Fallen Thoughts

:: 9.21.2002 ::

I just ordered tickets.

hell. yeah.

:: posted by Michael at 11:07 AM (0) comments [+] ::

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"pop" or "soda"?

which do you say?

thanks for the link, 'evil'.

:: posted by Michael at 11:22 PM (0) comments [+] ::

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the small picture on the top left of this page was taken one afternoon as I was walking from a friends house in athens, ga. the subject is a large wooden railroad trestle that has been out of service for quite some time. the overall appearance of it - over a centuries worth of wear, the contrasting lines, and the way it emerges from its surroundings - coupled with the lush background just screamed photo op. the picture turned out well, and I thought it a fitting photograph for my personal journal. it depicts one of my favorite haunts, the biggest small town in the world, athens, georgia. the trestle also serves as a symbol for history, travel, and a link between people. perfect for an online journal, right? but little did I know, I was snapping a shot of a very special landmark to quite a few people. after hearing about a newspaper article on the trestle from my good friend Josh, I hopped on the web and was quite surprised at the fame of this dilapidated structure.

apparently, this trestle is the same one which graces the back cover of R.E.M.'s 1983 release, Murmur. in recent years, the fate of the trestle seemed bleak as city officials were faced with deciding what to do with the town's century old trestles. though others were destroyed and cleared away for access to the land they occupied, the murmur trestle was saved when countless fan emails poured into the mayor's inbox pleading for it to be spared.

since then, many fans have began making donations to help preserve the trestle and its legacy as a part of R.E.M.'s, and the town of athens' history. another large contribution was made by Ethan Kaplan of murmurs.com, using his oft-visited fansite to raise a considerable amount of money for the trestle through the sell of t-shirts. obviously, the band was very appreciative of their fan's support on the issue and have continued to return their support for the memorable landmark.

..and knowing is half the battle.

:: posted by Michael at 10:03 AM (0) comments [+] ::

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a bit of freestyle conversation, with slight grammatical editing:

bustas can't ignore the repertoire we've busted before,
wood duck up to explore avenues and that's what the word is for.
so I'll move with perogative, my hobby is to live.
I'm driven from within to find the secrets that connect yesterday
with tomorrow, history with today, all this time trying to keep my way.
trying to keep what I say woven in the minds by these lines
like I'm the dream weaver.
seems the believer will read words and turn them into actions.

I got a good paragraph in store for the rafters of your mind,
supporting the roof of your skull, holding the weight of a world of ideas.
turning fears into realizations, uniting nations in the simplicity
of the need to love each and every soul.
making you feel somewhat whole, when your words roll
so effortlessly from those dark corners onto the page
and the indications are realized ten-fold.

so speak with simplicty, no need for I believe.
we'll make waters ripple, make the children within giggle
and move past the individual torwards what the lord calls us here for.
the sangha is inseperable, this soul community
with the sole purpose of immunity from the world's materialisms, this blurred delerium.

I can't speak down on material
as we keep in touch through the power of these thousand dollar machines,
I can only hope that soon Man will incorporate
more thought towards nature in his ever-progressing dreams.
streaming waters to streaming audio, ripples to ripping mp3s.
makes it hard for this simple mind to conceive the possibilites of what the future may hold.
I do know my streets of gold may well be straw,
for soft travels as I look out on an entire world to behold.

yet I pray I'll know when to refrain,
for sometimes I feel like the straw man without a brain.
and the crows are coming from all around to eat in my fields and laugh in my face,
but I feel a smooth draft will replace all that.
my streets of gold unfold into the yellow brick road leading to the wizard,
and until he is heard, I'll blurt out "there's no place like home".
and you'll know I mean douglas g-a,
where your ugly mug sprays into the early morning rays.

I'd play a masterful Lion, I've surely got the mane.
I have far too many thoughts to be lacking a brain.
I love far too many things to not possess a heart.
it's my lack of courage that brings the most pain.
a constant refrain from the possibilities of my abilities,
arresting these thoughts with my cowardly chains.
let the wizard grant me the motivation to let my thoughts be heard
and arm in arm we'll travel along that yellow brick road again.

skipping thoughts off the mind's waters like stones,
but with no bones, for we both know we're in the zone.
in the depths of despair, we share the light.
we care to cite the manual of north pearl that's kept in the shell
only when the mouth shuts and the mind swells with no outlet.
can't forget the wood duck outfit, rockin' the tees like a modern socrates.
droppin' the beat, proppin' up the feet, speaking of souls complete.

:: posted by Michael at 6:56 AM (0) comments [+] ::

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