the table is being set first with glasses of water, then the ice tea with lemon:

cap'n jazz and victory honda
analphabetpology to you too.

i settled for it and went at the same time
caught in mid air on a mid summer return

and late at night is when i first saw you
i forgot everything in a blur then burst

balancing but on the edge over
faster than the laziest turtle

a few words:

last night was my last night in 160 schultze, the room i have inhabited for the past two years here at calvin college.
in contrast to last year, this year i lived with a sage.
what a difference it makes to have a roommate who cares. thank you jason fileta, for a wonderful year. you are an amazing man and i look up to you in every way imaginable.

a friend came bellowing through the doors today:

i heard stories about honduras. children are shot, glue is sniffed, money is stolen, beggars are lost, mattresses are shared, people on top of people, abuse is rampant, the government is not there (hello?), the rich ignore, the poor will suffer, and as i sit back and listen to dear julie tell me these things i wonder why so many educated people hate america.

it was good to see julie. and i enjoyed her company on the 1308 bemis porch this afternoon. zaria, dijon, biggie and the rest of the bemis block kids who would play in my lap, stare in awe at my skin color and hair, ask for food, money and love came by and reminded me of summer. tangled in children and grasping to catch up with one another, i forgot to thank julie for all the hours she's spent listening to me talk and for the hours of advice she's given me. and now, as she decides what to do with her life, i'll remember julie dyson and hope the best for her. it was good to see you, julie, unexpectedly. i love surprises.

i find myself cornered by school at the moment. a take home on my desk, to the right of me. to the left of me is my study guide for victorian literature. damien rice signs in the background and i'm watching people carry their personal belongings and packing them into cars, leaving school, because they're done for now. i've become impatient. and its effecting my studies. school will end soon enough. and damien will be my eskimo friend again. this room is dirty and i don't want to clean it.

in the 21st century of exile:

appoint the sun by day. decree the moon and stars to shine by night. stir up the sea (so that its waves roar).

the law is in our minds and written in our hearts. our cause is defended, a sword against the babylonians. wail over her.
for the day is near: a day of clouds a time of doom, in desolate lands with a net casted over us, hauling us all up into the net--thrown to land, hurled upon open field.
the birds will settle upon us.
and we will be appaled by our kings. and we will be appaled by our kings. and we will be appaled by our kings. and we will be appaled by our kings. and we will be appaled by our kings. and we will be appaled by our kings. and we will be appaled by our kings.
and we will set up a new city.
and we will look upon the clouds from our fields. and we will look upon the clouds from our fields.
every eye will see.
every eye will see.

and you never know:

weaving thru traffic in a day where the clocks unwind slowly, surely, calmly.
a sure sign of discipline, a way to make it better and a fair field for our futures.
come over here, its quiet and comfortable--set down your lock and key, match, and rings.
the further you move away the more unpredictable the more definitive the more horror.
i'll sleep away. i'll carry a gun. i'll never know. i'll feel my way. i'll hold the dice.
i'll catch a cold. i'll black and white. i'll never know. i'll smell in vain. i'll take whats mine.
i'll erase the marks. i'll stow my shine. i'll never know. i'll lose my tongue. i'll adapt to change.
i'll learn it right. i'll talk less too. i'll never know. i'll ride in the car. i'll sleep away. next to change.
weaving thru traffic in a night where the clocks unwind slowly, swiftly, calmly.
a wavering image of divine, evenings of strings and remembrance of past.
come over here, i made the bed, its quiet and comfortable.
the closer you move to me the more i want to make you melt.

a spring afternoon's writing:

and why is it in bounds we pass by
fineness of sand
water holding a landscape reflection
apricots sweet
pearl white cloud trails in open turquoise skies;
oklahoma
forgetting the hand of god that
brushes through our warming air
reminding us of a beauty we can never acheive.

a spring afternoon's reading (if gerard manley hopkins hadn't existed, i would of invented him):

not, i'll not, carrion comfort, despair, not feast on thee;
not untwist-slack they may be-these last strands of man
in me or, most weary, cry i can no more. i can;
can something, hope, wish day come, not choose not
to be.

but ah, but o thou terrible, why wouldst thou rude
on me
thy wring-world right foot rock? lay a lionlimb against
me? scan
with darksome devouring eyes my bruised bones?
and fan,
o in turns of tempest, me heaped there; me frantic to
avoid thee and flee?

why? that my chaff might fly; my grain lie, sheer and
clear.
nay in all that toil, that coil, since (seems) i kissed
the rod,
hand rather, my heart lo! lapped strength, stole joy,
would laugh, cheer.
cheer whom though? the hero whose heaven-handling
flung me, foot trod
me? or me that fought him? o which one? is it each one?
that night, that year
of now done darkness i wretch lay wrestling with (my god!)
my god.

-carrion comfort, gerard manley hopkins, 1885

morning's are
wasteful
we sit and watch clocks
we wish time to stop
we sleep with open eyes

today

the stars are
projectors
projecting our lives
to the sand
to the city
to the village
to the wood

fall back
asleep dear
the dance hasn't started
yet
and the clock
is twenty minutes fast

the stars are projectors

please insert two (2) credits if you wish to continue:

10
9
8
7
6
5
4
3
2
1
GAME OVER

i'm off the hook don't bother dialing:

strange how, the ears ring after a show or reading an email thats just words to me. after spending the evening entertaining the thought, opening doors and isolating the incident i labeled it. the label was not very supportive (sorry). i don't expect it to even want to come back, what does it have here anyways? (no, really). well, i'll still dance and i'll still write and still listen and i'll still stare and i'll still wonder how the hell i ended up here.

piece by peace they all follow one another (collect all five).

(if i lived in new york) a WERW 1570 dedication:

"such great heights" goes out to chris sauchak and julie james.

pierrot le fou:
(jean)
j'étais le feu, j'étais léger, j'étais le miracle. je pourrais non plus long entend, je m'élevais. j'ai passé par l'air, son aussi beaucoup. j'ai vu le bonheur devant moi. l'émotion surnaturelle, et alors j'ai perdu tout sens de conscience. j'ai avancé un morceau avec mes mains et moi, osé à la droite, j'ai touché, doucement, les cheveux de ma bonne fée, mon bon miracle. bonheur parfait. ah! mon extase était s'intense que je n'ai pas osé le mouvement. pleurer avec le bonheur, frappé avec hapiness, j'ai frémi, frémi. mon coeur pourrait grossir et pourrait me brûler. je n'ai pas soigné, j'étais aussi, la flamme. j'étais dans l'espace. je me suis accroché à andrea.

even so, graffiti can make fascinating reading:

it draws attention to itself. it is an expression both of impotence and a kind of power-the power to disfigure. i will attempt to decipher the graffiti and carry on.

lets draw upon our differences for this afternoon-revel in the presence of difference-and raw down upon ourselves vague suspicions, uneasy laughter or become signs of forbidden identity, sources of value and seek to expose the arbitrary nature of our phenomena, to uncove the latent meanings of an everday life which, to all intents and purposes, is 'perfectly natural'. we all have been exposed to the rhetoric of common sense which has turned to a myth, into a mere element.

carry on.

dear christopher (i found this today):

"JULY 23 2002
DEAR JONATHAN,
I RESPECT YOUR DECISION TO CHANGE SPACES FOR THE TIME BEING. BUT I AM SADDENED BECAUSE THIS MEANS I WILL NOT GET A CHANCE TO SEE YOU BEFORE I LEAVE. SEE, I HAVE DECIDED TO MOVE UP TO SCHOOL EARLY, ON THE 20TH OF AUGUST. SO BY THE TIME YOU ARE SETTLED BACK INTO YOUR PLAYGROUND IN GRAND RAPIDS I WILL BE SAYING MY GOOD-BYES AND KISSING MY MOTHER. I HOPE YOU CAN RESPECT MY DECISION. FOR I TOO LONG FOR SOMETHING DIFFERENT NOW, A CHANGE OF PACE PER SE. HOWEVER, I WOULD LIKE TO POINT OUT JONATHAN THAT YOU COULD HAVE COME HOME TO CANTON THIS SUMMER AND BARELY SEEN A SOUL. I BELIEVE I HAVE PROVED THAT. THE ONLY TIME I REALLY IMMERSE MYSELF IN THE PUBLIC OF OTHER HIGH SCHOOL GRADUATES IS AT THE OCCASSIONAL MONDAY NIGHT BOWLING AND ITS BASICALLY TO HANG OUT WITH BG AND MARK JAMES AND STEVE RAPSON. BUT I HARDLY MAKE IT TO THAT ANYMORE. THESE LAST THREE WEEKS BEFORE SCHOOL BEGINS WILL FLY BY I AM SURE AND I WILL NOT HEAR A SINGLE PEEP FROM HARDLY ANYBODY. BUT OF COURSE YOU DID NOT KNOW THIS BEFORE YOU MADE THE DECISION TO STAY IN GR FOR THE SUMMER, SOUNDING LIKE YOU ARE PERFECTING LONELINESS. I WORRY ABOUT YOU SOMETIMES JON! SOME DAY I FEEL LIKE I AM GOING TO GET A LETTER FROM YOU SAYING YOU MOVED ON AND I WILL NOT BE ABLE TO GET IN TOUCH WITH YOU. BUT I DO NOT THINK THAT WILL HAPPEN. JON, I CHERISH OUR FRIENDSHIP AND I TRULY MEAN IT! ON A SOFTER NOTE I FELT WRITING THIS LETTER IN ALL CAPITALIZED LETTERS FOR...WELL I DO NOT KNOW, I JUST DID. I GUESS FOR THE PLAIN FACT THAT IT'S A NEW DAY AND IN SOME WAY I HOPE I'VE CHANGED A BIT SINCE THE LAST. BETTERED MYSELF IN ONE WAY OR ANOTHER, TO GET ANOTHER PART OF MY LIFE IN A SUCCINCT, WORKING ORDER. MAN, IT SURE IS HARD TO WRITE LIKE THIS THOUGH BECAUSE OF THE DARN PATIENCE IT REQUIRES. OH WELL, IT'S AN EXPERIMENT AND IT IS A LETTER TO YOU, JONATHAN. I DO NOT KNOW WHAT ELSE TO SAY IN A LETTER BEING DIRECTED TO CAMP. SO I WILL END HERE AND NOW. BEST WISHES TO YOU AND YOURS AND GOOD LUCK.

LOVE,
CHRISTOPHER"

love,
jonathan

stories from howie, hungry's:

i made dough today. that machine is incredible, mixing flour and water in 99.9 seconds to make an enormous amount of dough that will later be cooked for pizza. technology. the day was slow. i had other things on the mind. then i had some deliveries.
thought i had a flat tire, its rush hour, forgot where i was going, left a two liter of coke at the store, go back get it, still rush hour, still can't find the secret house, its raining really hard, people are driving slow, there are about 10 more pizzas waiting to be delivered and its taking me forever to deliver these two fucking pizzas in my car, is there something wrong with my clutch? i hate this job, i should just drive home and eat these pizzas and never go back to work there--ever, music doesn't even ease the tension--turn it off (i'm sorry), turn around, thought i had a flat tire (again), found the house, i bet the other drivers think i'm horrible, next house if it exists, grand rapids? i'm starting to wonder if this town is real or if its like metropolis (which isn't even a real city in the united states of america) or if its is a shifting movie set. or if i just wish my life was a film. it (grand rapids) changes every day, i swear.
the day slowed down and i chilled out. sauce called me at work. chatting with friends who have been around for a long time which means they are real is favorite past time of mine. i hung up the phone (exhale, i felt so much better after that) and wished upon a star that i could be more like him in hundreds of different ways.