wyredgeek's Xanga

Is xanga really dead?

Sat, 28 Jul 2007 01:11:27 GMT

Thought so. Never know, though.

This one song

Tue, 24 Apr 2007 20:30:04 GMT

This song is what I am feeling, can you guess why?
and to whom...? (my weird feelings, not other people)

I Will Survive Lyrics
» Gloria Gaynor

First I was afraid
I was petrified
Kept thinking I could never live
without you by my side
But I spent so many nights
thinking how you did me wrong
I grew strong
I learned how to carry on
and so you're back
from outer space
I just walked in to find you here
with that sad look upon your face
I should have changed my stupid lock
I should have made you leave your key
If I had known for just one second
you'd be back to bother me

Go on now go walk out the door
just turn around now
'cause you're not welcome anymore
weren't you the one who tried to hurt me with goodbye
you think I'd crumble
you think I'd lay down and die
Oh no, not I
I will survive
as long as i know how to love
I know I will stay alive
I've got all my life to live
I've got all my love to give
and I'll survive
I will survive

It took all the strength I had
not to fall apart
kept trying hard to mend
the pieces of my broken heart
and I spent oh so many nights
just feeling sorry for myself
I used to cry
Now I hold my head up high
and you see me
somebody new
I'm not that chained up little person
still in love with you
and so you felt like dropping in
and just expect me to be free
now I'm saving all my loving
for someone who's loving me

boo

Sat, 24 Feb 2007 17:08:11 GMT

gettin busy in the ju wurld

and now i have a cold.

a rant on life

Mon, 15 Jan 2007 04:33:17 GMT

we are lead down a road every once in a while,there are forks in them. We either take the one we follow, or the one that's left behind.
but don't spend too much time at one certain point, though.
there are many other chances to do the same again.
we are always learning, always changing. nothing can be ruined, but only done again.

just a rant, i guess...

-benig

A Thesis on Feces

Sun, 07 Jan 2007 05:21:03 GMT

It all started at the dinner table. Like all conversations held around the arena of consumable deliciousness, the topics bounced back and forth, mimicking one of the latest Wimbledon tennis matches. Our dinner guest, a family friend and pathologist, provided talk among the grown ups while the children simply moved their head from speaker to speaker trying to understand what the adults were talking about.

The father served a quote from Israeli politics, stating that the land was not built in the right place. This was answered by tangential remarks of displacement of people as a whole. Their movements and refuge seeking exploits were of high importance to the mother of the household, herself an Israeli national.

As the food disappeared from serving plates and into no longer empty stomachs, the topic of the government once again surfaced. Those around the table agreed that the current situation was futile and, "well it all looks like it's going to the shits."

As all conversations go, this injected another interesting tangent in the discussion, one more favored than the previous by the pathologist: the human body. It was weird how it all made sense. The governmental situation could be related, without excessive thought, to the mildly complex process of digestion.

The food we eat, the raw materials for energy, can be related to the people of a nation. where the general population would be the consumer and the government, usually elected by the people, would be the raw food being consumed. of course, one could argue the exact opposite, stating that it is the government 'shopping' for votes by pleasing its constituents, but the previous notion was what was seen around the table that late summer evening.

As the government does its doing, the population digests its actions, collecting the nutrients from decisions of parliament and living off the actions of the powers that be. each person breaks down what they need, or don't need, and uses it to their benefits. Tax cuts are an example of that.

All that said, however, sometimes parasites and other 'nasties' are embedded in the food making the consumer sick. This is not different with the government. Elevated parking tickets, excessive water bills, curfews from the streets, these are all examples of the hidden rotten qualities of any governing body.

As the youngest child picked up a leaf of lettuce with her fork, the discussion of parasites evolved into the fecal category. now, all but one of the family had caught on to the topic and, in essence, sunk their own little hooks into the lower intestine of the subject and hung on, extracting the nutrients of knowledge of the dinner table talk.

The oldest son, now turning eighteen, reeled within his head the ideas on the topic at hand. "A thesis on feces," he thought, he knew he was on to something.
It seemed true, and the idea held. It's weird how dinner time discussions had that quality. The rest of the family tried reluctantly at first to comprehend this notion, but they soon followed along, relishing in its abject nature:

No matter what kind of person one was, be they a member of the government, a worker, or simply a regular member of society. They could easily be classified by a type of feces: there are the runny ones, slipping about their world of deceit and feelings of great unrest; there are hard but small ones, arriving into this world as chunky little clumps resembling deer refuse, persistent to stay the course of their choosing, but crumbling and gathering at the bottom of the bowl of their existence; and then there were those resembling logs. These self righteous bastards just sit and hover in their world. They roll around and expect a great doting by envious members of the other kinds. These are the ones that run banks, own large discount shopping centers, and of course, run the government.
The theory tumbled along the table with the usual fervor and excitement that taboo topics received.

Until sadly, the pathologist excused himself to go to the bathroom.

The day after Christmas

Wed, 27 Dec 2006 05:44:08 GMT

The day after Christmas

So I wake up at eight in the morning, and no one is around. It seems that for once I was awake before the rest of the family and that there was nothing to do. Seeing as the beach, as always, was open, I set out for an adventure south bound treading the delicately coarse sand with my bare feet. Past the honeycomb shaped hotels I walk by bricolage of a sand castle was being formed on my left, made by a mother and two kids. Of course, being in Acapulco, this wasn't one of those apparently half-assed creations we Americans in the Midwest hack together. No, this is something far from it. It was a fortress, composed of moats and walls and spirettes, this castle was taking forming alright, slowly but surely; as slow and sure as my foot steps.

While continuing pensively, people started to appear. The morning was continuing, and it was time for more more people to begin their day. Fishermen stood by the water, coaxing their prey with lures and baits of nylon; vendors carried their gloriously beautiful items with care as to not drop them--since this seemed to be their lively hood; and watercraft keepers waited as passers-by came, not knowing of any irregular decision, and pounced on them with questions of rental and purchase. Here, a half hour jet ski ride was only thirty dollars, of course, this could be negotiated lower. But only if you knew the art.

It was after some napping and eating and repetition of the above that the beautiful sunset did appear. Only this time it was trailed by a large half-moon. Amber in color, it took over the the darkened violet sky like a pelican over water and began it's journey west. It seemed to loom heavily in the middle of the sky. Dancing with the stars and waves. It called for the lovers of the world to rejoice, scattering its glow towards all spectators as it effortlessly glided toward a heavily lit mountain range on the north side of the bay. As soon as it appeared, the moon receded from view, being eaten like the missing piece by the shimmering mountain side of another well populated area.

As the waves lapped at the shore, medium sized boats covered in lights bobbed and weaved across the vast depths of the ocean, blasting samba and other selections in a celebratory manner. It was a party boat.

God, this New Year's really going to be a heck of a party.

Thoughts of Christmas

Tue, 26 Dec 2006 00:06:45 GMT

So, picture this. Bobbing up and down in the ocean you listen to the waves lapping and gurgling as they collapse over themselves topsyturvy over onto the sand like fish being hitched by fisherman on their fishing lines. Exhausted from their struggle and thrashing about, the fish acquiesce and finally beach themselves, taking the last vacation of their lives.
    It has now been two days since my family had arrived here and all of us are now red in one sort of way or another. Some bright as the rich sweet tomatoes from the supermarket, others a more mellow tanned tone, deep as the sunset's very own gradiential colors. From dark blue, through levels of 'regular blue', from violet tints to a peachy green and finally filtering down to the color peach itself, finally into orange and then to a pure blood-orange red.
    Our view from our hotel room is inconcievably perfect. A clean, pure blue pool beneath, unobscured views of the bay of which we are staying, and the delicious architecture of a 50s era hotel, curved in nature, convexly catching the sun light and sending it singing towards everyone around.
    This is the Christmas vacation to remember, all others were dress rehearsals. This is the time to relax before I get 'thrown in with the dogs' at Albion College next year. This is the time to have fun.

    And I wouldn't have it any other way.

So I'm leaving on a jet plane

Sat, 23 Dec 2006 09:56:43 GMT

I know when I'll be back again

merry (insert religion here) holidays!

and a happy new year

random question

Fri, 22 Dec 2006 01:53:39 GMT

What the hell is a footprint?!

<--

untitled

Mon, 18 Dec 2006 01:30:42 GMT

they write of cats
of cats and mountains
and 'Michael' sitting atop them
with cats perched about the peak
of the mountain's highest intellect
its highest apogee

how appropriate for such a person
to be on the peak
peeking down at the ant hills
and ants in their cars

as they drive off into the
never ending horizon