daggers make a dichotomy

I cannot get these two songs out of my head for anything. I think it's been two weeks at least.


Daggers, by The Chariot

Take it all back
Is this the fashion, "Medic" painted on a white dress or is this the formal crowd?

Where is the battle?
Absent from wealthy minds and far from all concerned?
Now take your places and may peace breed.
Fight your war. Old men, keep dreaming of battles for young men to fight.

War, it's only skin deep.

Make your spine just like your pride and if you find a heart I hope it bleeds grace.

Sell "peace" as limited time

For "limited", I say, is a choice so fight. Take your voices down. Tear it down.


the part of that song where everything quits except the bass, the drums and the clapping haunts my dreams, i tell you.



Dichotomy, by Becoming The Archetype

In this hour the tower shall fall
Initially they rationalized with futile speculations
Which brought about their ultimately fatal calculations
They sewed their own eyes shut
To protect them from the light
Closed the doorway of their minds
Barred and sealed it tight
Their foolish hearts were darkened
Their vacant minds deceived
The lies that they exchanged for truth
Became all that they believed
They exchanged the incorruptible
For the image of fallen man
Worshiped created rather than creator
The image rather than his hand

The heavens wait in silence
For the coming of the end
As man perfects his own imperfection
Destruction closes in

In the grave they chose to make their beds
And now all that they've created
Comes crashing down upon their heads
Death is waiting
In this hour the tower shall fall.

(i sincerely wish for a human voice on the other end this time.)

-Me

I like songs I can't understand. And I have tan lines.

Cyberspace, old buddy. Missed you. What's that? Where have I been?


Sleeping. Getting rid of the guilty feeling "I'm not doing homework" that I've been living with day and night waking and sleeping for nine months.

It's the strangest thing in the world. School dictated everything I did more intensely than it ever had before, and now it's gone.

THREE CHEERS. I have remembered how to spend a happy, productive day doing whatever the heck I want to. Read: knitting, READING READING READING hanging out working designing sitting on the front porch and creeping with sarah/rachel.

I'm residing in St. Paul for the summer. Come invade: woman cannot live by creativity and philosophy alone, though I deeply enjoy trying.
These is enormous value to just existing.

Song of the second: ZOL, by BLK JKS (that being the song I didn't understand. You know why I like songs like that? Well you should tell me, cuz' I'm not quite sure.)

Later. Someday.
-Gyp

An owde to ze threeft stores.

Let us hear it for the thrift store
oh secondhand place
you ruin me for malls
you cause my wallet to rejoice

You contain so many things
Shoulder pads
Stirrup pants
Acid wash jeans
Counterfeit handbags
Mugs shaped like evil dwarves
These things make me die inside

But you bring me back to life with weird handkerchiefs
and gypsy scarves
and ancient silverware
and new skinny jeans for three dollars
and knee-high leather moccasin boots
and a REALLY FUNNY cross-section
of the homo sapiens

You are the greenest thing going
And I like you a lot

Basshunter, urban outfitters,yelling at hipsters,and other deep things.

this is jimi. (hendrix) you knew that, didn't you.


I sit here with my feet on a warm dryer, in which is a pair of freshly dyed lime green shorts, waiting to be pinstriped with a fabric pen. also a v-neck t-shirt.

Which brings me, in a roundabout way, to peer pressure. Things like v-necks, and Switchfoot, and Tim Burton, enjoy a period of huge popularity, often due to real worth and merit and artistry, and then become uncool. Why? Sometimes, yes, it is due to a real decline in their quality. More likely, they are "old".

Here is my thought:
so what.
WHO CARES?
why should that decrease their worth?

If you claim to dislike something because other people dislike it, because it's old, not because you have decided you personally are tired of it, or that it isn't good for you:

1. you feel like a two-face (because you really do still like it.)
2. you begin a (small) (dangerous) habit of letting your peers or parents or profs dictate your loves.

I am not saying you have to always like the same things, or that you should love a store only because the rest of the populace doesn't, or that we should not investigate new music or styles or artists or ideas or kinds of washing machines. And yes, I know the opinions of our culture and society influence us somewhat whether we like it or know it or not. You are steeped in your era. Yes, you. Yes, me.


yours truly is sick of this snobbery, this silliness I am guilty of myself.
of throwing the baby out of the bathwater of cool because he's getting gray hairs.
of the feeling you get when you lose sight of your own tastes.
If you like Basshunter, or Urban Outfitters, or Nike, or polka-dot socks, or boot-cut jeans, or cowboy hats, or hardcore, or even that Delilah radio show, ok. I like a few of those myself. you can figure out which ones on your own. as for yelling at hipsters, look up toothpaste for dinner.

Liking something for what it is worth, because it made you cry, or think on God, or remember, or tap your foot.....well, just try it. and if you do that already, thank you for existing. you're out there, i know.

Songs of the dia: Red House, by Jimi Hendrix, naturally, and Watching the Planets, by The Flaming Lips.

mreeb.(s) also squee.

I was tired and annoyed in the brain the other day, and realized how long it had been since i had blogged. possibly a factor, since writing lets out all the crabby juices.

GUESS WHAT. ITS SPRING. heather says it isn't till the twentieth, but heather is shorter than me, so she can't be right.

There has been a lot of Hard Times lately. meaning the place. we saw a fellow walking in with a beautiful bouquet of flowers, no apparent reason.

you know how i know its spring? Number one, it is rainy. Rain after months of snow tells my brain to run the slide show of squishy grass and camp shetek and lazy excursions with the windows down and a distinct lack of school. Also, when I walked out of Middlebrook today, by the door was a patch of all the cigarette butts people had smoked, buried in the snow, and forgotten. Since that substance melted,they are all living in a big commune on the sidewalk now. I laughed.
hey, did you know there's this girl who recycled cigarette butts into clothing? www.coolhunting.com/style/mantis-recycled. too lazy to fix that link.

song of day. an old old old oldie. the shadow proves the sunshine, switchfoot. or as my pater calls them, twitchfoot.

so long. there might be more coherent writing later. when there are cats in my lap.
-Gyp

ON the SUBJECT of WEIRDNESS and MUSIC. preferably combined.

Weirdness of most shapes and I are friends. Good ones. Longtime mates. And my love affair with music.....music. music. i like you a lot.

Once upon a time, I could not understand how people could like music wherein the lyrics are growlsy screams. Then one day, not so long ago, in fact more like a few months ago, I told people to post their favorite song on my timeeater wall. Someone posted Underoath's (see above) video for their song Writing on the Walls. I watched it, more out of boredom than otherwise. It. did. something. strange. to. me. I liked it. Why?

we doesn't really know, precious.

short months later, i have addicted myself. PARTICULARLY TO DEVIL WEARS PRADA. yip. Oh crunchy thundery raw goodness. also showbread. they deserve their own post. never mind. later. I am new to this yet, but something tells me we are gonna be friends.

Here's my guess. Somewhere inside me, something was tired of normalcy and fake-it-till-you-make-it and non-rebellion and easy listening and Thomas Kinkade.It hit the spot, that's all I can say. It let something loose that had been percolating for years,and grew, and grew. A good, realistic thing who doesn't like being put into words. If you join me in mine addiction, you may know exactly what I mean. If not, well, maybe the scream bug will bite you someday.

Christianity. Is often not a pretty or an easy thing. Screamy, crunchy, pessimistically-optimistic music expresses that. So. WHaatever. To those who think such soundwaves are not music, perhaps your brain and emotions and life haven't tuned your ears to hear. or maybe you just don't like it. whatevs. I won't make you listen. Just think about it, is all I ask.

here's to Underoath.

-Signed, Gyp.

there's sweat on our hands

So. In one of my classes, we were discussing counterfeits and sweatshops. Here is how it goes. The price of clothes has gone down, while everything else has gone up (inflation). Why? Because we, consumers, you and me, refuse to pay market price. It is not primarily the fault of the manufacturer, for paying less than a living wage. If he does not respond to the retailer's demand, he won't survive. It is NOT, as we would like to think, the retailer's fault, for ripping us off. No. Demand is the problem here. We want clothes of good quality, cheaply, and we want the stock to change every month. In no other market does that happen, and it cannot happen without a sweatshop-type system.
Here's why: The most negotiable part of manufacturing costs is labor. Fabric, shipping, shoplifting, those things are hard to change. It is much easier to find someone desperate enough to work for nearly nothing, in terrible conditions, and thus keep the prices lower than they logically should be. I am not saying the retailers and manufacturers are blameless, just that the majority of responsibility lies with consumers. That is how capitalism works, and it can work for good as well as evil.
Here is the uncomfortable truth. If you have ever handed over money to Wal-mart, Target, Kohls, T.J. Maxx,a dollar store, or any comparable business, your bucks supported the sort of slave-like system we would like to think doesn't exist. Be grateful you're at the top of the food chain, because there are thousands who aren't.
I've done this. So have you. There's sweat on our hands. Our money matters.
So having said all that depressing business, what are you supposed to do? Research. Sorry. That's all there is to it. Know. Inform yourself. And for pete's sake rethink whether or not you NEED new stuff every two weeks. I know, funny coming from me. Thrift stores my friend. If I didn't have to run off, I would write an emotional, economic ode to a thrift store. Hmmm. maybe later.