Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in ramsien's LiveJournal:

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Sunday, May 21st, 2006
11:46 pm	Shore Maiden’s Song Er stood there a woman brave With look upon her face so grave To view the waves under the sky Her lover’s ship she feared not spy Though came the night and again the day From vantage spot she dared not stray To leave she knew her faith would fade For heavens strength she silent bade Till came the dawn of seventh day And to the sea her life she gave Her soul now in the black sea blue Forever and then where sea birds flew When past her peak young sailors sail Upon fell air some hear her wail Yet old seamen know whose voice is she And what sad song rings across the sea - Dru ------------------------------------------------------ (1 Comment |Comment on this)
11:14 pm	Rhymes I Say To You Set aside these rhymes I say to you, for to me they seem the same. Not silly or fool or but a thing that is all together vein. Laugh not at me but those men of words whose script does end in rhyme. For in the end they all to me seem, quite simply a waste of time. - Dru ------------------------------------------------------ (Comment on this)
Saturday, March 4th, 2006
9:25 pm	Was I Better When Was I better when, back then, when life as simple and free? Was I better now, potential to brow, that time alive I not see? Were I better then, in the future when, I can look back and know I lived for I, nothing, and all to reap that which I sow? - Dru ------------------------------------------------------ (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Wednesday, January 4th, 2006
11:44 pm	The Bastard Children of Genius If, "a picture paints a thousand words" and someone can "paint a beautiful picture with language", then which is more? - J. Thomas ------------------------------------------------------ Is genius a curse? I've wondered this a great many times. Through observations and limited dealings with people who could be scientifically classified as 'genius', I have found that there is a degree, slight or considerable, of odd social behavior; an inability to maintain and 'fit in' with society as a whole. Some merely are agitated in large groups or public places, but this could be attributed simply to an overabundance of times spent within ones head, or home; or simple a reaction to an overly sensitive personality harbored through genius; or a distaste/fear of the 'crude masses'. Other genius actions/reactions toward the world at large are fanatic by social standards by means of speaking oddly about various subjects or by lashing our verbally or physically at unwanted comments or actions. These people I have known are known and some manage to get along with help of friends, family and loved ones. Others are genius in thought, theory and skill, but manage to be not only sociable but widely liked and respected. In both art and science these people are renowned for their gifts and live full, rewarding lives; while the others remain small town 'crazies', mental institute patients, or victims of their own actions. What primarily concerns me are those who straddle the fence, those who are half-breeds of genius and acceptable. Some manage to live out lives happy and accepted, with jobs friends, family while having only an accelerated talent in theory or skill. These people are usually more successful then most but still not noticed or renowned as highly as the extreme genius. But still there are the others, the bastard children of genius. These people harbor the souls, the essence of genius; equipped with all the fanaticism but little the abilities. Some enjoy moderate success in the world, others only a genius by hobby. But all share the terrible downsides of the genius, social anxieties, mental asquint, and pitfalls or obsessions, addictions and miseries. It is for these that I wonder. Is it these who become terrorists, serial killers, vigilantes and suicides? Why are these potentials harbored and allowed the chance to accelerate? Are they so unrecognizable that public schools and parents are unable to recognize the differences between their genius oddities and the other juvenal malcontents, future criminals, and genuinely stupid? - Dru ------------------------------------------------------ "Why do the finest flowers of the american dream so often turn up in asylums... and other grey hallways of the living doomed?" - Huner S. Thompson Songs of the Doomed ------------------------------------------------------ (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Sunday, November 13th, 2005
10:35 pm	Time Has Told Me Time has told me you're a rare, rare find. A troubled cure for a troubled mind. And time has told me not to ask for more, for someday our ocean will find its shore. So I’ll leave the ways that are making me be what I really don't want to be. Leave the ways that are making me love what I really don't want to love. Time has told me you came with the dawn, a soul with no footprint, a rose with no thorn. Your tears they tell me there's really no way of ending your troubles with things you can say. And time will tell you to stay by my side, to keep on trying till there's no more to hide. So leave the ways that are making you be what you really don't want to be. Leave the ways that are making you love what you really don't want to love. - Nick Drake Five Leaves Left ------------------------------------------------------ (Comment on this)
Thursday, September 29th, 2005
1:23 am	Dark Eyes Serene No look now left of a child once so cute, instead remain the confident and wondering gaze of a women, still young and in deep love with an end. Never at, nor through - but a look to you inside. Sleepy and hopelessly alive, she invokes thoughts in a dream as a shamaness, with the voice of a serine. Look now in hope and despair. Rejoice for a time and hope that her eyes may one day fall upon you to be seen or heard from never again, as you were. - Dru ------------------------------------------------------ (Comment on this)
Wednesday, September 14th, 2005
12:06 am	As Leaves Do Fall Autumn is upon us again, coming in cool nights and yet still heated days of an Indian Summer. Once all the footholds of the summer have given way and all days, and nights, are left to wander in sleeves and long trousers I'm sure to have contentment for many more of the waken hours. While I still expect no moments of grandeur to appear in my work I realize that a marked improvement (or at lease a lingering sense of satisfaction) comes with the prolonged gray and overcast days as well as the dreary, walkable rainstorms to settle my mind and allow for coherent thoughts. I've traded away a few of my larger coats for a fitted (London Fog) trench with a removable liner. With any luck I start to look more attractively mysterious and less stalkerish and off-putting. Although I don't really know who it is that I'm expecting not to repel, or even to attract for that matter. It's not exactly as if I find myself in the hub of any social (or anti-social) activities or groups these many months. With any luck I'll find a better reason and perhaps place to live that might better entreat my fraternization with the outer world and help to remove my recluse inclinations. Durring this comming season I expect to spend some time in Cooperstown, a beautiful place in the fall; as well as Saratoga. Cooperstown will service my needs for picture taking, used books and quiet cool days; while Saratoga will help to further my record and overall music collection, and more lively social interaction with (that may well turn out to be) social interests. Should the courses of action lead to the finding a mate, be she of temporary, prolonged, or permanent stay I should be most encouraged. I find that as I go I miss much more the interest of someone and less the intrigue of that one-someone. This gives me hope in my finding someone for whom I could come to care for more deeply than in the past and someone whose effort will prove more fruitful. - Dru ------------------------------------------------------ (Comment on this)
Monday, July 4th, 2005
12:51 am	Belated Account The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents. - H. P. Lovecraft It's been a while (again) so let's get going here. MUSIC - ... At the moment nothing is predominant in my selection. Lost of the same kinds as I usually have around, but nothing too new or inspiring has been dropped in my lap as of late. BOOK - Hermann Hesse - Steppenwolf / H.P. Lovecraft I've been reading as much of Lovecraft as I can get my hands on. It's going pretty well, although I've started to burn out on horror at the moment. I've been working my way through Steppenwolf. I was drawn to it from the aspect of an outcast, but now that I'm reading it I'm having a bit of a difficult time getting through it. Though it's really nice to have a puzzlebox to play with for a while, other then my head. PHILOSOPHY - Undetermined Lately I've been drifting around aimlessly...Wait, I've always done that, so what was my point...Oh yeah, I don't have a real system of what I think keeps thing together and going at the moment. Mostly cause things don't feel very together, and the speeds so slow that the fence posts look like telephone polls. JOB - Dishwasher at the Greenside Restaurant and Pub / Assistant DJ Working in a kitchen in a good gig overall. The work's not difficult, though I'm not very fond of being bent over a sink for so many hours at a time. The parties and other parts of the job are good breaks and a feeling of overall unpredictability keeps thing sharp. As for the DJing, I picked it up as a side job, pays good and I really don't do much other then hang around and help out, so score one for me. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I know that things aren't bad; they really rarely ever are just mind numbing. Not that I want the walls of the world to crash down around me to make me realize how good things really are or any crap like that; I just want things to feel real, I'm sure they once did, sometimes I'm just sorry... I don't know, I just don't. - Dru ------------------------------------------------------ Current Music: Need Your Love So Bad - Little Willie John (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Sunday, May 1st, 2005
12:02 am	Pass Slow The Nights Pass slow the nights that give no rest. Drink yourself dry though you know you have plans. No amount of drink can help heal the restlessness. Days and nights have again come to mean nothing. Lay awake in the light and the dark, no one will see. Long lay idol, three days time, see who knows. Will they remember in a month's time? Let all slip slowly past, remember nothing, care not. - Dru ------------------------------------------------------ (Comment on this)
Monday, April 25th, 2005
12:01 am	For Though The Moon For though the moon shown full that night neither creatures nor men ran wild. The cool of the evening air hung heavy, mist clung to the dew thick trees that grew from the rock above the canal and clean shown all light on the water-black. In there homes asleep did men lay dreaming of wilder days when one could run, and love, and feast at will; when to drink from streams was no crime, nor a fear from the poisons of the now-world. Animals have survived, remaining untamed and feral in what stays of the unkempt natural places of the world, though few now there are. I remember those wild times, when the world belonged to itself and we man, animals and all were guests and glad. Those now while alive, populous things of this earth are not what we once were. While some yet see that changes are ill to us as well the land none stand to speak against those whom do. - Where trees were great and tall, plains vast and wind taken, mountains only less too high for the birds and oceans rolled on for an age, measured only by the endless sky; and all, we all lived free and well. Dream, oh man, dream, dream your mind to a place of such treasures, dream back to a childs state of life where there was nothing to fear, not even death for it too did not yet have a name. Where all things rich and true were the same, where even life needed not to be appreciated, where we all could be. - Dru ------------------------------------------------------ (Comment on this)
Tuesday, April 12th, 2005
5:54 pm	When Things Get Good When things get good there good. I have a girl now, and I've been happier then I can recall. Things are new and energetic. I get to see sides of someone that you only ever get to when it gets this good, and there's still more. When we're together there's hardly ever a moment we don't touch or look at each other and when we're not I think of little else. It's not only that we are so infatuated with each other, but also we talk about it and everything else, and I do mean everything. I can't recall a thing that I have though about that I was reluctant that she wouldn't want to talk about (or that I was concerned she couldn't handle that level of intimacy or too scattered or so outlandish of a though. And the rest, the rest is between she and I. - Dru ------------------------------------------------------ (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Friday, March 25th, 2005
10:51 am	Echoes Don't Hurt Echoes don't hurt if your not expecting them to come back. But the moment that you wait for them, cliff side, digital reverberation or another's voice, you open up for the pain when they don't come back. I can scream to cliffs, whisper to the mic, and I can stand the silence. When I call to the others and hear not even my own voice, I weep at the thoughts that follow. Am I alone, that even isn't so bad; does no one hear me, this I can tolerate; but thinking that no one cares enough to call back, that's what really hurts. - Dru ------------------------------------------------------ (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Thursday, March 24th, 2005
11:54 pm	Moby.Hotel Moby Strikes Gold, Again When I was younger and just finding a foothold in my personal opinions of music an older friend of mine had, to no avail, tried to get me into the Techno scene. I found the whole idea ridiculous, legions of social supremacists clad in futuristic garb (with just a hint of retro to 'keep it real') bouncing around to a computer generated beat, breaking only to swill some overpriced neon cocktail, cactus extract power drink, or a six dollar bottle of water imported from someplace French. I was too young to see that it wasn't the clubbing, body bouncing or the mindlessness of the Techno that I was being taught to enjoy, but the music that made crap possible. One artist that was apart of my training, that makes me now wish I had kept pace with, was Moby. His albums with strange depictions (or at least POV's) of life at first set me off and I had already been exposed to the radio overplay of a few songs. So going in with a less then open mind I was, of course, reluctant to say the least. Our age difference and life changes separated my friend and I and I was spun off into musical oblivion, moving aimlessly from genre to genre picking up whatever crap I thought was good and revering it as genius (as middle-teens tend to do). But in June of 1999 I picked up a copy of PLAY, desperate for something new to listen to. I was elated, the mixture of technology, mixing, human voice and the character use of soul tracks were almost more then I could take. As all music does PLAY became overplayed and I tossed it gently aside into the rack for future reclamation and the occasional accredit to a mix tape. The CD was all but forgotten when in 2000 a remix of PLAY's track 5 (South Side) was re-released as a mix with Gwen Stefani. I caught the video and saw a song I had enjoyed with the familiar discoloration of pop tarnish. The song had remained just as enjoyable, but some something about the binging and blanging of the video had lost something for me. At this time the media picked up on the greatness of the PLAY album and started to advertise it as if it were new. I wondered if a new set of remixes had been released to supplement the addition of two popular artists coming together, but there wasn't. All the same old posters had been hung, although new for Wal-Mart Corporation very familiar to me (and anyone who paid any sort of attention to things). Wal-Mart even had the gumption to advertise PLAY as containing the Gwen Stefani remix, which for all those suckered into buying it are aware, does not. (In addition Wal-Mart did not stock the single for nearly three weeks.) Alright, all this PLAY business aside. The release of 18 was a wonderful successor to the famed PLAY album, although not as well taken in by the less informed appreciators. Songs like 'We Are All Made of Stars' and '18' reached the ears of those who paid the more minimalist attention to the elite UK scene or slightly-sub pop culture of America. I paid less attention to Moby after that. The slow release of PLAY: The B Sides and 18 B-Sides brought great remixes and familiar tracks from the inspiration era of the forerun parent albums. But I still couldn't get back into that place or frame of mind. Then came Hotel. On an evening of unusual sleeplessness I was trapped, zombie-fied as it was to my computer screen. I found something about a new Moby album and wondered of I should see what the new stuff was. I listened to a few of the samples from some online stores and figured that it might be worth the time. I listened intently through the first five tracks, enjoying the familiar sounds and styles, as well as the familiar gusto that kept the music fresh and unpredictable. Reading the track list I had seen a title that I knew well from a number of other artists, Temptation (New Order). I wondered if the title was just a coincidence, but knowing the tendency of remix artists I figured that I would hear the Moby take of Temptation. Curiosity almost broke my own stringent rule of listening to a new album from beginning to end once first, but I held out and built up for track six. When it stated I knew immediately that it was the song I had knows, but as usual the Moby style of remix was very different from the original, but very beautiful. The beat was slow, the keyboard was used only in time, and the lyrics speak/sung by a rich female voice was breathtaking. I was smitten by an energy that wells up like a need to break into a swift run, just to make sure that I didn't combust; but the comfortable quiet and tearful content settled my mind and I enjoyed every moment deeply. - Dru ------------------------------------------------------ (Comment on this)
Sunday, March 20th, 2005
9:57 am	Thompson One shot of Dewar's® Blended Scotch Whiskey and a few warm Corona Extras later I cleared off my Buddhist collection table to make room for my slowly growing bar collection. It wasn't until after that I started to think on the importance of having a being of power, or at least wisdom, far greater then my own on my side; and then on whether or not it was having such a being or believing that I had such a being that was the important part. Either way I decided that it was better to at least leave the idols visible for future contemplation. It was on nights like this, these endlessly long and strange nights that thoughts of Thompson whine through my mind. Wondering if a life of journalism, photojournalism, or just a life at all resembling his own, would be worth the price of admission, and weather (or how) I would get off this fucking ride. I'm faced with an inevitable and strange world of choices, consequences, mazes, hurdles, screw-ups and letdowns. Originally I had a point for that sentence, but now I see that sometimes making a point out of the harsh light of life is like trying to believe that lifers don't exist in fast food restaurants, or, for that matter, that you couldn't be come one of them. One false step, one miscalculated night of inebriated tomfoolery or winding up in the bed of the most powerful man in states daughter, or (only slightly more common) his wife. How did a man of incalculable drug use, mental and physical abuse that only a nazi would induce on even a lab rat, manage to become a multigenerational journalistic and cultural icon for so many people? A man whose reign of terror on civilized America ended only last month with his own self inflicted demise. As I make plans for the next semi-logical step in my ill spent life questions of experience vs. education, skill vs. talent haunts me to near sleeplessness. Was it the doctorate of journalism or pure talent, or a combination/refinement of the two that made Thompson the writer that he was? Or did the lucky fuck just manage to find his way to good stories and hit a vain of popular culture at a time that was begging for a voice to represent all the misguided and under appreciated freaks that had risen in his time. Is another wave rising? Do I have the skill, the drive, the stick to ride it to literary greatness, or do I need only to dogpaddle out farther in a direction that no one else would think (or want) to go? Is now the time for high speed, fly by the skin of my ass sort of risks, or do I regress to schooling to obtain the piece of paper and safe assignments that will assure my place in a stable journalistic setting reporting on local car crashes, sporting events and the deaths of the once living dead occupants of geriatric wards? Times like this I still wish that Thompson were still alive. Somehow the idea of his presence harnessed up at the Owl Farm was enough to give me hope or at least a sense of safety. Now the possibility of his wild and uncontrolled spirit being free on this world or having set off to another makes me weary about my decision to follow him meekly into the unstable journalism precinct. On the flipside, however, the idea that some small part of him may still be raging through interactions at top speed, now (if ever) completely heedless of traffic signals, other voyagers and pedestrians alike, lends to me a deeper comfort then I can think well enough on to give voice; except to say that I hope that it may push me to accelerate in both how fast my body moves over this earth and how quickly my position may move throughout my career. Although I'm quite sure that I will never follow Thompson at any sort of close distance I hope that I will find the American drive enough to carve a respected, acknowledged, successful, and lucrative path for myself on some level. Whether or not I ever have a film made after or inspired by my work, a spot on the New York Times Best Seller List, or even a cultural following (of any size), if I can get to a point that I can acknowledge myself in a truly realistic and personal way and know that I've done something that at least I know that I will be proud of, then I'll know that all the shit, the scraping, fighting, grit and shit of my life was enough. Then and only then will I know that I'm done. Somehow I have the feeling that's how Thompson knew he was ready. - Dru ------------------------------------------------------ (Comment on this)
Friday, March 18th, 2005
12:31 am	Spring Break As I've gotten older I see that parts of life, or rather the titles that we have given to parts of life, remain the same while the activities that we associate with that name are changed. 'Spring break', for example was once a lengthy break from school, although when I was in junior school it was called 'mid winter recess' so in hindsight this may not be the best example for my thoughts. Never the less the break of spring I now call the feeling that I've gotten today. The feeling that winter has now passed by. There is no marked change in the temperature, no increase in the sparse foul population of the neighborhood and no sign that there may not yet drop another foot of snow on any given day. There is, however, a change in the air (wow that was a creative remark). But as uncreative and uninspired as a line it may be, it brings home a sense of inexplicable knowing (or at least hoping) that the long season of death, cold and snow may finally have passed. This year, more then most then I can recall. I have waited and wanted for the change to spring. Switching jobs (twice), looking for a third, re-starting school (possibly, probably), thinking my way though to finding a career for myself at the end of my schooling, semi-relationship based difficulties; as well as the long hours indoors, inability to take long walks at any time of the day or night, and the seemingly endless pursuit for clear walkways and driveways. Tossing aside the presumption that spring break somehow marks the solidification of all my conundrums I'm looking forward to sandals, bluegrass festivals, Providence, garage sales, cookouts, tight shirts, short skirts and greener woods. - Dru ------------------------------------------------------ (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Tuesday, March 8th, 2005
11:53 pm	good night good night, to you, good night sleep, sleep well and dream fondly dream fond of things dream of things sweet and strong dream of love, love long, love well dream of dreams yet to come and those still to recall ...the first thing that I've really wanted to write in a long while. Thank you. - Dru ------------------------------------------------------ (Comment on this)
Tuesday, March 1st, 2005
1:38 am	...or should I go? I want to just pack up and take off, more then ever, and quite critically for the first time ever. For a while now I've felt a swelling in my energies, a need to move. At first I actually took a bunch of long walks thinking that's all it was, winter bog, cabin fever, what ever. But now I think that it's a real need to get out, get away and find something new. Afraid, of course I'm afraid, but I'm more afraid of what may happen if I don't. First I'm looking into school and moving out closer to whatever school I choose. On the other hand I'm also really thinking about choosing a school with a similar degree out of state and just seeing what I can accomplish for myself. - Dru ------------------------------------------------------ (Comment on this)
Monday, February 28th, 2005
1:34 pm	Stir It Up You've got to keep things fresh, moving, shifting and changing. Mostly we don't have much of a choice in the matter, but it's nice sometimes to think that we do. Today I have applied to get a credit card. I'm told that this will be important to my financial future to prove that I'm responsible and there for worthy of lending money to, or some shit like that. Today is also the first day of my new unemployment. That's right folks, the Rockton Café has closed. The cook informed us on Friday, although a number of us had heard from the 'rumors' spinning through the streets. The owner of a flower shop down the road agreed to rent the building from our boss and went directly to whirling the news around town. I find that typical of people I've known in the area. Second hand information, retold truths, and a sense of detachment that no amount of heart could ever fill seems to be a fair amount of the stuff that local dreams are made of. Today I received word that I will be visiting a friend on a sort of vacation (although I'm really not getting away from anything that most people vacation from). There's really nothing I can do about things, the ways they are, the way they go, as we all well know, there is only yourself to be in charge and responsible for. So now I'm taking responsibility to get a little living in between the existing. - Dru ------------------------------------------------------ Current Music: Bob Marley (Comment on this)
Thursday, February 24th, 2005
12:45 pm	Ask me 4 questions. Any 4, no matter how personal, private or random. I have to answer them honestly. I have to answer them all. In turn, you post this message in your own journal and you have to answer the questions that are asked to you. - Dru ------------------------------------------------------ (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Tuesday, February 22nd, 2005
6:00 pm	I Love you, but I can't stand the sight of you There was once I song, or at least I assume it was a song, that's where most of the one liners I remember come from. But any ways, the line was - 'I Love you, but I can't stand the sight of you' I remember hearing it when I was younger and couldn't begin to imagine how anyone could ever feel something like that. When I got older I started to see how it is that someone could love in distain. Imagine looking into the eyes of someone for whom your eyes enjoy the sight of, your body cries out for, and realize that your heart just cries. Rip, tear, torn, blown, your mind all awash with lust, fear, revulsion, repulsion, repugnance, and all the time your cock's rock hard, your hands start acting before your mind, your lips part, your tongue rages to taste the sweet... But I regress. The mind, mouth, body, soul, and cock all in disagreement on what to hate or love and which at what time and how much. Damn the ways, thats all. - Dru ------------------------------------------------------ (1 Comment |Comment on this)