| as usual, the only people who ever learn anything worthwhile about me still check their livejournals from time to time, at least once a year. here is their reward:
friday, july 17: halfway into the atlantic ocean, i become engaged.
monday, july 20: halfway into the day, i become married.
i have a fifteen dollar silver ring from walmart on my finger and a baby coming any day. life is grand. jazz is great. tomato juice is pretty tasty, actually. the possibility that i will have been engaged, married and become a father in the same week is beautiful. everybody should get married at the courthouse. it is only the first time i've been married i suppose, but it was a pretty great experience.
drink tomato juice!
get married!
do things i do!
stop driving! start running!
i saw the (as advertised) largest cypress tree in america today. he was a beautiful thing--3500 years old, beheaded by a hurricane, and still getting wider and taller every day.
don't give up!
keep pushing against the clouds!
feed your core! grow your trunk!
farewell, do-gooders, naysayers and farrow seeds.
sincerely,
mr. christopher adams | comments: 2 comments or Leave a comment   |
| i've been writing in a yellow 50-cent 100-page college rule spiral-bound notebook sometimes at night before i go to sleep and slipping it back under my bed as to not rouse suspicion of heresy from the order of silence. i think the notebook just lays there, under my bed, resting on the newly painted concrete floor like a nine and a half by eleven inch ghost skiff in a darkened sea of blood. on this sea also rests six speaker cabinets, inside of which only two speakers actually work, on top of which rides a vintage quad tube receiver supporting a record player and quite some expectation for future tune purveyance. there is also a green velvet chair that continues to be borrowed from another ghost in another rouge sea, the bunkbed my father made, and a plastic hutch holding some white shirts. this is my new home. i live in it alone. the top mattress is bare, like a wisened old man that just stopped growing it up there. his scalp is stetched and scattered with spots. it's a lonely looking mattress and i may need to find a hat for it.
inside the notebook there is a growing population of words. they are, i hope, being joined slowly by intendment and flow. i don't know, my mind is absent of order and impetus when i try to think on the pages all crumbled up in the sulci and gyri of my mind.
i play music with my friends.
this has been your annual update.
farewell, pharaohs and females. | | comments: 1 comment or Leave a comment |
| | Tags: | american independence day, art appreciation, bike rides, cold roses, fancy shit, folk singers, late-night dining, nighttime, roadside napping, the internet, world economy | | Current Music: | sing it over and over 'til she comes back to me | | Current Location: | in a wall without rooms | | Time: | 01:24 am |
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| oh, livejournal. you're like the journal i never had.
hello everyone. the internet is stupid. money/ no money is stupid. gasoline is stupid. fancy bars are stupid. riding a bike at night through a city still damp with rain is a good thing. friends are a good thing. the 4th of july is a good thing. taking naps in cvs parking lots is an interesting thing. people that make good paintings and pictures and prose are a good thing. you are more than likely a good thing. life is beautiful, but bitter ["cold roses"]. cooking omelettes for yourself at 1 am is a good thing. making a journal entry of basically one sentence used over and over is a good thing, much like m. ward songs. m. ward songs are a good thing.
goodnight, the internet. | | comments: 16 comments or Leave a comment |
| | listen, i know you already know this about me, but ryan adams rules and could probably lead the robot army that brings down all the walls of social injustice, creative mediocrity, and times that are anything less than excellent. i say this only for my newly rediscovered intensified love of the dude. if you like things like laughing, pumping your fists into the air, screaming about dinasaurs, and stream of consciousness writing, you should probably read a few of his blogs on his site (http://www.ryan-adams.com/teleport.html). if you like things like people posting 18 new full fun albums for all to hear, ranging from punk to hip hop, with titles like blackhole fuck samwich, 1-800-WWW.COM, drunk as a pile of fuck, space is big (whatever), or shake ya dictionary, then you should probably go and listen to any of these 18 albums (http://www.ryan-adams.com/cardinalRadio.html) now. pseudoname-bands: dj reggie, rhoda ro, ghetto birds, the shit, werewolph. | | comments: 6 comments or Leave a comment |
| i just got assigned a project for my new position as research assistant at UCF's Center for Advanced Turbine and Energy Research. two points:
1) NASA is funding it.
2) this is the title of the proposal: "Impact of Upstream Wake and Endwall Contouring on Film Cooling in a High-Speed Cascade"
how silly. | | comments: 6 comments or Leave a comment |
| its 12:46, and im typing. im laying in my bed, balancing this borrowed laptop on my stomach and listening to nail guns through the window. construction and no parking spaces. a shorter drive and a smaller bankroll. second day back to school and im already writing entries full of sentence fragments. but listen, i was driving at 6:45 and the sun was coming up and forcing itself on the clouds. they became all sorts of colors. i was listening to "let down"--one day i am gonna grow wings/ a chemical reaction/ hysterical and useless--then i sneezed and almost realized myself. but i didnt quite. i really felt i was about to break through. but i just settled back into the cold air in my truck and kept driving.
today, i met people that ive seen for the last two years of my life. we decided we should build a rocket. so, we will.
today, i got a research position from a 40-ish year old indian man, who has a moustache, laughs alot, and smells as if he consumes curry continuously through iv. computational fluid dynamics is now my field of research.
i hope you are well. | | comments: 5 comments or Leave a comment |
| | now we know that if the earthly tent we live in is destoyed, we have a building from God, an eternal house in heaven, not built by human hands... for while we are in this tent, we groan and are burdened, because we do not wish to be unclothed but to be clothed with our heavenly dwelling, so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life. | | comments: 3 comments or Leave a comment |
| | here i am. people get older. i get older, exponentially it seems sometime. i could have sworn that yesterday i was playing punk rock that no one liked and had the most greasy hair ever created. then, two weeks before that, i was camping at the royal ranger's pow wow, probably using axes and knives and ropes for mostly their prescribed purposes but sometimes sneaking in some witchcraft. the night before, i was sleeping in my uncle and aunt's house in georgia, a big wooden house with wood floors, 20 feet ceilings and red clay under the sparse grass in front of the porch. that day, i was pedaling down the street on my tricycle, shirtless and wearing cowboy boots and a diaper. what will happen tomorrow? i don't know. but people get older. and things change. i wish sometimes that things got older along with us. so, it would still be cool for me to be riding the tricycle with the cowboy hat down the street. maybe then, i would be so good at tying knots that i could tie myself out of any predicament, hardship, depression, or fit of loneliness, guilt, and deep cavern. what have i learned? teach me more. where have i been? take me to places still unknown. | | comments: 4 comments or Leave a comment |
| | hey, how about everybody lets stop thinking that gossiping is the new thing to practice among friends and that it's good to pick apart all of the people you know and find all their shortcomings so that you'll have a reason to look at them differently when you see them downtown and make them feel like shit and im not talking just about me. so what if so and so is a bit overbearing. so what if so and so #2 name-drops. so what if so and so #3 goes through guys/girls like pages of a magazine. so what if so and so #4 drinks more than a whale. i love them all. and damnit if gossiping changes how you think about someone or yourself. it has for me before, and im just like you. so, let's grow up and try to be a little bit more like christ please and a little bit less like everything else. i love you all, my friends. im not mad, just sad and sometimes reggaeton's really not that bad i realized while sitting alone on the downtown curb listening to it pour out the club while thugs roll past in their mercedes's and bmw's and hummers checking out the action (ass) making me even sadder that that's all a woman is to them and that some girls just play along. and i find old friends and old heartbreak on every downtown corner while walking just trying to find some cool air and a cool homeless man or two to talk to and to play the library bells, but instead just pain and old friends who have changed. reggaeton's really not that bad. | | comments: 22 comments or Leave a comment |
| | im sitting here on a borrowed chair, typing on a borrowed laptop that's sitting on a borrowed table, spray-painted black and pasted with pictures of some obscure, dead model by the name of monroe who i don't even think is that pretty to begin with, looking out a borrowed window at borrowed cars, illuminated by borrowed light, partially reflected off the many borrowed mountains that are in my company as of late, answering the door of the apartment i'm borrowing and when a man with a strange way of things (somethings you know right away) says, "you left your parking lights on," i say, "oh, thank you," he says, "you're welcome," and i walk to the car i've borrowed and turn off its lights, walk back inside and continue typing, fill up a shot glass, which has a picture of a family of potatoes and the name of the state im in printed on it, with water and cock back my head as if it were whiskey and it goes down just like every other drink does (somethings you have to assume) but with a little bit more meaning. the table holds two red placemats, my cell phone which you haven't called, the keys to the borrowed apartment and the car, the shot glass, the brita water purifier my whiskey was poured from, a tin can with a red plastic flower coming out like the leaf-less trees from behind the buildings across the street that i only noticed just now because they lie in my way from shooting the sunset just as the orange fading slowly into blue is the background of the scene i just described, a jean jacket i bought because i was told it would be cold here and will probably take back due to its mediocrity and florida's infrequent visitings of the temperatures below 50, and the pictures i talked about earlier. you borrow alot in life (somethings you learn to be true by living). from the time of your inception until birth, you borrow your mother's energy and body for your own survival and growth, and then she lets you borrow her home and some toys and food and way too much of her time for the rest of her life. thank you mothers for being so giving. thank you to all those in my life who have ever been so kind by letting me borrow your time and homes and gas and surfboards and lightbulbs and guitars and porches while you smoke cigars. thank you jesus for letting me borrow your life. amen. | | comments: 20 comments or Leave a comment |
| once upon a time, there was a boy who had a pet dragon. the boy brought 100 pounds of meat a day to feed the dragon. the boy had a hard time carrying the meat because it was so much. so he bought a truk to carry the meat. the dragon thought the truck was a girl dragon and fell in love. the dragon thout it was a enemy and bleu fire at the truk.
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we are having a food fight.
because it's no pencils day.
it's a walk on the desk game.
because i got a F- on a test.
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the suns of libtey pretendid to be indeins and dumped the british tea in to the hardbor, paul revere warned the people that the british sogers are coming. he got help on the way. he got cappchered. the british let him go. he look at the first battle for a second. | | comments: 4 comments or Leave a comment |
| there is no ladder
that forces me to sing
there is no husband
where there is no ring
there is no fortress
oh, wide and deep
the only fortress is
the secrets that we keep
there is no kingdom of fear
to bring me to my knees
there is no kingdom
where there is no king
there are no shallows
in the middle of the sea
there is no ladder
that forces me to sing
there's no forgive and forget
when there's only regret to give
there's no repent and redeem
in exchange for the life you've lived | | comments: 2 comments or Leave a comment |
| | Current Music: | 29 | | Subject: | eating alone. | | Time: | 10:16 pm | | Current Mood: | ![[mood icon]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/mood/niaha/kitty/anktiredg.gif) exanimate |
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| it just dont ever work out.
always end up alone.
parking lot with my lights on.
forgot the way home.
and to quote the best thing written for at least several years,
"you are the bed
and i am the blanket
im a mess
when you cant make it"
-jared d. wynne. | | comments: 11 comments or Leave a comment |
| a text message to a friend becomes an entry to the world:
im not good at life.
or at least the made-up parts of life.
like time.
and money.
im late in saying
im poor | | comments: 7 comments or Leave a comment |
| "no, i dont get angry with God. not at anything," said johnny cash.
"my arms are too short to box with God." | | comments: 11 comments or Leave a comment |
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