Hey all,
Well, for those of you who don't know, I'm home on winter break. I've been working and whatnot, and visiting the family. Christmas this year was wonderful, and I'm glad to have been home.
Here are some observations from today:
1. German automotive engineering is a pain in the ass. I don't care who you are, the fact remains.
1.5 It's always nice to have a friend there to help you deal with your German automotive engineering.
2. Cold air is unpleasant whilst running any kind of distance, as are thick woodsmoke and dryer vents blasting the smell of approx. 16,000 dryer sheets.
3. Chicken fried steak sandwiches probably aren't the best thing in the world to eat, but they sure do taste good.
4. Being home is a good thing, even if you do happen to live in Pagosa Springs.
5. This is the last time I'll blog this year, which means another bracket will be added to my previous posts section. Oh boy.
5.5 Upon reflection, this 2008 has been quite the year. I ran my last cross country race, I attended my last student council meeting, and I graduated from high school altogether. I started college and met some of the most wonderful people in the whole world. I finally felt like having a girlfriend again was an okay thing. I found out that I want to teach, not do. (Just kidding.) 2008 has been really great. Thank you, all of you, who have made it so. Mom, Dad, Ashley, Michael...Thanks for the support during this big change in my life. Pat, Katie, Hannah, Chris, Taylor, Demetrius - I'm glad we all somehow found each other. Sydney - Thanks for listening to me rant about hospitals, world religion, and the war on terror for six hours the first time I met you. Things wouldn't be quite so cheery in my life right now otherwise.
I hope to be a little more faithful with my blogging this next year. In fact, along with my running, I officially resolve to blog at least three times a week for the year of 2009. Amen.
I hope you all are well and still enjoy my ramblings to some extent.
Happy New Year to you and yours.
Brad
The kids at CU will understand this:
Here's to 2008!!!
We made it this far....
12.30.2008
12.10.2008
Muffy's slow and painful death.
The above blog is sweet, just so you know.
Hey all,
Tonight I sit here in my yellow and blue plaid boxers and write to you on the events of my day...first off, I would like to say that if you are a bicyclist that chooses to ride his/her bicycle through large crowds of people, you should die. Okay, well not die, but you should start calling out directions. I mean, I was walking to class today, just minding my own business, merrily strolling along to Spanish, when I was clipped in the left forearm by some idiot on his bike. I had no idea he was even there, and had he chosen to say something as simple as, "On your left!" I would have been spared endless amounts of unbearable pain and suffering. I should have gotten the bastards info so I could sue him. Oh well.
In other news, I would like to announce that I have begun running again. As many college freshman do, I've gained a little poundage, and frankly, I don't like it. I named my gut Muffy. You may say, "WTF? Why did you name your gut of all things Muffy?" I will tell you this: A long time ago, when I ran cross country, I had a coach who is probably one of the wisest men on the face of the planet. He always told us that if we were feeling pain while running, or felt like something was holding us back from running to the best of our potential, that we needed to give this pain or other outside force a name. This makes it more tangible, and therefore more manageable. Once your opponent has a face, a name, or a personality, you are one step closer to defeating it. This is the case with Muffy. I am going to kill her by running her to death.
I only tell you all this because I had a very inspirational talk tonight with my friend Hannah. Basically she told me to do what makes me happy, and well, this is it. Thank you Hannah!
The runs have been going okay so far. The first day was quite painful. I thought I was going to die via violent explosion of some sort, for example: my heart/lungs/other internal organs all just popping simultaneously and me falling to the ground as if being riddled with bullets. This feeling has dissipated as I continue to run, so I think it will all be okay.
While still on that note, thank you to everyone that encourages me in my fight with Muffy. Mom, you're the best. You sent me Yaktrax so I can run in the snow...Sydney, you just give me so much crap that I want to do it all the more (***clarification: Sydney is far more encouraging than anything else...she actually gives me crap about complaining about being fat, something I shouldn't do, not for bieng fat)...Pat and Chris...after that day you came with me, I realized just how out of shape I really am. You guys have provided me a marker. Katie...you just know what to say all the time. So thanks to you too.
Well, other than the epic running stories (not) I guess the only other news I have for today is that Chris restocked the freeze pops. I appreciate those tasty little snacks. Thank you Chris.
Oh, also, tonight for dinner we had prime rib and mashed potatoes and yams and all kinds of really great stuff. Just so you know that sometimes dorm food is really okay...
Well anyway, I think I'll go to bed now. I have to get up and paint in the morning.
So till tomorrow night,
Bye. Have fun. Don't die.
-Brad
I'm not a playwright...but look!
Hello all,
Instead of going to bed like I said I was going to, (sorry Alaina) I decided to write a new blog....
So, for those of you who read my last one, thank you.
Also, a special friend to my friend Hannah for reading nearly all of my old work. That was probably not fun, and she probably did it as a form of procrastination in order not to do something else, but nonetheless, I appreciate the support. I have activated the feature on this particular account so that anyone, and yes I mean anyone, who would like to leave a comment may do so without having to have an account. That means DO IT.
So anyway, life is getting fairly stressful around here at CU. Finals week is looming ahead of us, and I'm getting sort of scared. Right now I'm working on a big portfolio of all my creative writing and a big project for my stage tech class...Both are going really well at the moment and I'm pleased about that.
I'm really looking forward to being home for the holidays. I'm going back to work at the good ol' City Market, so I'm sure you'll be seeing some more work related posts here soon.
In other news, I have noticed an alarming trend in overall Facebook usage lately. All of my friends, especially the girl ones tend to be consumed by it on some level. I really wonder about it...but whatever. Do what you like.
So I wrote a short one-act play for my creative writing class...
Check it out if you like:
Setting: Set in the outskirts of Boulder Colorado in a brothel, a crack den, and one seemingly normal residence.
Note: Anything in italics can either be read as a narration, or as stage direction, or both, it just depends on the situation.
Scene 1: The Brothel
Bruce Wolf: (to audience, reflective as he walks) You know, I wasn’t always like this. This big, mean, bad, hairy wolf. I used to be a pup just like you kids. I used to be sweet and kind. (pauses before yelling) Until the day that that despicable Hammible Lecter ate my family! (pauses before chuckling) Now I’ve tracked that dirty pig down and I’m going to take what’s dearest to him: his brothers.
Bruce Wolf approaches the house, the residence of Deuce Pigalow, and knocks on the door. After a pause, a small horse comes to the door.
Mary The Little Horse: (in a small squeaky voice) Um, hello? What can I help you with? Are you here to see one of the girls?
Bruce: No ma’am. I’m here to see Deuce. Is he in?
Mary: Oh no, I’m afraid Mr. Pigalow is out for a while.
Bruce: Yeah, right. Can I just come in for a minute?
Mary: If you’re not a paying customer, I’m afraid not.
At this, Bruce clamps his large jaws down hard over Mary’s neck and lets her fall to the floor. He then enters the brothel.
Bruce: Hello? Hey! Deuce! Where you at? (stops and listens to some loud moaning and the creaking of furniture upstairs) Hey! Why don’t you come out and say hi Deuce?
Suddenly, Deuce Pigalow steps into the doorway leading to the stairwell. He is holding an Uzi.
Duece: What the hell do you want Bruce Wolf? (said with lingering disgust, followed shortly by a large burst of automatic gunfire)
Bruce: (growling) You know what I want!
Bruce lunges forward in an attempt to catch and subsequently maim and kill Deuce Pigalow, but the little pig is cunningly quick and dodges out of the way. Bruce falls on his face and hears little hooves running away across the old wood floor. As Bruce rises off the floor a muffled “shit” is heard.
Bruce: (again narrating/talking to himself) Damn it! (he looks around the corner) Fuckin’ pig. I’ll burn his fuckin’ house down.
As it turns out, Bruce is serious about this threat, and he starts pouring gasoline all over the kitchen. As he exits, he drops a lit zippo onto the giant pool of gas.
Scene 2: Crack Den
We now see our vigilante hero walking away from a burning brothel filled with screaming whores and their no longer satisfied customers. He is following a set of hoof prints through the trees towards a brightly lit city.
Bruce: (narrating) Damn that fire was toasty. Well now I gotta find that stupid pig. Hopefully he’s just runnin to his little crack head brothers house. Last time I saw him, the little fucker was higher than a kite. (pause) Hhhmmm…
Bruce walks into town. He peers at a sign that says “Broadway” one way and “20th st.” to the other. He glances to his right and sees a graveyard. The hunt continues into the city.
Bruce: Well shit, this little pig ran pretty fast. We’ve covered a good mile or two now…shit.
Soon the tracks lead Bruce to a door. He knocks. The gruff voice of Tyrone Piggums answers him.
Tyrone Piggums: What?
Bruce knocks again without saying a word.
Tyrone: What? Who is it?
Once again Bruce knocks.
Tyrone: (now screaming) WHAT!!! WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT?
Bruce knocks once more. Finally, after a dead bolt is unlatched and two slides open Tyrone Piggums appears at the door looking like he’d just ate an entire box of Hostess Powdered Donuts.
Tyrone: (before realizing who he was addressing) I SAID WHAT!!! (The pig’s eyes widen) Oh shit…
Bruce: What’s up Tyrone?
Tyrone: (nervously) Um, not much Bruce? What brings you to this side of town?
Bruce: Your brother Deuce…Where’s he at?
Tyrone: Oh I ain’t seen him in months, um, if I do I’ll tell you were looking…
Bruce: I don’t think that’ll be necessary.
Bruce bursts into the house, shoving the pigs face into the wall and looks around. As he wanders the premise he finds a few strung out turtles and a fucked up rabbit running laps around the living room. At the back of the house as he turns the corner towards a bathroom-gone-meth-lab, he stumbles upon Deuce Pigalow.
Bruce: (sinister) There you are you my little slab of bacon…
Deuce: Awww shit!
Before Bruce could even move, Deuce was on his way out a window squealing.
Deuce: You’ll never catch me you stupid wolf!
Bruce: (to himself as he turns around) Yeah, we’ll see about that.
Bruce then walks into the bathroom and lights the contents of the meth lab on fire. As he walks back into the front room, he finds that Tyrone has also left the house. A thin powdery white trail is all that is left.
Scene 3: The Home of Hammible Lecter
As expected Bruce follows the obvious line of crack winding its way across the city. After having to ward of a number of drug dealers and other lowlifes Bruce comes to a very large house in the hills surrounding the city.
Bruce: (chuckling) This is it. I finally have them all cornered at once…(maniacal laughter)
Trying for the element of surprise, because that’s how wolves are, Bruce rings the doorbell. Shortly, Hammible himself answers the door.
Hammible Lecter: Well now what can I do for you wolf?
Bruce: (obviously flabbergasted, and on the edge of irritation) Do you know who I am?
Hammible: Certainly Bruce. I’ve been expecting you for years. Won’t you come in?
Bruce: (a bit taken back, and uncertain) Um, well, sure I guess….
Both characters turn and walk down a large hall into the main foyer. There is a dish of candy and a large flower arrangement on the hall table. Bruce wonders how such an evil pig could have such nice taste.
Hammible: Would you like to join me for dinner? There is more than enough.
Bruce: (uncertain, but seeing an obvious opportunity for revenge) Well…um, well. Yes, actually I would like that very much.
Hammible: I must go wash up then. Someone will show you to my study. I’ll meet you for dinner shortly.
Hammible exits.
Bruce: (to himself) Oh my god…I can get all three of them now…I just have to kill that bastard at dinner, and then search this place for the other two…and it’s all over. Oh yes…(chuckles to himself)
A maidservant comes shortly and escorts Bruce to the study, where he sits by the fire and makes his plan.
Scene 4: Study and Dinner
Hammible and Bruce are seen walking into a full dining room. There is a great feast laid out on the table: a pair of large hams, many kinds of fruit, and a bottle of wine all sit before them.
Hammible: Are you comfortable there wolf?
Bruce: Yeah, quite. (pause) Is... is that ham?
Hammible: Why yes, Bruce. It's actually quite tasty.
Bruce: Alright…Well, how’s your family?
Hammible: (takes a bite of the meal and savors it slowly). Well, I’d say they're pretty good... (maniacal laughter)
Suddenly Bruce feels sick to his stomach. Hammible had not only messed up his entire childhood, but has now totally foiled any plans for revenge.
Bruce: Um, if you’ll excuse me…where is your bathroom?
Hammible: Oh just down the hall to the left there…come back soon…
Bruce commences barfing in the toilet and doesn’t hear the small hooves sneak past in the hall. After he feels better and wipes the sweat from his brow, Bruce returns to a dinner for one.
Scene 5: Hammible’s Escape
We see Hammible on a private jet, midflight. A woman in a blue outfit walks by and says, “Would you like something to drink senior Hammible?” At that moment a small ‘ding’ is heard followed by “we will be beginning our initial descent in a couple of minutes. The air traffic controller has just cleared us for landing and put us in pattern. It is 84 degrees and sunny out, so don’t forgot your sunscreen. Remember, it is always a pleasure to fly you to your destination, but most importantly, don’t drink the water. (chuckle)”
End
Instead of going to bed like I said I was going to, (sorry Alaina) I decided to write a new blog....
So, for those of you who read my last one, thank you.
Also, a special friend to my friend Hannah for reading nearly all of my old work. That was probably not fun, and she probably did it as a form of procrastination in order not to do something else, but nonetheless, I appreciate the support. I have activated the feature on this particular account so that anyone, and yes I mean anyone, who would like to leave a comment may do so without having to have an account. That means DO IT.
So anyway, life is getting fairly stressful around here at CU. Finals week is looming ahead of us, and I'm getting sort of scared. Right now I'm working on a big portfolio of all my creative writing and a big project for my stage tech class...Both are going really well at the moment and I'm pleased about that.
I'm really looking forward to being home for the holidays. I'm going back to work at the good ol' City Market, so I'm sure you'll be seeing some more work related posts here soon.
In other news, I have noticed an alarming trend in overall Facebook usage lately. All of my friends, especially the girl ones tend to be consumed by it on some level. I really wonder about it...but whatever. Do what you like.
So I wrote a short one-act play for my creative writing class...
Check it out if you like:
The Three Little Pigs
A Contemporary Version
A Contemporary Version
Characters:
Deuce Pigalow (Pig 1)
Tyrone Piggums (Pig 2)
Hammible Lecter (Pig 3)
Bruce Wolf
Mary The Little Horse
Setting: Set in the outskirts of Boulder Colorado in a brothel, a crack den, and one seemingly normal residence.
Note: Anything in italics can either be read as a narration, or as stage direction, or both, it just depends on the situation.
Scene 1: The Brothel
Bruce Wolf is seen walking in a dark somewhat wooded area toward an old Victorian style house. Only the lights in the upper windows are lit. Bruce talks only to the audience during his walk.
Bruce Wolf: (to audience, reflective as he walks) You know, I wasn’t always like this. This big, mean, bad, hairy wolf. I used to be a pup just like you kids. I used to be sweet and kind. (pauses before yelling) Until the day that that despicable Hammible Lecter ate my family! (pauses before chuckling) Now I’ve tracked that dirty pig down and I’m going to take what’s dearest to him: his brothers.
Bruce Wolf approaches the house, the residence of Deuce Pigalow, and knocks on the door. After a pause, a small horse comes to the door.
Mary The Little Horse: (in a small squeaky voice) Um, hello? What can I help you with? Are you here to see one of the girls?
Bruce: No ma’am. I’m here to see Deuce. Is he in?
Mary: Oh no, I’m afraid Mr. Pigalow is out for a while.
Bruce: Yeah, right. Can I just come in for a minute?
Mary: If you’re not a paying customer, I’m afraid not.
At this, Bruce clamps his large jaws down hard over Mary’s neck and lets her fall to the floor. He then enters the brothel.
Bruce: Hello? Hey! Deuce! Where you at? (stops and listens to some loud moaning and the creaking of furniture upstairs) Hey! Why don’t you come out and say hi Deuce?
Suddenly, Deuce Pigalow steps into the doorway leading to the stairwell. He is holding an Uzi.
Bruce: (growling) You know what I want!
Bruce lunges forward in an attempt to catch and subsequently maim and kill Deuce Pigalow, but the little pig is cunningly quick and dodges out of the way. Bruce falls on his face and hears little hooves running away across the old wood floor. As Bruce rises off the floor a muffled “shit” is heard.
Bruce: (again narrating/talking to himself) Damn it! (he looks around the corner) Fuckin’ pig. I’ll burn his fuckin’ house down.
As it turns out, Bruce is serious about this threat, and he starts pouring gasoline all over the kitchen. As he exits, he drops a lit zippo onto the giant pool of gas.
Scene 2: Crack Den
We now see our vigilante hero walking away from a burning brothel filled with screaming whores and their no longer satisfied customers. He is following a set of hoof prints through the trees towards a brightly lit city.
Bruce: (narrating) Damn that fire was toasty. Well now I gotta find that stupid pig. Hopefully he’s just runnin to his little crack head brothers house. Last time I saw him, the little fucker was higher than a kite. (pause) Hhhmmm…
Bruce walks into town. He peers at a sign that says “Broadway” one way and “20th st.” to the other. He glances to his right and sees a graveyard. The hunt continues into the city.
Bruce: Well shit, this little pig ran pretty fast. We’ve covered a good mile or two now…shit.
Soon the tracks lead Bruce to a door. He knocks. The gruff voice of Tyrone Piggums answers him.
Tyrone Piggums: What?
Bruce knocks again without saying a word.
Tyrone: What? Who is it?
Once again Bruce knocks.
Bruce knocks once more. Finally, after a dead bolt is unlatched and two slides open Tyrone Piggums appears at the door looking like he’d just ate an entire box of Hostess Powdered Donuts.
Tyrone: (before realizing who he was addressing) I SAID WHAT!!! (The pig’s eyes widen) Oh shit…
Bruce: What’s up Tyrone?
Tyrone: (nervously) Um, not much Bruce? What brings you to this side of town?
Bruce: Your brother Deuce…Where’s he at?
Tyrone: Oh I ain’t seen him in months, um, if I do I’ll tell you were looking…
Bruce: I don’t think that’ll be necessary.
Bruce bursts into the house, shoving the pigs face into the wall and looks around. As he wanders the premise he finds a few strung out turtles and a fucked up rabbit running laps around the living room. At the back of the house as he turns the corner towards a bathroom-gone-meth-lab, he stumbles upon Deuce Pigalow.
Bruce: (sinister) There you are you my little slab of bacon…
Deuce: Awww shit!
Before Bruce could even move, Deuce was on his way out a window squealing.
Bruce: (to himself as he turns around) Yeah, we’ll see about that.
Bruce then walks into the bathroom and lights the contents of the meth lab on fire. As he walks back into the front room, he finds that Tyrone has also left the house. A thin powdery white trail is all that is left.
As expected Bruce follows the obvious line of crack winding its way across the city. After having to ward of a number of drug dealers and other lowlifes Bruce comes to a very large house in the hills surrounding the city.
Bruce: (chuckling) This is it. I finally have them all cornered at once…(maniacal laughter)
Trying for the element of surprise, because that’s how wolves are, Bruce rings the doorbell. Shortly, Hammible himself answers the door.
Hammible Lecter: Well now what can I do for you wolf?
Bruce: (obviously flabbergasted, and on the edge of irritation) Do you know who I am?
Hammible: Certainly Bruce. I’ve been expecting you for years. Won’t you come in?
Bruce: (a bit taken back, and uncertain) Um, well, sure I guess….
Both characters turn and walk down a large hall into the main foyer. There is a dish of candy and a large flower arrangement on the hall table. Bruce wonders how such an evil pig could have such nice taste.
Hammible: Would you like to join me for dinner? There is more than enough.
Bruce: (uncertain, but seeing an obvious opportunity for revenge) Well…um, well. Yes, actually I would like that very much.
Hammible: I must go wash up then. Someone will show you to my study. I’ll meet you for dinner shortly.
Hammible exits.
Bruce: (to himself) Oh my god…I can get all three of them now…I just have to kill that bastard at dinner, and then search this place for the other two…and it’s all over. Oh yes…(chuckles to himself)
A maidservant comes shortly and escorts Bruce to the study, where he sits by the fire and makes his plan.
Hammible and Bruce are seen walking into a full dining room. There is a great feast laid out on the table: a pair of large hams, many kinds of fruit, and a bottle of wine all sit before them.
Hammible: Are you comfortable there wolf?
Bruce: Yeah, quite. (pause) Is... is that ham?
Hammible: Why yes, Bruce. It's actually quite tasty.
Bruce: Alright…Well, how’s your family?
Hammible: (takes a bite of the meal and savors it slowly). Well, I’d say they're pretty good... (maniacal laughter)
Suddenly Bruce feels sick to his stomach. Hammible had not only messed up his entire childhood, but has now totally foiled any plans for revenge.
Bruce: Um, if you’ll excuse me…where is your bathroom?
Hammible: Oh just down the hall to the left there…come back soon…
Bruce commences barfing in the toilet and doesn’t hear the small hooves sneak past in the hall. After he feels better and wipes the sweat from his brow, Bruce returns to a dinner for one.
Scene 5: Hammible’s Escape
We see Hammible on a private jet, midflight. A woman in a blue outfit walks by and says, “Would you like something to drink senior Hammible?” At that moment a small ‘ding’ is heard followed by “we will be beginning our initial descent in a couple of minutes. The air traffic controller has just cleared us for landing and put us in pattern. It is 84 degrees and sunny out, so don’t forgot your sunscreen. Remember, it is always a pleasure to fly you to your destination, but most importantly, don’t drink the water. (chuckle)”
End
Hope you liked it.
And till I make another post,
Bye. Have fun. Don't die.
-Brad
P.S. I don't bite.
12.08.2008
Well this sucks...
Hey,
Had some issues...
Basically I had to start over once again.
So here's all the old stuff.
http://floggart.blogspot.com/
Essentially, when I got rid of my gmail account, which is a whole different story, I deactivated my blogspot account, and so all of my work is stuck on the above webpage. Thats fine I guess, it actually helps consolodate things, but it's far less easy to access right off hand.
Below you will find the last posting, just to provide some reference.
-Brad
Blog de la Floggart
Sunday, December 7, 2008
October - December
Hey all,
The following is my poetry manuscript from this semester of creative writing. You'll probably see a few more of them agian at some point, just because they go through one more revision. It's been awhile since I've blogged anything, over a month in fact, so this is hopefully will get things going again.
In all, the last couple of months have been the busiest time of my life. I've come to find that college is not only one of the hardest experiences I've ever had to undergo, but it is also one of the most rewarding and fun. I've met people and done things that I'd never have had the chance to do otherwise. The people that I've met, or been thrown into relationships with, have changed me forever. For instance, all the people that will probably never read this because blogging is dumb, yes that means you Hannah, you guys have had a profound impact on me.
Pat: You were the first person I really got to know here. You came by and just sort of stood there and yelled at me about the business world till I became your friend. It was excellent. You've helped me make a number of decisions that would have otherwise gone awry. You have an extremely level head and I appreciate it.
Kyle: You're probably the next person I met. Man, I could probably tell you anything, literally anything, and you'd still cheer me on. I don't know what it is...but you have a way of being so completely straight-faced and non judgemental about situations that you could very easily judge. I appreciate that too man.
Chris: You are my best friend up here. No doubt about it. I think that's all I have to say. You put up with my wierd shit and you even do some pretty odd stuff yourself. I love it. Don't ever stop just lingering around my room, even if I look really irritated. Had I had a roomate, I would have wanted it to be you. And that's not meant in a wierd creepy homosexual way...or is it?
Katie: You are loud. You are sometimes obnoxious. But you are so beautiful. Mainly in the fact that you don't care about what anyone thinks. This is a quality that I want so badly. You also seem to be perpetually helpful, especially lately...And you always know what to say, no matter the situation.
Hannah: I don't know where to start. You and I...know a lot of crap about eachother. I feel like you know me better than you should...but I'm okay with that. I know I've had my fair share of blunders, but you've stuck with it, and I'd like to think we're still pretty close. Stay squinty!
Demetrius: You are the funniest kid I know, and you put up with so much of my shit. Thank you for not killing me and always being a good sport. I know I've hurt your feelings and I want to say, I never meant that man. Never. Here's to more good times.
Michele: Do me a favor and quit hailing on my parade. Word. Okay, so you are so stoic all the time, but it's good. You totally balance out the whole group and it rocks. Right on!
To the rest of my third floor companions: You guys rock. End of story.
Chance: You are a whole different story that has no place on the internet. I'll just write a book. You'll see.
Forrest: See the posting for "Chance."
Anyway, the rest of this post is just poetry. I'll be more dilligent from now on. Enjoy.
.50 caliber clarinet
woodwinds and brass
strings and percussion
these are but small units
yet when they gather
they are a whole
sometimes Conflicted
a Battle
sometimes Harmonious
a Union
who is to say
what it is that makes
A woodwind a woodwind
the strings strung
the creator of the instrument
he that holds its neck
its barrel or joint
he that plays it
makes it do his will
guns and knives
planes and bombs
these are but small units
yet when they gather
they are a whole
sometimes Conflicting
in Combat
sometimes at Peace
an Armistice
who is to say
what it is that makes
a gun a weapon
a knife a bayonet
the creator of the instrument
he that holds its hilt
its barrel or its stock
he that uses it
makes it do his will
777 Prospect Ave.
scantily clad women
and a kilo on the counter
white smiley faces
the wind could blow away
papers and paper backs
reeks like a hamster cage
waterlogged wood
swells and creaks
men with guns
holstered or otherwise
swagger from room to room
then mysteriously leave
the surrounding houses
with shot out lights
boarded up windows
no signs of life
our house stands Alone
Decrepit yet Glorious
testament to Lust, Addiction
and Parasitic existence
Death on Call
it’s extremely odd to look back
today was the last day i’ll see you
for god knows how long
you’re off to kick some ass
for the country called america
you are not a patriot though
you just know what you want
you are beautiful in this way
air force tactical air control party
the red green and blue dot on your map
a first step in changing all of our lives
my current picture of you
watching your white subaru pull away
your index and fuck you finger held high
i hear zach wylde, randy blythe
every audioslave album there is
i relive every conversation
religion, politics, running, military
i will miss you my friend, my brother
fingers
sometimes
i use a compound miter saw
to cut off people’s fingers
fingers that touch things
they are not supposed to
fingers that steal
hurt and break.
sarcasm is a bitch
this evening i attended a reading
poetry and fiction
the person to my left
constantly accosted me
poked prodded pried
evaluated every moral fiber
he/she ripped out my soul
threw it on the floor
spit on it
giggled
i walked home
alone in the cold
my world/your world
there’s a world out there
where all the pigeons have tourett’s
and all the girls wear red lipstick
where the blind are led by unicorns
and all the cops ride scooters
where tortoises wear knee socks
and cheetahs chat on Bluetooth
where neckties are turbans
and cocaine is for breakfast
where the trees like to dance
and the wind smells like phosphorous
there’s a world out there
where Santa Clause is a gun for hire
and Bill Gates lives in a cardboard palace
where cabbages can crawl
and your p.o. is in love with you
where apathy is a necessity
and you can feel subatomic energy
where dreams are lucid every night
and classical music kills babies
there’s a world out there
where the drive-through gives you AIDS
and a gargoyle is your copilot
there’s a place, a time
where bad things happen
we all know it
we all love it
we make it happen
this is your world, your life
the place you go
when you’ve no other options
a little hell is all you need
here you make the options
choose the place you go
your world, your life
you make it happen
you love it
you know it
all the bad things happen
in this place, this time
there’s a world out there
where horses fly crop dusters
and the militia men perform ballet
where the system can’t be beat
and goblins run our fiefdom
where trilobites are pets
and brick houses burn down
where entropy is our life
and masturbation kills people
where smoke rises red
and mom sprinkles ash in the corners
there’s a world out there
where abstinence gets you shot
and pogo-sticks roam the freeway
where you don’t go on dates
and breakfast cereal is for rodents
where everyone is full of shit
and the blasphemy is tolerable
where sandboxes are booby traps
and the forest is full of manholes
there’s a world out there
where you fit in
and so do i
I Steal Sticky Notes From My Employer
Dreaming about dying from the third person
perspective is not very fun for most people.
Sometimes I see myself falling for hours only to
land on the concrete patio of some coffee shop.
The worst are the recurring ones that stop in
once weekly for a little cerebral chit chat.
Exactly when I fall asleep I know the dream is
coming but I can’t ever wake myself back up.
More often than not I wake up all sweaty and
hot and crying and really needing to take a leak.
This happens way too much and I really need it
to stop so I can sleep on a consistent schedule.
Strangely my boss seems to be happy to see me
every time I come to work after an episode.
Most mornings he looks at me like I am a small
bit feces stuck to the shoes of his black soul.
I think he controls my brain and knows when I
have this dream so that’s why he’s always nice.
One time he even bought me coffee the day
after and smiled real big and high fived me.
Normally he just glares at me and tells me not
to spill coffee in the copier so it won’t stick.
Every now and then I think my coworkers have
strange dreams too and I overhear them talk.
They think our boss is a crazy too and they ask
me if I can summon my zombie friends to help.
Next time I have that scary dream I have to call
the graveyard and warn them about all the dirt.
For now I think I’ll just write it on a sticky note
so I don’t forget and hope no one sees it there.
Now I want our boss to control all of our minds
so I can summon the zombies tomorrow night.
I’ll write that on a sticky note too.
Oaks
Things are becoming strange
Our nature as we know it
It seems everything is aging
Life has changed gears
I watch as sapling oak trees
Become behemoths, reaching skyward
Their limbs creaking and groaning
Natural blasphemy
Our world in transition
Sideways and up
The sun has stopped its roll across the sky
For now, things just grow on
Only The Dead
In the ground Under grass and loam Beneath a marker Encased in wood Sometimes metal Sometimes buried with a country’s banner Sometimes only ashes In the ground Surrounded by roots and soil
Lays honesty
You see
Only the dead are truly honest Honest about the state in which they exist Because they have no other choice There is no denial They are honest about beauty Because there is none And if it is, as some say That beauty is only skin deep, then There is rotting flesh Bloated, bulging organs Broken mortuary stitches
We are no longer honest
Not to ourselves Not to others We live in denial About Religion Love Hate Beauty Wealth Stature We remain in denial Of our place in the scheme Do we really not know? Are we afraid of it? The dead are not afraid They feel no hurt No fear No contempt They feel peace; nothing The dead are as they should be
They simply are
They only exist Until over taken by Countless other organisms Yet, still they exist Even if they are Literally particular They know nothing other Than what they truly are Can we, the living
Learn from our dead?
No
We deny death We cannot comprehend it We Cannot embrace it Not until it is upon us Sometimes, not even then We try to banish it With formaldehyde and keep Our dead in a state of denial Is death what it takes To bring true honesty To our world? Is it? Must we kill lying politicians And massacre religion? Must we do away With self denial And embrace inevitability? Must we accept That death is the only ultimate fate Rather than love Riches Or power? Can a human do such as this?
No
Only the dead can be honest
Again, for those of you who would like to look at more of my wrting/rambling/academic work, please follow this link:
http://floggart.blogspot.com/
Had some issues...
Basically I had to start over once again.
So here's all the old stuff.
http://floggart.blogspot.com/
Essentially, when I got rid of my gmail account, which is a whole different story, I deactivated my blogspot account, and so all of my work is stuck on the above webpage. Thats fine I guess, it actually helps consolodate things, but it's far less easy to access right off hand.
Below you will find the last posting, just to provide some reference.
-Brad
Blog de la Floggart
Sunday, December 7, 2008
October - December
Hey all,
The following is my poetry manuscript from this semester of creative writing. You'll probably see a few more of them agian at some point, just because they go through one more revision. It's been awhile since I've blogged anything, over a month in fact, so this is hopefully will get things going again.
In all, the last couple of months have been the busiest time of my life. I've come to find that college is not only one of the hardest experiences I've ever had to undergo, but it is also one of the most rewarding and fun. I've met people and done things that I'd never have had the chance to do otherwise. The people that I've met, or been thrown into relationships with, have changed me forever. For instance, all the people that will probably never read this because blogging is dumb, yes that means you Hannah, you guys have had a profound impact on me.
Pat: You were the first person I really got to know here. You came by and just sort of stood there and yelled at me about the business world till I became your friend. It was excellent. You've helped me make a number of decisions that would have otherwise gone awry. You have an extremely level head and I appreciate it.
Kyle: You're probably the next person I met. Man, I could probably tell you anything, literally anything, and you'd still cheer me on. I don't know what it is...but you have a way of being so completely straight-faced and non judgemental about situations that you could very easily judge. I appreciate that too man.
Chris: You are my best friend up here. No doubt about it. I think that's all I have to say. You put up with my wierd shit and you even do some pretty odd stuff yourself. I love it. Don't ever stop just lingering around my room, even if I look really irritated. Had I had a roomate, I would have wanted it to be you. And that's not meant in a wierd creepy homosexual way...or is it?
Katie: You are loud. You are sometimes obnoxious. But you are so beautiful. Mainly in the fact that you don't care about what anyone thinks. This is a quality that I want so badly. You also seem to be perpetually helpful, especially lately...And you always know what to say, no matter the situation.
Hannah: I don't know where to start. You and I...know a lot of crap about eachother. I feel like you know me better than you should...but I'm okay with that. I know I've had my fair share of blunders, but you've stuck with it, and I'd like to think we're still pretty close. Stay squinty!
Demetrius: You are the funniest kid I know, and you put up with so much of my shit. Thank you for not killing me and always being a good sport. I know I've hurt your feelings and I want to say, I never meant that man. Never. Here's to more good times.
Michele: Do me a favor and quit hailing on my parade. Word. Okay, so you are so stoic all the time, but it's good. You totally balance out the whole group and it rocks. Right on!
To the rest of my third floor companions: You guys rock. End of story.
Chance: You are a whole different story that has no place on the internet. I'll just write a book. You'll see.
Forrest: See the posting for "Chance."
Anyway, the rest of this post is just poetry. I'll be more dilligent from now on. Enjoy.
.50 caliber clarinet
woodwinds and brass
strings and percussion
these are but small units
yet when they gather
they are a whole
sometimes Conflicted
a Battle
sometimes Harmonious
a Union
who is to say
what it is that makes
A woodwind a woodwind
the strings strung
the creator of the instrument
he that holds its neck
its barrel or joint
he that plays it
makes it do his will
guns and knives
planes and bombs
these are but small units
yet when they gather
they are a whole
sometimes Conflicting
in Combat
sometimes at Peace
an Armistice
who is to say
what it is that makes
a gun a weapon
a knife a bayonet
the creator of the instrument
he that holds its hilt
its barrel or its stock
he that uses it
makes it do his will
777 Prospect Ave.
scantily clad women
and a kilo on the counter
white smiley faces
the wind could blow away
papers and paper backs
reeks like a hamster cage
waterlogged wood
swells and creaks
men with guns
holstered or otherwise
swagger from room to room
then mysteriously leave
the surrounding houses
with shot out lights
boarded up windows
no signs of life
our house stands Alone
Decrepit yet Glorious
testament to Lust, Addiction
and Parasitic existence
Death on Call
it’s extremely odd to look back
today was the last day i’ll see you
for god knows how long
you’re off to kick some ass
for the country called america
you are not a patriot though
you just know what you want
you are beautiful in this way
air force tactical air control party
the red green and blue dot on your map
a first step in changing all of our lives
my current picture of you
watching your white subaru pull away
your index and fuck you finger held high
i hear zach wylde, randy blythe
every audioslave album there is
i relive every conversation
religion, politics, running, military
i will miss you my friend, my brother
fingers
sometimes
i use a compound miter saw
to cut off people’s fingers
fingers that touch things
they are not supposed to
fingers that steal
hurt and break.
sarcasm is a bitch
this evening i attended a reading
poetry and fiction
the person to my left
constantly accosted me
poked prodded pried
evaluated every moral fiber
he/she ripped out my soul
threw it on the floor
spit on it
giggled
i walked home
alone in the cold
my world/your world
there’s a world out there
where all the pigeons have tourett’s
and all the girls wear red lipstick
where the blind are led by unicorns
and all the cops ride scooters
where tortoises wear knee socks
and cheetahs chat on Bluetooth
where neckties are turbans
and cocaine is for breakfast
where the trees like to dance
and the wind smells like phosphorous
there’s a world out there
where Santa Clause is a gun for hire
and Bill Gates lives in a cardboard palace
where cabbages can crawl
and your p.o. is in love with you
where apathy is a necessity
and you can feel subatomic energy
where dreams are lucid every night
and classical music kills babies
there’s a world out there
where the drive-through gives you AIDS
and a gargoyle is your copilot
there’s a place, a time
where bad things happen
we all know it
we all love it
we make it happen
this is your world, your life
the place you go
when you’ve no other options
a little hell is all you need
here you make the options
choose the place you go
your world, your life
you make it happen
you love it
you know it
all the bad things happen
in this place, this time
there’s a world out there
where horses fly crop dusters
and the militia men perform ballet
where the system can’t be beat
and goblins run our fiefdom
where trilobites are pets
and brick houses burn down
where entropy is our life
and masturbation kills people
where smoke rises red
and mom sprinkles ash in the corners
there’s a world out there
where abstinence gets you shot
and pogo-sticks roam the freeway
where you don’t go on dates
and breakfast cereal is for rodents
where everyone is full of shit
and the blasphemy is tolerable
where sandboxes are booby traps
and the forest is full of manholes
there’s a world out there
where you fit in
and so do i
I Steal Sticky Notes From My Employer
Dreaming about dying from the third person
perspective is not very fun for most people.
Sometimes I see myself falling for hours only to
land on the concrete patio of some coffee shop.
The worst are the recurring ones that stop in
once weekly for a little cerebral chit chat.
Exactly when I fall asleep I know the dream is
coming but I can’t ever wake myself back up.
More often than not I wake up all sweaty and
hot and crying and really needing to take a leak.
This happens way too much and I really need it
to stop so I can sleep on a consistent schedule.
Strangely my boss seems to be happy to see me
every time I come to work after an episode.
Most mornings he looks at me like I am a small
bit feces stuck to the shoes of his black soul.
I think he controls my brain and knows when I
have this dream so that’s why he’s always nice.
One time he even bought me coffee the day
after and smiled real big and high fived me.
Normally he just glares at me and tells me not
to spill coffee in the copier so it won’t stick.
Every now and then I think my coworkers have
strange dreams too and I overhear them talk.
They think our boss is a crazy too and they ask
me if I can summon my zombie friends to help.
Next time I have that scary dream I have to call
the graveyard and warn them about all the dirt.
For now I think I’ll just write it on a sticky note
so I don’t forget and hope no one sees it there.
Now I want our boss to control all of our minds
so I can summon the zombies tomorrow night.
I’ll write that on a sticky note too.
Oaks
Things are becoming strange
Our nature as we know it
It seems everything is aging
Life has changed gears
I watch as sapling oak trees
Become behemoths, reaching skyward
Their limbs creaking and groaning
Natural blasphemy
Our world in transition
Sideways and up
The sun has stopped its roll across the sky
For now, things just grow on
Only The Dead
In the ground Under grass and loam Beneath a marker Encased in wood Sometimes metal Sometimes buried with a country’s banner Sometimes only ashes In the ground Surrounded by roots and soil
Lays honesty
You see
Only the dead are truly honest Honest about the state in which they exist Because they have no other choice There is no denial They are honest about beauty Because there is none And if it is, as some say That beauty is only skin deep, then There is rotting flesh Bloated, bulging organs Broken mortuary stitches
We are no longer honest
Not to ourselves Not to others We live in denial About Religion Love Hate Beauty Wealth Stature We remain in denial Of our place in the scheme Do we really not know? Are we afraid of it? The dead are not afraid They feel no hurt No fear No contempt They feel peace; nothing The dead are as they should be
They simply are
They only exist Until over taken by Countless other organisms Yet, still they exist Even if they are Literally particular They know nothing other Than what they truly are Can we, the living
Learn from our dead?
No
We deny death We cannot comprehend it We Cannot embrace it Not until it is upon us Sometimes, not even then We try to banish it With formaldehyde and keep Our dead in a state of denial Is death what it takes To bring true honesty To our world? Is it? Must we kill lying politicians And massacre religion? Must we do away With self denial And embrace inevitability? Must we accept That death is the only ultimate fate Rather than love Riches Or power? Can a human do such as this?
No
Only the dead can be honest
Again, for those of you who would like to look at more of my wrting/rambling/academic work, please follow this link:
http://floggart.blogspot.com/
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