Is it a bad thing that I am doing kind of crappy in a class because I stay up too late and devote too much of my time helping other people?

The past weekend was absolutely perfect. Backbone was more beautiful than it has ever been. Most of the trees were yellow or red or orange already, and the weather was perfect. My friend and I even walked the Backbone trail at night because the moon was nearly full and the sky was so clear of clouds. I could have lived in that weekend for a long time it was just SO perfect. Then Saturday we got back and watched “Merlin” and “Hidalgo.” On Sunday two of my friends came over and we watched “Zulu” and played Risk. Quite possibly the best game of Risk ever, and it is still going. We called a cease-fire between the two remaining players at midnight, shortly after I was completely obliterated but man, did I go out in a blaze of glory. It was a 65-47 army battle between Siam and Indonesia. Granted, with only 47 armies I was doomed to fail, but I trimmed my friend’s 65 down to around 20 before I was done. Heck yeah.

Sorry for posting this poem again; I don’t have a printer in my dorm, so usually I email copies of stuff to myself and then print it elsewhere. Since I need to make sure the bolds and italics in this poem transfer from the email, I decided to post it here so I can copy and paste it later. Yep. This was posted shortly after Labor Day, but I had to revise it for class. Sorry I’m so pathetic. I’ll try and update after the weekend. Long and short of things are:

- still getting over Laura

- still getting very little in the way of communication from Laura

- have been, however, truthfully assured of the fact that Laura really does want to be friends

- starting to catch up on the sleep I have lost over the last weeks because of this whole mess

- going camping at Backbone this weekend

 

Better Than Flowers

I walked 27.3 miles to see her.

How does one properly beg forgiveness?

The road shimmered with heat and toxic sweat,

the sun beat down on me like a scalding whip, the fire

driving me onward.

 

I looked at my feet under an overpass.

To receive, one must first give.

Angry blisters throbbed and bubbled,

my soul lay prostrate in the face of my pain.

Yet I walked on.

 

I hitchhiked for the first time in my life to see her.

One must humble oneself before God.

I had walked over halfway, and my water

was gone. For twenty minutes I rode with strangers

until they left me.

 

I limped slowly to her door, dying.

A great sacrifice must be made.

She, an angel, tended me, cared for my wounds.

Behind her eyes lay a sadness

born of my stupidity.

 

I healed inside her home, upon her bed.

A lesson must be learned.

Though welcome there, I was a stranger.

She smiled, but I saw only teeth.

No desire.

 

I wept within myself, so she wouldn’t see.

Then, our sins are forgotten.

It rained that day, but the sun came out

for the rest of the world.

Ninety degrees out. So cold.

I’m not a HALO nut, but I do enjoy playing it from time to time. While glancing over abcnews.com this morning, I stumbled on a gem of a story that I think some people might want to read.

Patrick Klepek – PC Magazine

Oct. 5 

Who knew? The rumors are actually somewhat true. Acclaimed (and fanboy loved) director Peter Jackson and collaborator Fran Walsh are tapped to executive produce the upcoming Halo adaptation from Univeral Studios and 20th Century Fox. Mary Parent and Scott Stuber will act as producers alongside Peter Schlessel.

No, that doesn’t mean Jackson will be directing, but with creative minds like this at the helm, you can be assured Uwe Boll and Paul W.S. Anderson are far, far away. Halo’s been dealt the real deal with it comes to Hollywood filmmaking, and I don’t think anyone will blame me when I respond to this news with a resounding: holy sh*t. Someone’s finally taking videogame movies seriously.

Being Batman  By: Ancient_Scribe

This shadow dance, my life in chains

Black and heavy, trapped in a phantom

Cage I made myself years ago.

What a life to live; a lie by day, a lie by night.

Where am I in all this?

I’m no humanitarian, nor am I a hero.

I’m no Rockefeller, nor a fantastic creature,

Yet I pretend to be both. I can’t fly.

How strange to hold myself hostage,

A prisoner in a cell I have a key to.

I just don’t let anyone in.

Ludicrous? Maybe, but if you could

Sit in my mind and view the phantasmagoria

Of my life, you might understand why

I want you to stay away.

But who am I kidding? I can’t save everyone.

Even if I could, who would save me?

Do I need a spotlight on the clouds to

Have someone see that I need help?

Do I have to call 911 to have someone care?

Superman is all well and good,

But even he has his Lois Lane.

Half of the women in my life tried

To kill me. I can’t get it right.

The other half, those I loved

Found they couldn’t love a ghost,

The walking corpse of a man who died

When he was ten years old, couldn’t love

A man who wore so many masks, even beneath

The cape and cowl. Being a hero means

Losing your right to being human. You aren’t

Allowed to bleed, you aren’t allowed to cry.

You are invulnerable

Because you aren’t allowed to live.

Strange dear, but true dear,
When I’m close to you, dear,
The stars fill the sky,
So in love with you am I.
Even without you,
My arms fold about you,
You know darling why,
So in love with you am I.
In love with the night mysterious,
The night when you first were there,
In love with my joy delirious,
When I knew that you could care,
So taunt me, and hurt me,
Deceive me, desert me,
I’m yours, till I die…..
So in love…. So in love….
So in love with you, my love… am I….

“So In Love” by Cole Porter