain in the eyes for those who don't know,
Looking over the horizon for a sliver of hope,
These matters drag so effortlessly slow.
Smoothing a palm over the sand,
I wonder if you'll stand by your man.
Or return to attempt a long drive with me,
You can play the song that I did my best to sing.
It's in atrophy now.
Like an eraser,
All that's left are the ambulance chasers.
Like a dream,
Like a drink,
Like the pictures that make you think.
For everything you've gained,
Everything you talk,
Everything you smother,
And everything you flaunt,
I think to myself,
What could you possibly want?
J'ai abandonné mon amour pour vous
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
The Ferryman
To you, O Lord, I called; to the Lord I cried for mercy: "What gain is there in my destruction, in my going down into the pit? Will the dust praise you? Will it proclaim your faithfulness?" Psalm 30:8-9
It's time's like today, moments of the surreal, when there is one particular song that always pops into my head. Call it an organizational defense mechanism sifting through the remnants of chaos, or call it some weird synapse recall, but this song always pops in my head. It did on 9/11, today, and a few other moments when life became all to surreal, or almost painfully hallucinogenic. Bittersweet Symphony by The Verve. Special thanks to Richard Ashcroft for penning one of the more haunting, and somewhat creepy tunes that I've encountered in this life. It haunts me because of the scenarios it re-awakens in my memory, and the times it decides to have relevance to me. The lyrics take on a totally different meaning in these moments than those that accompany him in the video; walking against the grain down a crowded street, possibly New York or London, amongst millions of nameless and faceless people, pushing them down and crooning about change. Yet, maybe there is a reason that particular song comes to mind.
Everybody pays the ferryman. The singular facet of life that we all must face, and are all connected to is death. Every person and living organism from the dawn of time has fallen to it's timeless power. It pardons no one, and excludes no one. If you've taken a breath in this world, you will take a last. Wherever it is that we go after this life, the ferryman awaits, with his bag of tickets by his side. When you meet him, he slowly ushers you to the other side. No matter what creed, or demonination, or faith, or spiritual enlightenment, or lack thereof that you follow, it doesn't give you an exemption from death.
Today showed how powerful entities like time, and mortality, and temporality really are, and how insignificant we are standing side by side to them...just how vulnerable and ineffectual we really are. It's a sobering truth, but one which must be accepted, even sometimes violently. I absolutely hate talking about the fragility of life. It's utterly disheartening. Especially when you are often ringside for the examples of power and grace that humans possess. To see it crumble in one pointless fail swoop is disappointing at best, and revoltingly horrid at worst.
One thinks about the exit. How the pupils must have been dilated to maximum capacity, letting every ray of light in, squeezing out the color of the iris till it was just a sliver of color around a ring of black. Senses sharpened like a razor-sharp hunting knife, flight or fight responses and the monsoon flood of adrenaline down the spine, the disturbing sounds, the sights, the stale metallic smell of blood. Soldiers probably feel this type of feeling on a regular basis. Escaping (literally and figuratively) bullet after bullet, till the one on mark finally catches it's target...for the unfortunate. But in civilian clothes, when the preparedness is afloat somewhere not to be found, how can one explain the horror.
True story...my second week of work at my new job found me facing something that was considerably uncomfortable. One of my coworkers found out that her best friend, a young 39 years old, was going to be put on Hospice care because her battle with leukemia was coming to an end. I remember her sobbing and how uncomfortable it made everyone feel. But of course, it was understandable...it was just something that nobody wants to confront in a day to day routine. We want to come in, stick our widget in the hole, clock out and go home...not to be bothered with matters of mortality. The next day, she was speaking with a friend about the matter...within earshot. She began to cry and said, "I don't know what to do. The walls are thin and they're closing in. I just wanna know what's going to happen to my Annie when she leaves. Where is she going? I just want to know where my Annie is going when she leaves?" I remember how raw and powerful and Earth-shaking that statement was. It wasn't a question of religious destination. It was a human question of the unknown. Where was her friend going? Would she be able to see her again? Would they be able to laugh again and talk of their memories together? Would they be able to be there and connect on that level that saw them connect in this life? Where was she going, and why couldn't she see her again? It's so fucked up...
One of my friends married a girl who lost her sister to cancer recently. She has understandably taken it hard. Without going into detail, she has done everything within her power to hold onto the death of her sister. In ways that are heartbreaking. The funny thing is, we assume that the dead are hanging on to judgement of thankfulness and gratefulness about what we do in their absence. We do things to serve them after their passing and make assumptions as to what they would think...if they would be proud...if they would appreciate it. But the sad truth is, there isn't anyone to convince but ourselves. It's so human, and it's so sad. It's like running the stray puppy off that you fell in love with when you were a child and possessed your innocent love, but knew that you couldn't take it home. It hurt to turn it away. But the puppy didn't know any different. Only you did. It's that feeling magnified by an indefinable number. The dead are not concerned with our efforts after their passing. That is why the present is so consummately imperative.
Two days ago, my old roommate told me of how he witnessed someone passing into the infinite unknown. He works at a hospital and this kid, 20 years old, was rushed in after a car wreck. They tried a rapid transfusion, defribullation, cardio-pulminary resucitation, electronically advanced machines to revive, and they even split his chest to massage his heart for revival. You can imagine, as I can, how disturbing witnessing something like this can be. He had a relatively tough time with witnessing this for the first time. Called his mother for reassurance....as I probably would. To massage the heart for revival after such...
When I was in high school, I would spend one day a week in the Summer's mowing the lawn of my great aunt. A lady I respected very much. Very independent, and extremely intelligent. Her advice was always welcome and after my chores were complete, I'd sit and listen to her as she served me an ice-cold Coke for my efforts (which usually was the perfect cure for the hangover I carried into the job). She told me of a recurring dream she had since she was a child. The vision has stayed with me. She dreamt of the day of her death. To hear her speak of this in the calm and collectedness that she did, was intriguing. She was a woman of faith, and that faith sustained her throughout her life. That quiet assurance she had in her deeply-rooted faith pulled her through so many trials and unsettling waters. She stood by a river after her death. She stood with the man who would garner her path across this river. It was the river Jordan. There were people floating, lying down, face to the sky; floating up and down the river. Nameless, faceless people. Millions of people. Some people were going against the current, while many others were going with the current. Those who were traveling against the current were making their way to Heaven. It was for their efforts of denying the world's enticements that they found their way against the current. Those who were traveling with the current were not. When I asked her if they were going to Hell, she told me that she wasn't sure. She said that in her dream she felt that they were people of faith, but maybe their destiny wasn't to spend the next life in Heaven or Hell. She knew that her efforts got her to where she wanted to be, and that everybody else chose their own paths. God would be the judge of where they ended up. But she was hopeful that her path would lead her against the current of the river. Against the current of the nameless, faceless people.
Get out of my head Richard Ashcroft.
I thought long and hard about tackling this one....I am sad today.
It's time's like today, moments of the surreal, when there is one particular song that always pops into my head. Call it an organizational defense mechanism sifting through the remnants of chaos, or call it some weird synapse recall, but this song always pops in my head. It did on 9/11, today, and a few other moments when life became all to surreal, or almost painfully hallucinogenic. Bittersweet Symphony by The Verve. Special thanks to Richard Ashcroft for penning one of the more haunting, and somewhat creepy tunes that I've encountered in this life. It haunts me because of the scenarios it re-awakens in my memory, and the times it decides to have relevance to me. The lyrics take on a totally different meaning in these moments than those that accompany him in the video; walking against the grain down a crowded street, possibly New York or London, amongst millions of nameless and faceless people, pushing them down and crooning about change. Yet, maybe there is a reason that particular song comes to mind.
Everybody pays the ferryman. The singular facet of life that we all must face, and are all connected to is death. Every person and living organism from the dawn of time has fallen to it's timeless power. It pardons no one, and excludes no one. If you've taken a breath in this world, you will take a last. Wherever it is that we go after this life, the ferryman awaits, with his bag of tickets by his side. When you meet him, he slowly ushers you to the other side. No matter what creed, or demonination, or faith, or spiritual enlightenment, or lack thereof that you follow, it doesn't give you an exemption from death.
Today showed how powerful entities like time, and mortality, and temporality really are, and how insignificant we are standing side by side to them...just how vulnerable and ineffectual we really are. It's a sobering truth, but one which must be accepted, even sometimes violently. I absolutely hate talking about the fragility of life. It's utterly disheartening. Especially when you are often ringside for the examples of power and grace that humans possess. To see it crumble in one pointless fail swoop is disappointing at best, and revoltingly horrid at worst.
One thinks about the exit. How the pupils must have been dilated to maximum capacity, letting every ray of light in, squeezing out the color of the iris till it was just a sliver of color around a ring of black. Senses sharpened like a razor-sharp hunting knife, flight or fight responses and the monsoon flood of adrenaline down the spine, the disturbing sounds, the sights, the stale metallic smell of blood. Soldiers probably feel this type of feeling on a regular basis. Escaping (literally and figuratively) bullet after bullet, till the one on mark finally catches it's target...for the unfortunate. But in civilian clothes, when the preparedness is afloat somewhere not to be found, how can one explain the horror.
True story...my second week of work at my new job found me facing something that was considerably uncomfortable. One of my coworkers found out that her best friend, a young 39 years old, was going to be put on Hospice care because her battle with leukemia was coming to an end. I remember her sobbing and how uncomfortable it made everyone feel. But of course, it was understandable...it was just something that nobody wants to confront in a day to day routine. We want to come in, stick our widget in the hole, clock out and go home...not to be bothered with matters of mortality. The next day, she was speaking with a friend about the matter...within earshot. She began to cry and said, "I don't know what to do. The walls are thin and they're closing in. I just wanna know what's going to happen to my Annie when she leaves. Where is she going? I just want to know where my Annie is going when she leaves?" I remember how raw and powerful and Earth-shaking that statement was. It wasn't a question of religious destination. It was a human question of the unknown. Where was her friend going? Would she be able to see her again? Would they be able to laugh again and talk of their memories together? Would they be able to be there and connect on that level that saw them connect in this life? Where was she going, and why couldn't she see her again? It's so fucked up...
One of my friends married a girl who lost her sister to cancer recently. She has understandably taken it hard. Without going into detail, she has done everything within her power to hold onto the death of her sister. In ways that are heartbreaking. The funny thing is, we assume that the dead are hanging on to judgement of thankfulness and gratefulness about what we do in their absence. We do things to serve them after their passing and make assumptions as to what they would think...if they would be proud...if they would appreciate it. But the sad truth is, there isn't anyone to convince but ourselves. It's so human, and it's so sad. It's like running the stray puppy off that you fell in love with when you were a child and possessed your innocent love, but knew that you couldn't take it home. It hurt to turn it away. But the puppy didn't know any different. Only you did. It's that feeling magnified by an indefinable number. The dead are not concerned with our efforts after their passing. That is why the present is so consummately imperative.
Two days ago, my old roommate told me of how he witnessed someone passing into the infinite unknown. He works at a hospital and this kid, 20 years old, was rushed in after a car wreck. They tried a rapid transfusion, defribullation, cardio-pulminary resucitation, electronically advanced machines to revive, and they even split his chest to massage his heart for revival. You can imagine, as I can, how disturbing witnessing something like this can be. He had a relatively tough time with witnessing this for the first time. Called his mother for reassurance....as I probably would. To massage the heart for revival after such...
When I was in high school, I would spend one day a week in the Summer's mowing the lawn of my great aunt. A lady I respected very much. Very independent, and extremely intelligent. Her advice was always welcome and after my chores were complete, I'd sit and listen to her as she served me an ice-cold Coke for my efforts (which usually was the perfect cure for the hangover I carried into the job). She told me of a recurring dream she had since she was a child. The vision has stayed with me. She dreamt of the day of her death. To hear her speak of this in the calm and collectedness that she did, was intriguing. She was a woman of faith, and that faith sustained her throughout her life. That quiet assurance she had in her deeply-rooted faith pulled her through so many trials and unsettling waters. She stood by a river after her death. She stood with the man who would garner her path across this river. It was the river Jordan. There were people floating, lying down, face to the sky; floating up and down the river. Nameless, faceless people. Millions of people. Some people were going against the current, while many others were going with the current. Those who were traveling against the current were making their way to Heaven. It was for their efforts of denying the world's enticements that they found their way against the current. Those who were traveling with the current were not. When I asked her if they were going to Hell, she told me that she wasn't sure. She said that in her dream she felt that they were people of faith, but maybe their destiny wasn't to spend the next life in Heaven or Hell. She knew that her efforts got her to where she wanted to be, and that everybody else chose their own paths. God would be the judge of where they ended up. But she was hopeful that her path would lead her against the current of the river. Against the current of the nameless, faceless people.
Get out of my head Richard Ashcroft.
I thought long and hard about tackling this one....I am sad today.
Saturday, April 14, 2007
Robbers In the High Fortress
There once was a time when the smug patriarch actually wasn't as repulsive.
But the pressures of wealth errode shreds of morality on the sweaty nights of accumulation.
Rockefeller would blush and his tentacles didn't quite reach as far and as deep in modernity, but penetrating they were.
While socialism is painted on his ceilings, the demons of capitalism guard the doors like sentinels.
It's too easy to strike a chord of paranoia and point toward an insidious plan of complete control, but it's so apparent on the smirk across their faces. They're annointed to play that role, and a scorching performance they deliver.
The CEO's spit out words like "blow jobs" and "great piece of ass" to initiate the new company blood and send some sort of sick relation down the ladder...that's it ole boy...appeal to their unbridled youth...bring them under your wing...soon they'll be suckling the poisonous milk...etched in your image. Give them the booster-shot of confidence to swagger their way up the ladder. Grab a rung and pull themselves up. Crawling over dead bodies if they must. The self-styled sons you never had. Steaming ahead to mastery...ascendancy conquering the Matterhorn.
That tone...that tone...when you talk to her...the young professional trying to break the glass ceiling. Headstrong to go where no woman has gone before. It's funny the door you open to her to find that lighted path. That tone. Ever wonder why feminism gets hostile sometimes? That tone.
It's hard to swim in a life this shallow.
The threads. The tailor, well tipped, makes you shine. Tunnel vision. Royalty. Gordon Gecko. Greed is good, bud. BMW 7-Series. Mercedes-Benz S-Class.
Framed pictures of the wife and kids. Smiling at Lake Tahoe. Honeymoon in Tuscany. Amusing anectdotes for the dinner deal. Company cards. Ice breakers. Closers. Closers. Close it. Can you close it? He can. Can't...can...can't...can...which are you?
Plaisantez-vous?
Cave dwellers eating by candlelight, scratching fingers to the bone, melting their brains, throw a smile from ear to ear when you walk by. The octave of the voice rises when revelling tales of weekends in which you have no care.
"How are you doing guy?" "All things considered?" "Well when you're not too busy hitting your budgets, we should hit the course." "Oh................well it's not for everybody I suppose."
My cigarette cherry burns as white hot as my malcontent and aversion. Luckily, the sun is out. My sunglasses conceal what would otherwise be easier to read than a warning label.
While he fingered the long stem of his champagne glass, he couldn't help but notice his reflection in the side, and he felt affectionate towards it.
But the pressures of wealth errode shreds of morality on the sweaty nights of accumulation.
Rockefeller would blush and his tentacles didn't quite reach as far and as deep in modernity, but penetrating they were.
While socialism is painted on his ceilings, the demons of capitalism guard the doors like sentinels.
It's too easy to strike a chord of paranoia and point toward an insidious plan of complete control, but it's so apparent on the smirk across their faces. They're annointed to play that role, and a scorching performance they deliver.
The CEO's spit out words like "blow jobs" and "great piece of ass" to initiate the new company blood and send some sort of sick relation down the ladder...that's it ole boy...appeal to their unbridled youth...bring them under your wing...soon they'll be suckling the poisonous milk...etched in your image. Give them the booster-shot of confidence to swagger their way up the ladder. Grab a rung and pull themselves up. Crawling over dead bodies if they must. The self-styled sons you never had. Steaming ahead to mastery...ascendancy conquering the Matterhorn.
That tone...that tone...when you talk to her...the young professional trying to break the glass ceiling. Headstrong to go where no woman has gone before. It's funny the door you open to her to find that lighted path. That tone. Ever wonder why feminism gets hostile sometimes? That tone.
It's hard to swim in a life this shallow.
The threads. The tailor, well tipped, makes you shine. Tunnel vision. Royalty. Gordon Gecko. Greed is good, bud. BMW 7-Series. Mercedes-Benz S-Class.
Framed pictures of the wife and kids. Smiling at Lake Tahoe. Honeymoon in Tuscany. Amusing anectdotes for the dinner deal. Company cards. Ice breakers. Closers. Closers. Close it. Can you close it? He can. Can't...can...can't...can...which are you?
Plaisantez-vous?
Cave dwellers eating by candlelight, scratching fingers to the bone, melting their brains, throw a smile from ear to ear when you walk by. The octave of the voice rises when revelling tales of weekends in which you have no care.
"How are you doing guy?" "All things considered?" "Well when you're not too busy hitting your budgets, we should hit the course." "Oh................well it's not for everybody I suppose."
My cigarette cherry burns as white hot as my malcontent and aversion. Luckily, the sun is out. My sunglasses conceal what would otherwise be easier to read than a warning label.
While he fingered the long stem of his champagne glass, he couldn't help but notice his reflection in the side, and he felt affectionate towards it.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
And She Speaks French...
Take it easy, man. Just take it easy. Granted she called you a "guinea pig," (cobaye) but shit man.
A timely pull on the reins will do you some good right now, me thinks.
A timely pull on the reins will do you some good right now, me thinks.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
Hey INTENSITY!! It's me Cory. We go way back.
Holy shit I'm a tightly wound ball of nerves right now. Don't stand too close to me, the recoil could be concussive. It feels like electricity is coursing out of my fingertips. My vocal chords are the perfect pitch today. I'm totally and keenly aware. Don't know why I feel this way. I think the beautiful weather is playing a particular hand in it. I'm embracing Austin. Some days it just hits stronger than others, and today it's particluarly intense. It's definitely sending the needle into the red. I hope she doesn't notice tonight...after all, first impressions are the most important impressions, right? Today has been a good day. So far.
I really like feeling this way. I wish I could share it with people. If I could bottle it up, I'd keep a carton of it in my medicine cabinet and pull one out, and drink it down on the days where the world isn't so vivid. I am looking through a prism right now and the colors are fucking stellar.
To be continued....
AAAAAAAAANNND I'm still drunk. It's noon the next day...good God I got tore down last night, and apparently into today. Work is a fucking chore right now. It's Good Friday though, so its only a half-day. Liveable. More like Awesome Friday.
Well, I've solidified that my destiny will see me crashing head first into a big steamy pile of my dreams, or the alternative which is...ummm...shit man, there is no lid on what that could be. Anything I could imagine I suppose, and I can imagine quite a bit...no trouble there. I've got a big-ass future staring me straight in the face and I am thrilled by that.
I've also got a big-ass Summer staring me in the face. A Summer that I am going to put to good use. Austin is the perfect place to be in the Summer. So many bodies of water to dive into and get inebriated beyond all comprehension upon. Great outdoor bars and nightclubs where music fills the streets, interesting and friendly peeps, cute girls, and an international airport to jump a plane and scratch out when it all gets old. I've got a surprisingly large pile of airline vouchers that I intend to use this year and some of it this Summer. Finally making it out to California.
Cory and Matt's Pain-Killing Pacific Coast Highway Tour 2007. Set to take off with insanity and prepoderance. Matt's thinking of moving out there anyways, so it will give that fool a chance to prospect a bit. Plus, we're incensed with surfing again since Costa Rica (even though we're terrible...for now). Soooooooo free flights out there to get busted up by Mother Ocean, and a head spinning with alcohol and sedatives, mixed with shirtless beach wandering is on deck. Any and all are encouraged and welcome to join.
As I was drunkenly swaying in the stall last night, draining the poison (or making room for more), I strained to focus my vision on the wall and I read this beaut in red ink, small handscript, about eye-level above the toilet and I think it's bloody fabulous:
"I am the joke my mother played on the world."
Raw.
I really like feeling this way. I wish I could share it with people. If I could bottle it up, I'd keep a carton of it in my medicine cabinet and pull one out, and drink it down on the days where the world isn't so vivid. I am looking through a prism right now and the colors are fucking stellar.
To be continued....
AAAAAAAAANNND I'm still drunk. It's noon the next day...good God I got tore down last night, and apparently into today. Work is a fucking chore right now. It's Good Friday though, so its only a half-day. Liveable. More like Awesome Friday.
Well, I've solidified that my destiny will see me crashing head first into a big steamy pile of my dreams, or the alternative which is...ummm...shit man, there is no lid on what that could be. Anything I could imagine I suppose, and I can imagine quite a bit...no trouble there. I've got a big-ass future staring me straight in the face and I am thrilled by that.
I've also got a big-ass Summer staring me in the face. A Summer that I am going to put to good use. Austin is the perfect place to be in the Summer. So many bodies of water to dive into and get inebriated beyond all comprehension upon. Great outdoor bars and nightclubs where music fills the streets, interesting and friendly peeps, cute girls, and an international airport to jump a plane and scratch out when it all gets old. I've got a surprisingly large pile of airline vouchers that I intend to use this year and some of it this Summer. Finally making it out to California.
Cory and Matt's Pain-Killing Pacific Coast Highway Tour 2007. Set to take off with insanity and prepoderance. Matt's thinking of moving out there anyways, so it will give that fool a chance to prospect a bit. Plus, we're incensed with surfing again since Costa Rica (even though we're terrible...for now). Soooooooo free flights out there to get busted up by Mother Ocean, and a head spinning with alcohol and sedatives, mixed with shirtless beach wandering is on deck. Any and all are encouraged and welcome to join.
As I was drunkenly swaying in the stall last night, draining the poison (or making room for more), I strained to focus my vision on the wall and I read this beaut in red ink, small handscript, about eye-level above the toilet and I think it's bloody fabulous:
"I am the joke my mother played on the world."
Raw.
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
It's Good to be a Gator
If there is a standard-bearer for success in the ranks of collegiate athletics, the mantle explicitly belongs to the Florida Gators. I mean, wow. If you're a Gator fan (which I'm sure their numbers have increased infinitely in a short amount of time, because let's face it...everybody loves a winner), then you're undoubtedly floating lightly on cloud nine.
I have never been one of those SportsCenter hacks, babbling about the most inane record or streak that some insignificant team has broken through to be aligned in the pantheon of meaningless statistics, but I am a college sports fan. I love the pageantry (even though that word is used all too frequently when describing our scholastic brethren), the rivalry, and the passion that athletes and fans alike subscribe to, and the carrying on of that passion to future generations. It is unrivaled, to me at least, in the "investment" of being a fan. The NFL, NBA, and MLB, are so mired in contractual disputes, and a feeling of ego-selfishness by players, coaches and team-owners alike, that it kind of takes the air out of the actual meaning of the game. While it is impressive to see Lebron James, or Peyton Manning will their respective teams to victory, it is equally, if not more impressive to watch someone like Jared "I think I might be white" Zabransky overcome insurmountable odds to deliver the big "W" to the seething fans of an underdog organization, bringing them the taste of victory that eludes them most of the time and is reserved for those programs who have an infinite amount of alumni support, and an over-flow of blue-chip recruits.
For the longest time, the SEC has arguably been the best football conference in the nation, and it's hard to dispute that point with the turn of events this past football season. Poor Auburn had to relegate themselves to second best, when no one gave them the nod in 2004 against USC. Not to say that they would've won, but what Florida did this year against Ohio State was proclaim loudly (what Auburn was not allowed) to the world that, "the SEC is fucking hard, and we dare you to try and have an umblemished record at the end of the season in this alignment...(looking at you USC)." Every year, the SEC produces a minimum of four national championship contenders and basically, their chances of being in the final game hinge simply on something like scheduling. Who has who at home. Non-conference games should not even be considered when dealing with an SEC team because of the brutality that the conference provides.
Being a huge, and bled-red Big 12 fan, I can always make a legitimate case as to why the Big 12 is the best conference. But mostly my argument lies in the "type" of play you find in the Big 12 being better than any other conference, because even I understand that the quality of teams is better in the SEC. Put Arkansas in the Big 12 this last year, and they would've played Ohio State in the national championship. Hell, put Kentucky in the North Division of the Big 12 this year and they probably would've won it.
So to see the gains that Florida has made, not only in football, and almost more importantly in basketball, is nothing short of amazing. In a year when Duke was bounced early, Kentucky couldn't secure over an 8 seed, and traditional powerhouse Kansas continued to exhibit it's streaky play (overwhelmingly underachieving), it's time for a new power in college basketball to step up to the throne. What's so amazing about Florida's repeat is that they are doing it in a time of mass exodus from underclassmen to reap the harvest of millions of dollars awaiting them in the NBA. They showed a graphic last night of all the teams who have repeated as national champions, and as monumental an achievement as it was in their time, the landscape of NCAA basketball has changed drastically in the matter of a few short years. Every one of Florida's starters returned specifically to repeat as national champs and they did just that. Corey Brewer, Al Horford, and Joakim Noah (who by the way, is ludicrous in interviews), all were first-day draft prospects after their title last year, but they stuck around with the goal of repeating and I have to applaud that.
There was a controversy surrounding the Final Four, that Billy Donovan (coach of the Gators) may leave for "greener pastures" at the University of Kentucky, the long-time traditional powerhouse of the SEC. Kentucky boasts the winningest record in NCAA basketball history, and recently let their head coach go after only 1 national championship, and only 4 Final Fours in nine seasons, prompting a search for the best replacement candidate. First of all, Billy Donovan would be a complete moron to leave for Kentucky.
Reason One: Florida has cornered the market on success in collegiate athletics which ultimately translates into more money. Success breeds success, and more importantly to school administrators, success on the field and court breeds success in the markeplace. Ticket sales rise, University-licensed materials see a spike in sales; it's a trickle down effect all because of the results of winning. So the money issue shouldn't be an issue. His contract can, and should be restructured to pay him anything that Kentucky would put on the table. It is also great timing what with the downfall of Florida's two biggest regional, athletic, and most importantly, recruiting competitors, Florida State and Miami. The state of Florida is buzzing over the Gators. I can't tell you how many "newfound" UT fans emerged from the woodwork after The University of Vince Young defeated USC. It seemed the whole state of Texas found themselves a new winner to latch onto in the public eye...and let's face it, they kind of deserved it and needed someone with a little more flavor of cool, especially with who we Texans have at the apex of world reknownment. *ahem...Mr. President your new opinion poll is in...you may want to sit down*
Reason Two: Kentucky has unrealistic goals, and an unrealistic fan base. I read an article where Tubby Smith (Kentucky's old coach) knew that it was time to move on. He was doing a radio show and a listener called in and had this to say, "Coach Smith, I just want you to know that I haven't given up on this team yet. I still believe we can right the ship this year." What was Kentucky's record at the time? 25-4. TWENTY FIVE AND FOUR!! RIGHT THE SHIP??? Seems pretty fucking righted to me. Whoever walks into Kentucky is walking into a buzzsaw. Of course, the money is good. Of course, the fans are supportive. Of course, the talent is the cream of the crop. But is it a better position than Florida right now??? Absolutely not.
I'm sure the whole state of Florida is just one big blue and orange orgy right now. I mean, UT only won it in football. Florida did it in basketball, football, and basketball again...CONSECUTIVELY. At this rate, Florida will be crowning tennis, track, baseball, and golf champions this year as well.
Not in my lifetime have I ever seen such widespread rise to dominance from one particular program, and it's a program that actually has risen in my lifetime. I think the whole University of Florida athletic world owes a great deal of debt to one Steve Spurrier. Before Spurrier, Florida was the wicked stepchild to Florida State and Miami, and perenniel also-rans in the SEC. Under Spurrier's direction, the program grew and were the most successful program in the SEC during his tenure...occassionally the University of Tennessee made a strong argument, but even record-wise...Spurrier owned Tennessee. With the rise of Spurrier's program, so did the brand name of the Gator's. In turn, the success of the football team spilled over into the rise of the basketball and baseball programs, who in the last ten years have seen their success-rate skyrocket. Florida's basketball team has risen to power within the last ten years, a relatively short time when you consider the dynasties of Kentucky, UCLA, and Bob Knight's Indiana teams, being capped by the last two national championships.
So here's to Steve Spurrier, for (pardon the pun) spurring the Florida Gators to athletic dominance.
But underlining this misprojected admiration of Spurrier, is the hope and faith that it brings in another similar, offensive-minded, spinster-wizard who is taking a certain football team to heights of success it hasn't reached in it's streaky existence...and my wishful hoping that the Florida dynamic is repeated somewhere on the South Plains of West Texas in the near future.
Here's to hoping.
I have never been one of those SportsCenter hacks, babbling about the most inane record or streak that some insignificant team has broken through to be aligned in the pantheon of meaningless statistics, but I am a college sports fan. I love the pageantry (even though that word is used all too frequently when describing our scholastic brethren), the rivalry, and the passion that athletes and fans alike subscribe to, and the carrying on of that passion to future generations. It is unrivaled, to me at least, in the "investment" of being a fan. The NFL, NBA, and MLB, are so mired in contractual disputes, and a feeling of ego-selfishness by players, coaches and team-owners alike, that it kind of takes the air out of the actual meaning of the game. While it is impressive to see Lebron James, or Peyton Manning will their respective teams to victory, it is equally, if not more impressive to watch someone like Jared "I think I might be white" Zabransky overcome insurmountable odds to deliver the big "W" to the seething fans of an underdog organization, bringing them the taste of victory that eludes them most of the time and is reserved for those programs who have an infinite amount of alumni support, and an over-flow of blue-chip recruits.
For the longest time, the SEC has arguably been the best football conference in the nation, and it's hard to dispute that point with the turn of events this past football season. Poor Auburn had to relegate themselves to second best, when no one gave them the nod in 2004 against USC. Not to say that they would've won, but what Florida did this year against Ohio State was proclaim loudly (what Auburn was not allowed) to the world that, "the SEC is fucking hard, and we dare you to try and have an umblemished record at the end of the season in this alignment...(looking at you USC)." Every year, the SEC produces a minimum of four national championship contenders and basically, their chances of being in the final game hinge simply on something like scheduling. Who has who at home. Non-conference games should not even be considered when dealing with an SEC team because of the brutality that the conference provides.
Being a huge, and bled-red Big 12 fan, I can always make a legitimate case as to why the Big 12 is the best conference. But mostly my argument lies in the "type" of play you find in the Big 12 being better than any other conference, because even I understand that the quality of teams is better in the SEC. Put Arkansas in the Big 12 this last year, and they would've played Ohio State in the national championship. Hell, put Kentucky in the North Division of the Big 12 this year and they probably would've won it.
So to see the gains that Florida has made, not only in football, and almost more importantly in basketball, is nothing short of amazing. In a year when Duke was bounced early, Kentucky couldn't secure over an 8 seed, and traditional powerhouse Kansas continued to exhibit it's streaky play (overwhelmingly underachieving), it's time for a new power in college basketball to step up to the throne. What's so amazing about Florida's repeat is that they are doing it in a time of mass exodus from underclassmen to reap the harvest of millions of dollars awaiting them in the NBA. They showed a graphic last night of all the teams who have repeated as national champions, and as monumental an achievement as it was in their time, the landscape of NCAA basketball has changed drastically in the matter of a few short years. Every one of Florida's starters returned specifically to repeat as national champs and they did just that. Corey Brewer, Al Horford, and Joakim Noah (who by the way, is ludicrous in interviews), all were first-day draft prospects after their title last year, but they stuck around with the goal of repeating and I have to applaud that.
There was a controversy surrounding the Final Four, that Billy Donovan (coach of the Gators) may leave for "greener pastures" at the University of Kentucky, the long-time traditional powerhouse of the SEC. Kentucky boasts the winningest record in NCAA basketball history, and recently let their head coach go after only 1 national championship, and only 4 Final Fours in nine seasons, prompting a search for the best replacement candidate. First of all, Billy Donovan would be a complete moron to leave for Kentucky.
Reason One: Florida has cornered the market on success in collegiate athletics which ultimately translates into more money. Success breeds success, and more importantly to school administrators, success on the field and court breeds success in the markeplace. Ticket sales rise, University-licensed materials see a spike in sales; it's a trickle down effect all because of the results of winning. So the money issue shouldn't be an issue. His contract can, and should be restructured to pay him anything that Kentucky would put on the table. It is also great timing what with the downfall of Florida's two biggest regional, athletic, and most importantly, recruiting competitors, Florida State and Miami. The state of Florida is buzzing over the Gators. I can't tell you how many "newfound" UT fans emerged from the woodwork after The University of Vince Young defeated USC. It seemed the whole state of Texas found themselves a new winner to latch onto in the public eye...and let's face it, they kind of deserved it and needed someone with a little more flavor of cool, especially with who we Texans have at the apex of world reknownment. *ahem...Mr. President your new opinion poll is in...you may want to sit down*
Reason Two: Kentucky has unrealistic goals, and an unrealistic fan base. I read an article where Tubby Smith (Kentucky's old coach) knew that it was time to move on. He was doing a radio show and a listener called in and had this to say, "Coach Smith, I just want you to know that I haven't given up on this team yet. I still believe we can right the ship this year." What was Kentucky's record at the time? 25-4. TWENTY FIVE AND FOUR!! RIGHT THE SHIP??? Seems pretty fucking righted to me. Whoever walks into Kentucky is walking into a buzzsaw. Of course, the money is good. Of course, the fans are supportive. Of course, the talent is the cream of the crop. But is it a better position than Florida right now??? Absolutely not.
I'm sure the whole state of Florida is just one big blue and orange orgy right now. I mean, UT only won it in football. Florida did it in basketball, football, and basketball again...CONSECUTIVELY. At this rate, Florida will be crowning tennis, track, baseball, and golf champions this year as well.
Not in my lifetime have I ever seen such widespread rise to dominance from one particular program, and it's a program that actually has risen in my lifetime. I think the whole University of Florida athletic world owes a great deal of debt to one Steve Spurrier. Before Spurrier, Florida was the wicked stepchild to Florida State and Miami, and perenniel also-rans in the SEC. Under Spurrier's direction, the program grew and were the most successful program in the SEC during his tenure...occassionally the University of Tennessee made a strong argument, but even record-wise...Spurrier owned Tennessee. With the rise of Spurrier's program, so did the brand name of the Gator's. In turn, the success of the football team spilled over into the rise of the basketball and baseball programs, who in the last ten years have seen their success-rate skyrocket. Florida's basketball team has risen to power within the last ten years, a relatively short time when you consider the dynasties of Kentucky, UCLA, and Bob Knight's Indiana teams, being capped by the last two national championships.
So here's to Steve Spurrier, for (pardon the pun) spurring the Florida Gators to athletic dominance.
But underlining this misprojected admiration of Spurrier, is the hope and faith that it brings in another similar, offensive-minded, spinster-wizard who is taking a certain football team to heights of success it hasn't reached in it's streaky existence...and my wishful hoping that the Florida dynamic is repeated somewhere on the South Plains of West Texas in the near future.
Here's to hoping.
Monday, April 02, 2007
The Futility of Apologization
I'm assuming it's understood that this is only a forum for me to speak my insignificant voice, vent my frustrations and conversely revel in the bliss of life. Let this be a disclaimer* that I am insane, and the critique or analysis of any sentence on this thing is an utter waste of time. It IS inane psycho-babble. But it's mine.
The beauty of it is, if you don't like it, you don't have to read it.
*This is not an effort to sound self-important...I am quite aware of how that could be perceived.
The beauty of it is, if you don't like it, you don't have to read it.
*This is not an effort to sound self-important...I am quite aware of how that could be perceived.
Sunday, April 01, 2007
Jenny, You're Barely Alive
Jesus Christ.....
Blasphemy...oh my blasphemy....
I was told that I have a seat reserved in Hell. Hell awaits the bulb of searching that I've entertained it with during this little lifetime. Cory, you're barely alive. Jesus Christ. I hope the devil is a gracious host. I hope he appreciates the lengths I went through to meet his demands. All the condenscion and the blind eyes I diverted to those in need. On my knees I told God that I would be my brothers keeper...as He asks in the Good Book...but God Damn Him...He's got me barely alive. Maybe there is no Hell. Maybe Hell resides with us on Earth...like a sour neighbor. One who doesn't mow his lawn and drives your property value down, which only we Americans find annoying.
I could have two cars and a broken moon in front of my lawn in another country where I scratched and clawed through life and God wouldn't be quite the prick that He is to those who are perfected through the privileged life...Heaven through the eye of the needle type shit. But that's the American way right? I have the means and the finding to be my own God. I don't need God, because I get my own wishes brought to me by the stars I shoot down with my "anti-aircraft guns" of fortitude. If I'm foolish enough to believe that, then cut me down...which I'm not...truly not. Adam was only a spectator. He did exactly what I would've done. He trusted the most beautiful creature in the world. Her curves led him to the fall. I guess she wanted to know shit, right? It's funny...the Bible explains, in detail, the inherent nature of women. This may sound sexist, but I don't give a shit...they want to know everything...at least those I've been involved with. And that's not just to say those who were romantic with me. Every one of them. They are the most curious creatures in existence. Their very nature is to analyze. Their very nature is to have a bead on that which they are enthralled with. Once they have every detail mapped out, they are hardened with moving on to something else that they can immerse themselves in.
God Damn their fish-like ways. Shine something flashy in front of their eyes and they bite like a tiger shark off the coast of California. Don't blame me for my parallels Mark Twain...you did it too. Your complete inability to figure out the opposite sex is exactly what has plagued all those with a penis between their legs. The phallus is your greatest blessing and simultaneously your greatest curse. Don't make exceptions to me...for you know EXACTLY what I speak of.
Eve.
It's not only the spin cycle that their minds are on. It's the ruling of emotion that rules their days. For fucks sake...HOW CAN EMOTION RULE THAT MUCH??? It's all-encompassing with them.
I am totally intrigued by their ways. And if you're a girl reading this...then YES I've been intrigued by you. Swallowed like a whirlpool in the sea. I'm intrigued by you. More so than anything else this world has to offer. Even every fiber in the muscles in my abdomen tense when my mind examines your every move. I'm totally fucking intrigued. Like a scientist studying your every move, I want to know what makes you tick. I want to know your biological patterns, and the peaks and valleys that you oh so comfortably find yourself in, when I'm trying to find level ground to place my feet.
God put you on this Earth to drive us crazy.
I wonder about God's intentions.
God bless celibacy. I understand. By the way, I trust Your every omnipotent move...even if I don't trust it.
I think on some level You might be able to relate. I mean, for what it's worth, even You couldn't control those who were closest to You.
Blasphemy...oh my blasphemy....
I was told that I have a seat reserved in Hell. Hell awaits the bulb of searching that I've entertained it with during this little lifetime. Cory, you're barely alive. Jesus Christ. I hope the devil is a gracious host. I hope he appreciates the lengths I went through to meet his demands. All the condenscion and the blind eyes I diverted to those in need. On my knees I told God that I would be my brothers keeper...as He asks in the Good Book...but God Damn Him...He's got me barely alive. Maybe there is no Hell. Maybe Hell resides with us on Earth...like a sour neighbor. One who doesn't mow his lawn and drives your property value down, which only we Americans find annoying.
I could have two cars and a broken moon in front of my lawn in another country where I scratched and clawed through life and God wouldn't be quite the prick that He is to those who are perfected through the privileged life...Heaven through the eye of the needle type shit. But that's the American way right? I have the means and the finding to be my own God. I don't need God, because I get my own wishes brought to me by the stars I shoot down with my "anti-aircraft guns" of fortitude. If I'm foolish enough to believe that, then cut me down...which I'm not...truly not. Adam was only a spectator. He did exactly what I would've done. He trusted the most beautiful creature in the world. Her curves led him to the fall. I guess she wanted to know shit, right? It's funny...the Bible explains, in detail, the inherent nature of women. This may sound sexist, but I don't give a shit...they want to know everything...at least those I've been involved with. And that's not just to say those who were romantic with me. Every one of them. They are the most curious creatures in existence. Their very nature is to analyze. Their very nature is to have a bead on that which they are enthralled with. Once they have every detail mapped out, they are hardened with moving on to something else that they can immerse themselves in.
God Damn their fish-like ways. Shine something flashy in front of their eyes and they bite like a tiger shark off the coast of California. Don't blame me for my parallels Mark Twain...you did it too. Your complete inability to figure out the opposite sex is exactly what has plagued all those with a penis between their legs. The phallus is your greatest blessing and simultaneously your greatest curse. Don't make exceptions to me...for you know EXACTLY what I speak of.
Eve.
It's not only the spin cycle that their minds are on. It's the ruling of emotion that rules their days. For fucks sake...HOW CAN EMOTION RULE THAT MUCH??? It's all-encompassing with them.
I am totally intrigued by their ways. And if you're a girl reading this...then YES I've been intrigued by you. Swallowed like a whirlpool in the sea. I'm intrigued by you. More so than anything else this world has to offer. Even every fiber in the muscles in my abdomen tense when my mind examines your every move. I'm totally fucking intrigued. Like a scientist studying your every move, I want to know what makes you tick. I want to know your biological patterns, and the peaks and valleys that you oh so comfortably find yourself in, when I'm trying to find level ground to place my feet.
God put you on this Earth to drive us crazy.
I wonder about God's intentions.
God bless celibacy. I understand. By the way, I trust Your every omnipotent move...even if I don't trust it.
I think on some level You might be able to relate. I mean, for what it's worth, even You couldn't control those who were closest to You.
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