Log in

No account? Create an account
LiveJournal for Aaron Rogge..

View:User Info.
View:Website (My Website).
You're looking at the latest 20 entries. Missed some entries? Then simply jump back 20 entries.

Tuesday, June 26th, 2012

Time:9:22 pm.
suddenly interested in the heat
visions of waking
actions moving along a line
not out of control but who cares?
flood washing down in laughter
that's it, then
Comments: Add Your Own.

Tuesday, July 5th, 2011

Time:9:15 pm.
Kingdom lost in habit
Woe for humid evenings
Houses where no one lives
We are underpaid dusty ghosts
Cigarettes forbidden in braille
Chirping insects far beyond your death
Twenty-something biodegradable mannequins
Twenty-eleven echo chamber kids chewing tar
Hiding in the woods for enlightenment
Love is fluids and magnanimity
Go ahead and tell some lies
It’s so god damned hot
And the calendar sags
Tweet your horseshit
No one cares
Comments: Read 2 orAdd Your Own.

Tuesday, June 1st, 2010

Subject:dream notes
Time:8:18 pm.
Mood: strange.
on all the news channels
somehow ankle deep in blood
we know who they are but we haven't informed the families yet
everyone is late for work
meanwhile a funeral procession leaves frost in its wake
and everyone is on stilts with powdered faces
my co-workers skip out to do hard drugs
and morning light morning light
its time to wake up and
i can see myself in a shower-elevator
rising into an empty house
that someone will probably build
i watch the echoes of the last days of my grandmother's life
as i become responsible for my limbs

and underneath the specter of death
a sinkhole puts the needle on the record
i am still alive
Comments: Read 1 orAdd Your Own.

Tuesday, April 6th, 2010

Subject:the escarpment
Time:9:33 pm.
the escarpment

i lived on the east coast, and it seemed like the sun always said goodbye
'i've got other things to see and do, so i'll get back up with you later'
i lived on the west coast, and it seemed like the sun always said farewell
'it was nice meeting you... we should keep in touch'

and at some 5 am the foamy ghosts of choice congeal into the present
forming a hotel room or your house or somewhere quiet

and in the woods there is no god
and nothing is naked
and it's been some time since i looked out at the night and found words

hundreds of miles from the coast
the seafloor drops off to incredible depths
and the life that we know and recognize gets extinguished
and our sand takes ten of god's lifetimes to become stone
and heaven decides
that everything is ok
Comments: Add Your Own.

Friday, November 13th, 2009

Subject:USF loses 31 to Nothing to Rutgers
Time:12:06 pm.
Mood: astonished.
Unbelieva-bull. Terri-bull. Horri-bull. Despica-bull.

Anyone who witnessed Thursday's 31-0 loss by the USF Bulls to the Scarlet Knights of Rutgers was most likely left baffled. This team was ranked 24th in the country? This team beat Florida State? This team has won a game?

The Bulls' mistakes were too numerous to begin to describe, but I will give it the old college try. It started out with an unnecessary penalty by Jerome Murphy on Rutgers' first drive, a late hit out of bounds. Coach Jim Leavitt pulled him aside and replaced him with freshman cornerback Kayvon Webster, giving Murphy some time to think about what he had done. Seven plays later, Rutgers had found the end zone, on a short pass where receiver Mohamed Sanu easily evaded Webster and found the flat and the goal line. Not so bad, right? This is how the West Virginia game started, right? Add in a muffed punt reception in which Kayvon Webster could easily have called for fair catch, but instead was immediately stripped and the ball recovered by the Scarlet Knights, resulting in a Rutgers possession in the red zone. Another muffed kick reception that the Bulls barely recovered in a thick scrum. Repeated soft tackling by the Bulls' defense with little to no wrapping up. Seven total first downs. A painful BJ Daniels fumble. Speaking of BJ, he threw a beautiful pass to Khaseem Greene, all alone in the end zone. It would have been great had Greene not been a Rutgers player. There were 7 total sacks, six penalties, four turnovers, two turtle doves, and a blocked punt recovery.

There were bright spots. Jerome Murphy snagged an easy pick, seemingly redeeming himself shortly after being benched for the aforementioned late hit. Rutgers missed a field goal and also blew the hold on another. But none of these opportunities were fruitful. None put any points on the board. Some didn't even net a first down. On a desperate fourth down conversion attempt, BJ Daniels was wrapped up and run backwards down the field more than thirty yards with no whistle... the referees seemed so dumbfounded by the spectacle of it all that they didn't feel the need to prolong the game any longer by stopping the clock. As the Rutgers defenders trotted off the field, one shook his head, laughing and looking up at the replay screen. He had finally realized the situation: that this game was a joke.

Chris Fowler summed it up towards the end of the third quarter by saying “USF isn't looking like a top 25 team; in fact, they don't even look like a top 75 team.” I echo his puzzlement. I have seen some tremendously bad performances in college football in my years. I remember traveling to Hattiesburg, Mississippi to see USF lose 27-6 in 2003. I have seen all three of the preceding losses to Rutgers, even last year's 49-16 thrashing at home, which actually had a worse margin of loss. Thursday's loss was far worse. I have seen perennial contenders like Nebraska, Florida, Texas, USC, or Miami trounce opponents by more than sixty points. But there is a difference between all of those losses and Thursday's. Those teams lost because they were overwhelmingly outplayed by offenses and defenses that they could not possibly have prepared for. This year, the Bulls simply played themselves out.

Craig James remarked “This team is already back in Tampa” after seeing a virtually uncontested Rutgers rushing touchdown by Martinek to put them up 31-0. Where was the heart? Where was the helmet-smashing viciousness? Where was the unparalleled 4.3 – 40 speed? USF's Offensive line outweighed Rutgers' defensive line by an average of fifty pounds, but it looked as if they were standing on broken segways. BJ Daniels rarely had enough time in the pocket to put a play together, and when he did, he foundered in pensive fear and either attempted a hopeless rush or succumbed to an inevitable sack. When, late in the fourth, USF placed red-shirt freshman quarterback Evan Landi in the game, Leavitt decided to give us one more gag and let the kid hand it off twice, then get tombstoned on the goal line (a play that was quite obviously a safety, but as previously mentioned, the referees didn't care enough to have to stop the clock and set up a free kick).

Thursday's shaming was truly a nightmare, almost as if each and every one of USF's players woke up from a nap at 6:00 and realized, “Oh snap, I have to play a football game in an hour!”; then, after falling out of bed, couldn't find their shoes, cut themselves shaving, ran into their ex-girlfriend, got kicked in the crotch by a stranger, and finally, after going to three different stadiums, found the correct one just in time to be thrown on the field by a snarling Leavitt. But this was not the case. They had a bye week beforehand to practice. They traveled to New Jersey for the game. They were coached relentlessly for a game that they had 'marked on their calendars'. So what is the excuse? How is this ever going to make sense?

I can only offer one possible answer: the bulls were cold. It may be hard for people from anywhere but Florida to understand, but I guarantee you that 90% of the players on this team have never seen snow. All but one of the defensive starters are from Florida. Some may have never experienced weather cooler than 40 degrees, at least not without an enormous jacket, and they certainly have not been asked to perform vigorous physical activity in said conditions. Last night's weather was in the mid 40s with a stiff 20 mile an hour wind, which, although difficult to play in, is certainly not unheard of. It's like they walked out of the tunnel and said “No way. Nope. It is freezing out here. I'm heading back to the locker room. Call it off.”

One commentator noted that this game was not only bad for USF, but bad for the Big East. A conference that is currently struggling to establish legitimacy needs more than two teams that are contenders, and USF did everything it could to deny the conference that claim. The commentators ruminated on the reasons why the Big East may not have motivation to do well, citing poor bowl tie-ins and few perennial contenders as possible conclusions. But does a team that played as poorly as USF did Thursday night deserve a better bowl than the PapaJohn's.com Pizza Delivery Boy Bowl? Or the St. Petersburg Bowl, presented by Strap-Perfect? Can they make the Snuggie Bowl with a win over Louisville?

One can only hope, going forward, that USF will not suffer another loss as astonishing as Thursday's. The season is not over. A bowl game is within their reach. Louisville, Miami, and Uconn (an away game that will without question be in cold weather) lie ahead. The Bulls owe the fans, and themselves, a fair performance. Thursday night's improv comedy show is over... and let me tell you, the Hurricanes won't find a similar routine funny.
Comments: Read 1 orAdd Your Own.

Monday, October 26th, 2009

Subject:a visit to orange park
Time:2:15 pm.
a visit to orange park

until last week, orange park, florida was another nondescript town on the fringes of a large american city, rife with ordinary civic troubles such as petty theft, squabbling neighbors, and in-state college football rivalries. on monday, however, orange park, like so many cities before it, was thrust into the spotlight when its collective innocence was lost.

i have been regularly visiting orange park for over a year now. it is my girlfriend's hometown, and the place in which she has lived her entire life. the town is a patchwork of neighborhoods, strip malls, canals, creeks, and railroad tracks: a portrait of slow, bible belt life where the southern pines fade to wetland cypress and the boggy banks of the st johns. an official estimate places the population at 9000, although the town proper is home to roughly twice that amount. to the north you will find jacksonville naval air station, an austere arm of military resourcefulness that spawns dozens of drab gray planes wheeling maneuvers in weekend skies. to the southwest lie camp blanding, the headquarters of the florida national guard. orange park is a town of sports bars, honkey tonks, movie theaters, sushi joints, skate shops, ink jet cartridge refill places, and a cemetery that, come tomorrow, will inter someone whose name the world should never have known.

somer thompson was just another child, and perhaps that is what is so troubling about her death. in the sickening media blitz that follows the wake of unspeakable tragedies, much of the details of human life are lost in the coloring of an untimely death. in writeups found in the array of media blocs, you will be told of the investigators' disturbing uncovering of a single, tragic leg in a mass of garbage, or that candles left in the lawn had metaphorically burned out as sick-hearted longing turned to abject grief. these tragic renderings raise nancy grace's eyebrows and lower the voices of local news anchors, but what's lost in the scrum is a community's daft attempt to find meaning in the pall of an event that it cannot truly understand.

coming into town, knowing of the crime that had been committed days before, it was difficult not to scan the white message boards that line the roads to advertise for commercial establishments. most were standard faire, advertising bacon burgers, bail bonds, or 'moved to 324 blanding'. but the first sign that followed the inevitable trend was perhaps the most heart-rending; it read 'in memorey of somer thompson'. there were cheery banners publicizing a fundraiser for the family. there were small cardboard signs punched into the ground for a gun show on saturday and sunday (its attendance no doubt bolstered by this weeks events), a class for nra concealed weapon permits, and churches suggesting that somer be prayed for, as well as 'all of our children'. the strangest sign lie on one of the main roads, which read, 'if you have a secret, keep it'.

yet orange park is not necessarily as innocent as it seemed. just two nights before somer thompson was taken, two young men were stabbed to death in front of a bar in that town. no one seems to have seen anything. weeks earlier, at a sports bar in town, an eccentric local woman spoke to my girlfriend and i as we ate, claiming to know, with clairvoyant powers, where the murder weapon was located with regards to an unsolved murder committed last year against one of her friend's children. every town has its secrets, of course. but should they be kept, as the odd sign suggests?

people in this town (and many others) have been upset by the murder of a young child, but seem to know nothing of names of the endless victims of black on black crime in jacksonville, or the names of other children lost across this country to crimes of a similar nature. that stuff just wasn't real. the idea of leaving the garage door open or letting the children go down to the corner store for sodas has become frightening and unthinkable. everyone seems to remember a time when no one ever murdered one another, stole anything, or crept about in the shadows.

up the road a half hour is the town of starke, home to florida's state penitentiary, and its death row. 'monsters' such as aileen wuornos, ted bundy, mark dean schwab, and danny rolling have all met their end within its walls. and only a half hour south is the town of satsuma, where another missing child has sparked countless hours of vigils, manhunts, speculation and drama... that being the case of young haleigh cummings, a girl left with her father's girlfriend as he went to work... a woman who miserably failed a lie detector test, yet can in no way be definitively linked to the disappearance. haleigh continues to be listed as a missing person. all of this still contrasts with the circus that has become the caylee anthony murder case, just two hours south in Orlando, and the murder of jessica lunsford across the state, the latter being chillingly similar in scenario to the current crime.

what is it about north central florida that garners national attention for these cases? is there some disgusting prevalence of child abuse and murder in this area? this doesn't seem to be the case; children are missing and exploited around the country, and every state has offices to assist in the search and recovery of kidnapped or lost children. is the difference the acute hysteria and public outrage of a region that has seen these cases before, yet has not become jaded or indifferent to their occurrence?

media outlets reported that there were over a hundred registered sex offenders within a five mile radius of the thompson household. in a town that claims to have 9000 residents, that is a shockingly large number. the lunsford case sparked the passage of new laws that claim that a sex offender cannot live within three miles of a school, and the 1991 murder of junny rios-martinez in cocoa, florida, also rewrote legislation making it more difficult for sex offenders to receive early releases from prison (mark dean schwab was executed last year for that crime), yet hundreds of sexual predators still live in our communities. last year a detective knocked on my door in rockledge, as he was handing out fliers that informed the community that a sex offender had moved in around the corner. there are websites and iphone apps that allow you to track the locations of sexual predators in your community. but has all this done anything to protect the children?

unfortunately, i, like the rest of society, have more questions than answers. the american fascination with murder and other violent crimes becomes clear after quickly perusing the tv guide... csi, ncis, cold case, law and order, and a myriad of other spinoffs and knockoffs run nearly constantly; whether it be to reinforce the belief that the police are after these scumbags or entertain our violence-thrill bone is up in the air. do these shows also teach predators how to get away with their crimes? does it give them the satisfaction of knowing that they will become notorious or live a more interesting life by becoming involved in crime?

there are endless issues to consider when contemplating why a predator acts. psychologists offer stacks of books regarding their skewed sense of power and control or their troubled upbringings. true crime novels sell millions of copies a year. but i ask the same question again: has this done anything to protect the children? what can be done to protect the children? is it worth thinking that our children are unsafe?

on the way back to tampa from orange park, i always pass by camp blanding. yesterday the troops were out in formation, while a hundred yards away were a formation of men dressed in middle eastern garb. they must have been simulating a battle scenario or terrorism threat. it's all done in the interest of keeping america safe, but what we cannot forget is that america is safe. compared to most places in the world, america is a beautiful and serene place to live. orange park is a safe place to live and raise your children. america cannot afford to let isolated cases of tragedy taint our collective dream of a wonderful place to raise our children. we may never answer the question of whether we can prevent these cases of crime from occurring; the best that we can do is be vigilant and do the best we can to live clean and happy lives. when orange park is done grieving, and when justice is fulfilled (as it typically is), this sensation will return to that community... but how long that will take is simply another unanswered question.
Comments: Read 1 orAdd Your Own.

Wednesday, October 21st, 2009

Subject:a big ol' dream about utah
Time:7:26 pm.
a big ol' dream about utah

man, i am just running down to that creek! i drove in overnight from abilene, stopped at some indian space station to phone post 43 and let em know i was walking the rest of the way. turned out that was a terrible idea, i was out in the land of scrub tree thickets and mesas just big enough to piss ya off, so i picked up my car at the last pine tree this side of the sierras. la sal, or some god damn place. i don't know. it was night time.

so i am running down to this creek. we've all got our adrenaline pumped after driving on that narrow ass road chopped into sandstone so slick you could roll a half dollar down it. crushing rocks with our tires and sending em down to the gulch where they belong. where did i pick them up? hell... they must have flown in on the dawn. anyhow, the creek is at the bottom of this huge wash that we're descending toward. there's a bath down there that uranium prospectors used to use and we're going to hole up there until the whiskey gets to our heads. we're probably gonna have a hell of a time finding it. it's in some slot canyon in a valley that's got creekbeds coming out of cliffs like doors in a condo complex. but this one creek is wet and i want to be wet too, so to hell with beginnings, let's get started.

when we get down to the water we can see all the eddies and upwellings from the differences in depth. it's like a big thick piece of alive glass. after seeing texas and new mexico this place is like all's holy cibola. the jackrabbits can have the western plains.

the water is slipping around fast but not too fast, good fer swimmin. just before i hop in i'll be damned if i don't see that the entire bottom of this creek is just thick with jewels. minerals that people haven't even put down in a science book. like chunks of glass with bubbles in suspension, or like those fake glass dewdrop things that old people put in their gardens beneath their butterfly globes except the things we're pullin up out of this creek are so priceless that no one could ever afford to buy em from us. i could fit the mona lisa in my pockets.

but holy shit! i can fly! i take off and head for that big ol stack hanging off the side of a bentonite hill, and i don't even want to climb up to the top, i just want to see it up close. the indians say that the rocks'll throw you off if they don't like where yer tryin to get to. the molten eagle's already got a date with that fantastic lil outcrop anyhow.

each one of these here boulders is my friend. the gravel's their children. some of my friends in air traffic control are rerouting planes because those sons of bitches aren't allowed to see this place, even from the air. you have to come here and taste the sand to open your eyes. you gotta be thirsty. you gotta know what shade is.

we found the camp. slung up some tarp in this confluence of slot canyons with rocks just perfect enough to set up the bare essentials. someone brought a pair of mini blinds as a little joke. and you know the crazy thing? the sun is hardly even out. we've been here for five minutes. i am the scorpion; damn i love climbing around on these rocks! why the hell was i in abilene?

and this is the dream of the pioneers... this is the big sick wanderlust that made it ok to drink bitter water, made it the norm to eat thistle pie, whistle where there ain't no echo, and take off your hat on the top of that yonder hill and think 'god damned if i ain't about to wake up someplace else'
Comments: Add Your Own.

Tuesday, October 20th, 2009

Time:1:51 pm.
'ruminations on the almost transcendental mania of decreasingly functional footwear perpetuated by the overarching global corporate branding machine, not to mention the general trend of retail outlets to promote conspicuous consumption in post WW2 america, only hastened by the effect of web 2.0's ubiquity'

by AR

shoes. you're probably wearing them now. somehow they are fastened to your feet, keeping your soles from touching the ground, whether cozily shielding them from the wintry city streets or flipping up sand behind you as you trot down to the shoreline. you may change pairs a few times during the day, rooting in your closet for something more apropos or comfortable. you may even have an emergency pair in the trunk of your car for a trip to the gym or an after-work run.

it's no question why we wear shoes. but which shoes do we wear? and, if i decide to wear this hat with these sneakers, will it totally destroy my reputation as a discerning clothes-horse?

at what point did shoes deviate from basic functionality to become a serious statement of stylistic preference? we almost universally purchase shoes from common retailers, whether at the time-tested mall outlets or from the radically varied breadth of internet retailers. yet even in the face of large scale distributors, DIY etsies designers, and eternally cycling fashion trends, we are never going to be limited in the ways that shoes can express some elusive, indescribable quality. but can a pair of shoes really broadcast 'i don't give a fuck!'?

some eras are typified by specific morphologies of shoe. wing-tips, saddle shoes, bulky basketball shoes emblazoned with a leaping (and although too small to see, tongue brandishing) michael jordan. but just like every other customizable item in our 'post-consumer' (lol) world, the choice of what to wear has become maddening, as was seen worldwide in the ...shudder... viral video, 'shoes'. in case you are fortunate enough to not have seen the aforementioned short, a troglodytic 'young woman' is upset with gifts given to 'her' and goes into a hysterical bloodlust focused on locating and obtaining footwear.

this is not the only well-worn meme dealing with the powerful need to own footwear. just last sunday, i watched a feature about football superstar adrien peterson in which he attested to having spent over 200,000 dollars on shoes. shoe rack infomercials convince you that your dozens of shoes can conveniently be hung on the back of your door in a wire metal shoe rack; that is, if you don't mind the damn thing swinging shut a half second after your door does, spilling them all out fuckwards and making it look like a payless exploded in your room. i also recall a segment in the concert film 'vieuphoria' in which James Iha of the Smashing Pumpkins describes to a therapist his mortifying paranoia about what each of his bandmates may be wearing on their feet at any given time. he then suggests that shoes be offered to them on a deli cart prior to each show.

all joking aside, the jingoism of shoe hoarding is quite real. many people collect cars or thimbles or ceramic 'mammies', but the ubiquity of footwear has bred a widespread culture of shoe-mania. Indonesia and Bangladesh provide millions of laborers just to create footwear for discerning shoe maniacs, all while many of those workers shamble in wearing dilapidated slaps. every mall in america is not without at least three or four shoe outlets. is this because america needed all those shoes, or because america wanted us to think we needed all those shoes?

the global marketing conglomerate knows what you want. after getting a confirmation email from a social networking site called shoegazr.com, google politely let me know of five different sites in which to indulge my need to purchase footwear. kobe bryant does shit you would never believe possible, and then at the last second they tell you 'he was wearing THESE SHOES!!! available at diesel'. some marketing is not so blatant. often on television, where hosts or correspondents feet are rarely ever shown, companies furnish footwear and discretely plug their wares at the end of the episode.

a hot pair of kicks can broadcast affluence and draw attention to the greater whole of the individual, just like a songbird will flex his pipes to show sexual fitness or a dog will roll in a dead opossum to prove his ability to hunt. the difference between these natural examples and the phenomenon of 'flossing' is that our culture has been slyly convinced to conspicuously consume, or without the guise of terminology, to purchase items that are beyond the basic need of the item itself in order to be unambiguously regarded as rich or rad or cutting-edge by one's peers.

this brings us back to shoegazr.com. call it a 'sign of the times', but now it is no longer necessary to actually OWN the shoes that you intend to floss. using this site (fully integrated with the magnificent facebook), one can build a profile that showcases the user's provided personal data, his or her current shoes, and a 'wishlist' of shoes found on the web. the site itself is particularly sleek and easy to use, and users unanimously coo at the functionality and aesthetic of its features. but functionality and aesthetic is not reflected in the variety of shoes that have aggregated in the user's galleries. beyond the 'wouldn't it be crazy if i had these shoes' argument, do users seriously consider purchasing shoes that appear as if frank lloyd wright cantilevered them together? what about the converse all-stars that lace all the way up to the waist? does the expense and discomfort of wearing these shoes quantify the intrapersonal glee harvested from kicking those bitches down to the club?

there is a well-known 'culture lag' in fashion. seafoam goes from new york to los angeles to chicago to seattle to florida to the midwest (or some derivative thereof). something as simple as a certain color or fabric can be marched down the runway while dozens of fashionistas mentally masturbate about how fucking genius it is to bring back twill, and, in five years, you'll see it sagging on its hanger on the clearance rack at lane bryant. some members of this phylogenetic tree never make the outlet store cut, or are diluted so much as to not even resemble the original garment. these are all phases of the corporate branding process that dictates the oeuvre of style that manifests itself on the streets, in the media, and on your body.

if the western world did not have an unquenchable thirst for uniqueness, it could definitely be argued that marketing and branding would not be the multibillion dollar industry it currently is. but the western world also has a pervasive desire to make their outfits pop, rather, to emit a favorable self-image, and with the glut of media input pushing and pulling fads around at a breakneck pace, we can only expect some sort of 'shoe-fashion singularity', where some devious designer unveils THE PERFECT SHOE, and everyone pulls off their boots and slaps and loafers and knows, just KNOWS, that we all have to be wearing this shoe. but until then, we will have to keep perusing the series of tubes and building our wishlists on shoegazr. we'll have to keep buying shoelaces and racks and deodorizers and all of the other essential items that go along with putting shoes on your feet. functionality hasn't been replaced by aesthetic. functionality just lies at the bottom of the shoe-mania pyramid, the humble base for greater economic fulfillment, image generation, and consumer satisfaction.
Comments: Read 1 orAdd Your Own.

Monday, October 19th, 2009

Subject:the internet is lists
Time:12:11 pm.
rules for going to a career fair:

1. first things first: find the restroom. get it all out of you and check out how you look. don't be afraid to hit the bathroom up a couple of times just to take a second to reset your brain.

2. dress like you already have a job/have been at work all day. it seems counterintuitive, but you need to look like you don't NEED this job. razzle dazzle.

3. remember: the employers have met a lot of people. cut the bullshit and get right to the point. but don't forget rule #4:

4. SMILE! you are the happiest piece of shit on the planet. nothing negative should come out of your mouth. if the sentence begins with 'unfortunately', it will have unfortunate consequences.

5. don't have your resume out until they ask for it. it makes you seem mysterious. or it makes it seem like you want to know more about them, hence rule #6:

6. ask questions about the company. it makes you seem less desperate and more inquisitive. this is a no brainer - don't you WANT to know more about the people you are marketing yourself to?

7. take breaks. refer to rule #1. if they have a drink cart, get a drink. step outside to cool off, it gets hot on those floors, and your mouth tends to get dry when you are passing all that bullshit through there. also, if you smoke cigarettes, don't smoke. you can handle that for an hour or two, right?

8. stay away from the swag. don't touch their table unless they offer you something.

9. 'visit the website' means they're not that interested. it's science.

10. stereotype. talk to the representative from the company that seems as if they will buy what you are trying to sell the most. the stern indian man probably won't be the best choice for someone with a 3.0 gpa.

even with these rules in your pocket, career fairs are still a heartless aspect of common business practices. it's like a high school dance where everyone is single and no one is getting laid afterward. the employers don't want to be there just as much as you. i've been to many many job fairs with very little success to speak of... so maybe this list isn't the best reference.
Comments: Read 2 orAdd Your Own.

Monday, October 5th, 2009

Time:12:10 am.
received two items of mail yesterday,

a check for $3.70, royalties from my book for the second quarter
and an electric bill for $221.

freedom isn't free.
Comments: Add Your Own.

Tuesday, September 15th, 2009

Time:7:03 pm.
the future,
a series of upcoming pasts
the past - lakes at the bottom of hillsides

it's going to rain in E minor
so god damned hard it smells like sulfur
the fate and transport of a chemical
through the earth's guts
bouncing around in the air like a little ionic feather,
how do i keep track of you
when you outweigh the sun?

i've been taught that activity = concentration = pressure
based on the state of the substance, so

i searched for shasta
breathed clouds in crater lake
urban foraged in portland
watched the whores in seattle
couldn't find the light switch in missoula
said goodbye to the sun in the badlands
met an anaconda in chicago
caught summer in buffalo
cypress south carolina
new old rooms in something like home.

the lizard king is growing a new tail
and he likes to sit up on the handlebars
of a bike that no one rides
and if you were here right now,
you could see how much he likes to eat ants
and i could hold your hand
in the newest past.
Comments: Add Your Own.

Saturday, July 25th, 2009

Subject:living in yosemite
Time:4:57 pm.
living in yosemite. most people compare it to a mix of a drunken semester at college, but imagine if your campus was a theme park eerily similar to a foreigner-filled hell, you sleep every night in the equivalent of a phone booth at an airport, and your day job is at a 1980s summer camp. all a short walk away from sheer, unadulterated wilderness.

rent is 15.44 a week. you make 8.45-9.00 an hour minus bitch-ass california taxes. heater, no AC. electricity. community kitchen. community showerhouse/bathroom. community sin den/foosball house/awkward place to be drunk among coworkers. all food (allegedly) has to be stored outside in a metal bear box. nickel returns on bottles. in the 90s everyday temperaturewise. it has not rained in six weeks. i apologize for the non-rotatedness of some images but we don't have the ability to do so on these computers (srsly)

not a whole lot of room inside the tent-cabin- if carmen and I were not together (ie if you just came by yourself) you would have two single beds as opposed to this double. the walls are canvas - people smoke weed and fuck and watch movies and have fights often. not at the same time though.

internet is scarce. bears don't dare come near our tent. at least a half dozen people have died within a couple miles in the past few weeks. millions of other complaints too inconsequential/longwinded to list here. I fill vending machines with candy, soda, ice... and oh yeah, we do the penny smashers too. it is a thoroughly chill job.

on the weekends (thursday and friday... saturday is monday?) we go to places like sonoma county, san francisco, big sur, fresno... m.o. to get out of the valley. nicknames for yosemite valley include: the granite womb, the ditch, land of misfit toys. idiots and geniuses and Chileans and Thais and amputees and climbers and orphans and trustfund kids and dropouts and smokers and pianists and comics and nobodys, we all unite around ice-cold tallboys of king cobra malt liquor priced at a mere 75 cents a can and agree that, dammit, at least we're smarter than the people that crawl out of those air-conditioned tourbuses everyday.
Comments: Read 1 orAdd Your Own.

Thursday, June 4th, 2009

Time:7:30 pm.
let's get one thing straight -

i've been in yosemite for the past two weeks
i will be there until august 7
i live in a tent cabin and fill up vending machines
i got accepted to graduate school at USF

anyone use LJ anymore?
Comments: Read 6 orAdd Your Own.

Friday, May 8th, 2009

Subject:a prayer to duluoz
Time:1:46 am.
may the winds always blow west
may it always be spring
and the leaves be new
may the road envelop you
and turn you upside down
may the passing be passing
and the still be infinite
may love surround you
may your hands be rough
and friends with the earth
may you be young
while you have earned it
may you dream of the north
and wake to the south
may you fly when there is space beneath you
may you have no wishes
may you have no fears
may nothing exist at all
may your years pass in the blink of an eye
may the earth make you disappear
in its inimitable spaces
may your questions go unanswered
may the lost become lost
may your endings not make sense
Comments: Read 1 orAdd Your Own.

Wednesday, May 6th, 2009

Time:11:28 pm.
Mood: accomplished.

making beer is an ancient art. before the process was refined, all people had to get drunk on was wine, and no one wanted to have to deal with snooty french connoisseurs always talking about 'hints of blackberry' or 'bottle shock'.

my dad and I have set up a ten-plus gallon all-grain brewing setup, complete with a keggerator and two taps. let's take a look at the magic behind beer brewing, shall we?

pictures in the cut!Collapse )
Comments: Read 2 orAdd Your Own.

Friday, May 1st, 2009

Subject:write less when happy
Time:11:48 pm.
still upside-down and in love with life
winning the gentle everyday battle to breathe and stay warm
write less when happy
love produces too much writing already
poetry forums full of housewives writing about dewdrops-on-roses
and the knickknacks and fetishes of daily ritual
love - the endlessly repeatable process - shut up and enjoy it
adorn it only with the indescribable gift of experience
it turns out all of the stars in the galaxy already have their own names
so beware if someone tries to sell you one-
'he who puts an affordable dollar amount on billions of tonnes of infinitely fusing hydrogen-helium plasma
doesn't understand
what the fuck it is all about'
but hey,
tomorrow morning is still the most important morning
for every one of us.
we're all waking up in the same place
according to the universe.
Comments: Read 2 orAdd Your Own.

Tuesday, April 14th, 2009

Subject:gut buster
Time:7:35 pm.
i just saw a commercial for pizza hut (trademark). they are hawking a new PANORMOUS pizza (i do love my portmanteaus) and in the commercial a ludicrously smiling young man remarks 'we are never going to finish this.'

i didn't see the commercial, i heard the guy say it and then DVR-ed back to watch it again. it was the little drop in his voice at the end that made me think 'this guy realizes how absurd his line is.' 'we are never going to finish this.' in other words, our consumption has grown to such a revolting degree that we are pleased with seeing something that defies our best efforts to devour it. this pizza is so palatial that a group of stoners with a sack of expensive weed are going to fall asleep before this pie can get cached. better yet, it doesn't bother them in the least to have to throw away the last slice or two of this behemoth, because after indulging in that greasefest, you won't want another pizza for weeks, let alone microwaved slices of its corpse for tomorrow's lunch. it's PANORMOUS!

how much does one of these gargantuan testaments to gluttony cost? ten dollars. that in itself is a little upsetting. what corners are they cutting to get a pizza that could feed the entire cast of the biggest loser under ten bucks? in today's cost cutting times, i guess it makes sense. at least it's better than last year's 'seventy nine, eight nine, ninety nine, AY AY AY!' campaign by taco bell.
Comments: Read 2 orAdd Your Own.

Wednesday, April 8th, 2009

Time:4:57 am.
Mood: tired.
It rained like a motherfucker throughout the whole game.
It was a steady late-winter rain, so nothing as fortuitous as lightning was going to come along and cause the adults to cancel the match. We were doomed to two endless halves of pushing the ball through wet puddles with soggy blades of rotten dead grass creeping into our shoes.
I never was too good at soccer. My philosophy was that if the ball came into my area, I should kick the piss out of it toward the direction that contained the least amount of enemy players. Dribbling was something the bottom of my shorts was already doing quite well.
I don't remember how the game ended up, suffice to say it was probably a tie. After the game, parents picked up their kids armed with dry towels, Hi-C, and mix 105.1: best of the 70s, 80s, and today. My parents worked late so I had become comfortable with the two mile walk home. I had to go back into the school to get my backpack, so I decided to stop in for a quick shower, as that was my best chance to get warm.
It was a small school and the showers only had two nozzles. Already using one was a kid from a grade below me named Matthew. He was hunched over, letting the water drain down his back, still in his soccer uniform. I turned on the other nozzle and revved up the heat, not bothering to take off my clothes since that was apparently the pre-established norm. After a little while, Matthew noticed my presence.
"I probably have blades of grass in my butt crack." I said.
"I can't believe we played the whole game. The field was like a lake." he replied. I agreed. One kid had tried to kick the ball and the damn thing had just spun in the water.
"I think your necklace fell off." I told him. There was a necklace trying to flow down the drain at his feet, but it was held off by a corroded metal drain.
"Oh, yeah, thanks." he said, bending down to pick it up. I noticed it was one of those necklaces that kids used to make with letters as beads, so that they could write 'Matthew' or 'Precious' or 'BFF' or 'Fart' and wear it around their neck. I never saw one with 'Fart' but that's what I would have put on one if I ever was forced to do arts and crafts.
"What's that say on there?" I asked. The necklace read 'BOOMPH.'
"It says BOOMPH." Matthew replied. I awaited a clearly evident explanation, but after listening to the tinkling water flow for a few awkward seconds, I solicited a response.
"What does that mean?" I turned my water off and wrung out my socks.
"That's the sound it's gonna make when the rapture comes. When Jesus comes back and takes everyone up to heaven." Matthew told me. I put my socks back on.
"Yeah?" I could come up with nothing better.
"Yeah, like, poof, you're gone." he explained. That was an eerie thought for me. I didn't really want Jesus to come back and take us up to heaven, where we would live in houses made of roses and eat apples all day, or whatever heaven was. My current life was okay.
"Did you buy that?" I asked.
"No, we made them in youth group." he answered, turning off his faucet. I walked over and stooped under the hand dryers, trying to dry my back enough to not get my backpack soaking wet.
"You should come to our youth group." Matthew told me. I thought about this, turning around to push the button for one more drying cycle.
"Do you do things besides making necklaces?" I asked.
"Yeah, we do praise and worship." he told me.
"You know, when Jesus comes back, you won't be able to wear your necklace anymore." I said. I wondered if in heaven they made necklaces that said something else for whatever came after heaven.
"Yeah, that's okay. We'll be with God then." Matthew said.
"Oh." My dryer shut off. I picked up my backpack and headed out of the bathroom. Matthew was behind me as I left, and I saw his mother's minivan waiting in the first parking spot outside the front door of the school. It wasn't raining anymore, and the streetlights were starting to kick on.
Matthew went over and hopped into the backseat, and they drove past me on the way out of the parking lot. Maybe I should have made a necklace that said 'Vroom', I thought, the sound it makes when I get in your car after you offer me a ride to my house, asshole. I turned right at Fiske Boulevard and started the walk.
The street was steaming and little rivers of water were slowly making their way into the storm drains. From there the drainage would wash out into the St. Johns. The streetlights were making orange cones that moved slowly left to right with the motion of the billowing steam. Just for a minute there was a break in traffic so that there wasn't a car in sight in either direction.
Jesus probably isn't coming back anytime soon, I thought. He couldn't even come up with a bolt of lightning.
Comments: Add Your Own.

Saturday, March 28th, 2009

Time:11:32 pm.
how lost and don't belong,
far from fantasy
cold coffee and daylight,
this is today
and shirt collar sickness.
call it waitred,
or today's distress.
are you sick and wondering?
exploding with fright
at the person you are soon to become?
i have dreams of brazil
and the smell of stability
to lull me to sleep.
come soon, cold,
and split my future
into beautiful patterns
of splendid sound.
Comments: Add Your Own.

Monday, March 9th, 2009

Time:2:08 am.
Mood: awake.
welcome to the great illusion of uniqueness
grand central station of the internet
you can spend three billion minutes a day here
find five other people with your name
write your own magazine
try to get laid
experience acute insignificance
or the feeling of being watched
make a morning post on a mourning post
or cancel a great romance
get sick with jealousy
or become aroused in secrecy.

hey, what are you doing tonight?
i used to know you.
how have you been?
i can't fucking believe you.
mavens, sycophants, camwhores
politicians, focus groups, fanatics
teenagers, grown ups, dearly departed
meme processors, boyfriends, brand names
328 pictures appear a second
and none of them feature you.

but please,
add a generalization about yourself
browse others within your generalization
send a message
or maybe just a poke.

behold the indescribable sphere of the affluent
the acropolis of mirrors
st peter's fabled book
the great wall
the socially elaborate census
your steadily shrinking world
the atlas of your life

Comments: Read 5 orAdd Your Own.

LiveJournal for Aaron Rogge..

View:User Info.
View:Website (My Website).
You're looking at the latest 20 entries. Missed some entries? Then simply jump back 20 entries.