underatlantic

What's in that Rapper!?!

2006-08-01T17:24:00.000-07:00

Recently I have taken to writing rap songs. Silly raps; mostly for my friends. Here is a partial one that I wrote about being mediocre (in the hip hop culture's eyes). Supply your own beat playa.

You know my professor always said
You gotta have the courage
The courage to be mediocre
This one’s for you AT . . .

I stick with one lady
That’s called monogamy
I cruise a used car
That’s called economy
So don’t bother me
with polygamistic misogeny
The closest I come is polyandry
‘cause my friend Levi’s keyster is like hard candy
So fine and dandy

And don’t sing
about chains and rings
Diamonds and bling
And the grill in your mouth that you don’t use for grilling
The only ice I bring is from the bottom of the cup
And it don’t get no hotter
I was only drinking water

And farther . . . or is it furthermore?
I am not hardcore, or softcore
I’m right in the middle
Like ham on Mcgriddle
Don’t fiddle with this piddle
I dribble spittle like a kettle
I’ll sting you like a nettle
It’ll hurt for a little
But improve your circulation
Whatever I do
I do in moderation
Vacations, playstations, orations, even patience
Whatever I do I do in moderation
But even that’s only moderately true
I eat like a pig when it comes to food

And speaking of eating well,
My rhyme skills are what you might call taco bell
They’re only kind a swell when your really need a meal
So the jokes on you
This is just fast food
My verbal beans will give you gas in just a minute dude
And while we’re at it I’m a prude
Only my wife (and Levi) have ever seen me nude
And that’s Taco bell too
Be sure to look for me
on the dollar menu
That’s W-I-L-L-I-A-M
And yes I'm a vegan
But one that eats chicken
So watch me as a strive to incomplete this mission

Chorus:
The definition of average is me
The (very) essence of mediocrity
I personify quintessentially
The middle of the bellcurve, G

Free, tree, Bree, bee, breezy, heezy, sheezy
My rap and my lifestyle are both a little cheesy
Easy to judge but I won’t budge
Cause sittin at this Compaq has made my belly pudge
But if I was to chase ya your kids would get a scare
Cause I look like a yak with all this body hair
Playa beware I got nose hairs and back hairs and hairs in my crack
Wack stacks with no lack and they always grow back
To attack through any obstacle
Tom Celic move over
I got three frickin hairs for every one follicle
It’s not possible to out hair me
You can’t get near me
Gillete gave it a go but even they couldn't shear me
Tryin’ to Mach five me they came away teary
But don’t get leery
This talk of mediocrity is not just a show
Because my fulsome fur is hidden by clothes
So if I hadn’t of told ya you wouldn’t even know
And here’s another thing, yo

[The definition of average is me
The (very) essence of mediocrity
I personify quintessentially
The middle of the bellcurve, G]

If you like rap and you know Levi Waggoner, you should get him to rap his "Catch 22" song. It's dope. Peace.

Mysterium Tremendum

2006-05-07T23:35:00.000-07:00

Wonder

"There is nothing new under the sun."
--Ecclesiastes

Fall
Soft Snow
In summer.
My eyelashes
Eager waiting,
finger tips
vibrating--
Fall.

Sanctify
These naked
parts and petals
sun-drunk in unending afternoon.
Clothe us: a white dress, a veil,
a thousand prickles to call to mind . . .
What

We forgot.

Try this and tell me what you think . . .

2006-04-24T20:09:00.000-07:00

As part of my job at the Green Lake Church I go to a lot of meetings. Meetings galore. And I always meet with the same coworkers (who happen to be my wife and my best friend). Despite the potential for interpersonal apocalyptic disaster most of our meetings go swimmingly. However, the odd occasion does arise when we find ourselves in passionate discussion and one or more of us gets . . . Frustrated (yeah, I said it).

Segue from anecdotal introduction to main point.

A man I greatly respect suggested to me that most people train themselves to think of frustration/anger in a negative way. By the same token he maintains that when we feel intense frustration we are often in contact with something about which we care deeply. As that is the case, we can begin to retrain ourselves by replacing thoughts such as, "!*%$@!! I am so @*!(+ frustrated" with thoughts like, "I feel so alive right now!" We can focus on what it is that we care so much about and be thankful that we are in a position to experience our passion instead of stuck in apathy/existential cruise control.

Wrap it up dude.

I thought it was a load. Until I tried it. Everytime that I have remembered to try it out, it has helped my frustration invigorate me instead of drain me. Of course I have only remembered thrice and I have only tried it on moderate frustration. I am curious to know how it works for others. So if you're game try it and tell me how it goes.

Timeless use of ellipses

. . .

"I dream my painting, and then I paint my dream"

2006-04-17T12:34:00.000-07:00

"How can I be useful, of what service can I be? There is something inside me, what can it be?" --Vincent Wilhelm van Gogh

Recently I have become involved in a pretty darn cool project called "Jeff." In a nutshell "Jeff" is series of longform improv shows about a 22 year old guy named Jeff, his life after college, the people he interacts with, what's in his head. Currently the plan is for the show to be filmed by a Hollywood crew and made into a podcast. The improv group that I am a part of--Clean Slate Improv--is doing this project in conjunction with Reel Life Media (a brand new not-for-profit org) . We have already had one show and it was much much fun.

Anyway, I play Jeff and he is supposed to have graduated with a BA in art history from Oxford. As my knowledge of art history is as great as my knowledge of the other tenets in my apartment building, I am engaging in a RARE (Random Art Reading Effort). One of the first places I went on my RARE was Vincent Wilhelm van Gogh (March 30, 1853 to July 29, 1890). Van Gogh is my absolute favorite painter. Here are a few intriguing tidbits I found about Vincent:

*His father, Theodorus van Gogh, was a protestant minister.

*He was given the exact name of his older brother, who was born one year before Vincent but died within hours.

*In his teenage and young adult years he was fervently interested in religion and in 1878 he worked as a preacher in La Borinage Belgium. During that time Vincent received a great deal of criticism from his parishioners and the church. They did not like the way that he tried to imitate Christ, living as a poor man and sleeping on straw. The church said he was tarnishing the dignity of the priesthood. It was directly following this period that he took up his brother Theo's suggestion and began to seriously study art.

*Many believe that Vincent suffered from bi-polar disorder. However, contrary to popular belief he did most of his painting during his "lucid" periods.

*He cut off the lobe of his ear with a razor blade and gave it to a prostitute named Rachel, saying, "Keep this object carefully." He did this right after stalking his friend and fellow artist Paul Gauguin with the same razorblade. He stalked Gauguin because he was afraid that his friend was going to desert him.

*On July 27, 1890, at the age of 37, he walked into a field and shot himself in the chest with a revolver. Without realizing that he was fatally wounded, he returned to the Ravoux Inn, where he died in his bed two days later. His brother Theo hastened to be at his side and reported his last words as "La tristesse durera toujours", (French for "the sadness will last forever"). He was buried at the cemetery of Auvers-sur-Oise.

"When I have a terrible need of - shall I say the word - religion. Then I go out and paint the stars." --Vincent Wilhelm van Gogh

Boggle

2006-03-20T18:16:00.000-08:00

How many words can you find in "scintillate"?

I have found 45 so far.

(including contractions and counting both a word's singular and plural form).

Emit

2006-03-09T22:12:00.000-08:00

It would be extra weird to live life backwards. You start with an ocean of memories. One by one the memories get swallowed by actual events that you see coming. Maybe you relish the people and places that didn't stick in your memory; the surprises that only your subconscious can see coming. "I totally did not remember spilling tapioca pudding on my niece--awesome."
Or maybe its more of a bittersweet deja vu or a mental motion sickness.

One thing is sure: you would always feel as though you had the freedom to make different choices than the ones you "remember" making. "When the first kiss comes around, I refuse to just put my lips in an O and breathe into her mouth. The tongue is coming out." But the actual first kiss would erase both your memory-kiss and your intentions for change just fast enough for you to fulfill your mental prophecy--making that O shape and experiencing your first kiss as cardio-pulmonary resuscitation.

[As that is the case, it wouldn't make a difference in real time whether you "remembered" or did not "remember" an event, so the pleasant surprise vs nauseating thought pattern debate is confined to the time leading up to an event. But maybe that is too much of a technicality to merit two sentences].

I would love to here your thoughts on this timely subject. I mean, I didn't even get around to shrinking, getting dumber, giving birth to an old person, etc.

100% More Free

2006-03-02T23:23:00.000-08:00

If you ever want to "check in" with the creature that lurks below the surface of your superego then free-write for a while. For some reason whenever I free-write or do word association my mind gravitates to what pleases me phonetically--I like ryhmes and alliteration especially. Here is a random free-write I did a while ago.

nvie dnv eh do not take me to the ball game I will certainly be upset. Corrotted arteries derive milk from the best of all of us so that means that we spit we spit and cop all over the black and white kitchen floor with no time to explore who we are who we dare who dares wins and the pattern begins begin to be interesting as the sting of allergies in the spring a wonderous melodic thing, a wonderous melodic thing. Ask me ask me no lies and I will tell you no truths sincerely aloof and beyond his reproof the man under the tin roof with no boots comes into Sunday school comes into rule. A child a child a child is born the thorn continues togrow on the inside and we all know what that means tas the red spills onto the whitel white carpet and and is absorbed we are never absorbed into our environment if I free write if I free associate I can definitoley free my mind gfrom definition the answer is most certainly was already their yunder the skin and hair laid bear. A skull grin the twins take the brain with the baby and maybe my surprise will be a shocker a shock marylin manson rocker even though I do it in every other scene pull a gun on you and say I love you and in my dreams I sleep.

PS If you want to be a superego stuntperson, please freewrite for a spell as a comment. Or if you want, give me your psychoanalysis of my ramblings.

PPS When you free-write don't stop writing until it is over.

There and Back Again

2006-02-27T12:51:00.000-08:00

Here is something no one has ever talked about before:

I just watched Fellowship of the Ring again. Everytime I watch LOTR, I always think about the casting because I have carried my own interpretation of the LOTR characters in my head for years (just like you and your weird uncle). On the whole I am happy with the casting, but there are definitely a few weak links. Here are some suggestions for improving the LOTR casting.

1. Get Viggo out of there. He does not sound like Aragorn. Possible sub? Josh Holloway (Sawyer from lost) without the southern accent (he does not sound like Aragorn).

2. Hugo Weaving as Elrond was an "oopsie daisy". He was way too emotional in a non-empathetic way (un-elflike) and as you have observed while making a witty comment to your friends, he is still Agent Smith. Sub? Johnny Depp (just a gut feeling, seriously).

3. Orlando Bloom was OK, but he should have quit acting in films right after The Return of the King.

4. George W. Bush as Gollum. I had to say one funny one just to get it out of my system.

I am also curious to know what you and your weird uncle think, so comment at will.

The Deity Pt I: words

2006-02-22T15:17:00.000-08:00

This blog and the following blog are dedicated to my friends Rupert and Troy . . . Because sometimes you seek and do not find. But sometimes you find, and that is what keeps you coming back to look for more.

******* Theology

It was easier when you were a jonquil
and I was a figertip pressed at the juncture
of your radiating petals and stiff stem.
And it was not so difficult
when I was a Persian guitar
and you were the knee on which I lay,
my neck held easily in your hand.

But there were problems
when you were two hundred years of years,
twisted like taffy, twisted and looped
like a dry bristlecone in dusty snow,
and I was just a beginning sliver
of clear, tadpole breath in a whorl
of waterweed. I didn't know
what to say.

And when I thought I knew your name,
and I called it out loud many times,
that's when you were a deaf sheaf
of catacombed coral with more
than one title and no tongue.

I was whole, a burning ball of peach
hanging from a branch. You were multiple,
sparks struck against rock.
I split into a showering orbit of mayflies
in the evening sun. You congealed into
a seeded cow patty in the field.

When the painted pony and I were galloping
fast through rabid waves on the beach,
there you were, a tiny spire of ship
sailing off the edge of the sea.

The night I woke in white, my body moon-grey
you were curled, a black hump of quilt
at the foot of my bed, dead asleep.

And later when you were falling rapidly,
heavily, raindrops and pockdrops and bullet
marks, a mob in the mountain lake, I was precise
wing and talon over the prairie, jacknifing
and stabbing, lifting the mouse by her spine.

When I was crying, crying and truly
sorry, you were a spray of chartreuse
and scarlet tinfoil confetti on my head.

That's when I knew for certain
it was going to be much more difficult
than we'd ever imagined before.

--Pattiann Rogers

The Deity Pt II: The Word

2006-02-22T15:09:00.000-08:00

Again, for Troy and Rupert . . .

Today my friend Rupert and I talked over tofu about the presence of God. How does the finite know when it is connecting with the infinite? Which human faculty--conscious or unconscious--is the primary vehicle for interaction with Divinity? We decided that if you believe in a personal God, then God can interact with you through any or all of your faculties. Of course, the trickiest for me has always been the first question--realizing when the interaction is happening, or not happening, or that it is happening all of the time. Here is one of my favorite poems about how God might interact with humanity.

Recitation

He did not fall then, blind upon a road,
nor did his lifelong palsy disappear.
He heard no voice, save the familiar,

ceaseless, self-interrogation
of the sore perplexed. The kettle steamed
and whistled. A heavy truck downshifted

near the square. He heard a child calling,
and heard a mourning dove intone its one
dull call. For all of that, his wits remained

quite dim. He breathed and spoke the words he read.
If what had been long dead then came alive,
that resurrection was by all appearances

metaphorical. The miracle arrived
without display. He held a book, and as he read
he found the very thing he'd sought. Just that.

A life with little hurt but one, the lucky gift
of a raveled book, a kettle slow to heat,
and time enough therefore to lift the book

and find in one slight passage the very wish
he dared not ask aloud, until, that is
he spoke the words he read.

--Scott Cairns

l'originalite . . .

2006-02-15T22:08:00.000-08:00

“Later in the same letter [Mozart] says, ‘Why my productions take from my hand that particular form and style that makes them Mozartish, and different from the works of other composers, is probably owing to the same cause which renders my nose so large or so aquiline, or in short, makes it Mozart’s, and different from those of other people. For I really do not study or aim at any originality.’ Suppose Mozart had tried to be original? It would have been like a man at the North Pole trying to walk north, and this is true of all the rest of us. Striving after originality takes you far away from your true self, and makes your work mediocre.” --Keith Johnstone

The Hero With A Thousand Faces

2006-02-13T19:58:00.000-08:00

The octopus is an extremely clever creature. Today Tina and I went to the Seattle Aquarium. We were standing staring at a sardine-eating octopus (about 3ft long) who had attached itself to the viewing glass when one of the aquarium workers awkwardly sidled up and started spewing off octopus facts. (Did you know that the octopus tastes through all of its “suckers”? So it basically tastes everything it touches—if only . . .).

Anyway, it came out that a few months ago crabs in the tide pool exhibit (about 30ft away from the octopus) were inexplicably disappearing. The mystery was so profound that the aquarium staff had video cameras installed in and around the tide pool area.

What they discovered: after all of the staff went home for the night, the octopus would “climb” up over the glass surrounding its exhibit (a 5ft climb), drag itself thirty feet across carpeted floor (tasting every square inch), grab a couple crabs from the tide pool, and quickly make the return trip. What makes this even cooler is that the octopus can’t breathe above water, so it did all of this holding its breath.

The octopus is my hero of the week.

Interruption

2006-02-09T22:32:00.000-08:00

Anyone will lend you their attention for a bit if you act like what you’re doing really matters (whether that is taking off your shirt or dusting an armoire). But you can’t just finish your routine. People don’t want to see just a shirt come off or the furniture cleaned. People want the third nipple, the perfect chest, the hiding midget with the axe in the armoire. Everyone waits for interruption. We will loan our precious attention to even the most mundane efforts if interruption is in the air. Just act like something important is going to happen.

Narcissa's Arrow

2006-02-08T18:00:00.000-08:00

"Inspiration may be a form of superconsciousness, or perhaps of subconsciousness--I wouldn't know. But I am sure that it is the antithesis of self-consciousness." Aaron Copland