Oh Proes!!1!!

Thomas O'Connor entered the room with a heavy step. He took off his hat and let it linger in his fingers for a moment before setting it on the desk. His blue eyes searched the room quickly and efficiently. It was dirty. A bookshelf covered the northern wall, filled with old tomes and pictures frames that were dusty. There was a cluttered desk covered in papers and books that lay to the south and against the western wall was a small bed with a tattered blue blanket. All of this was illuminated by the sun that streamed in from the east window. It was almost midday.

Walking a few steps in, Thomas removed his dress coat and turned it inside out with his leather gloved hands. He could not think of a place to put it down. A thin layer of dust had settled over the room and its contents and the fur of an absent cat had clumped together in all of the ignored nooks and corners.

"Hello Thomas," said a voice behind him.

He turned to face the woman who stood in the door. She was clad in a pair of old jeans. They had some tears that were fraying on her calves. Her shirt was slightly wrinkled. She wore no makeup and her mousy brown hair was pulled back into a halfhearted bun; tendrils of brown escaped here and there.

"Hello Jennifer," Thomas replied. He played with the coat in his hands.

"Well, make yourself at home. I can't have you standing about when you've traveled so much today," Jennifer said, taking his coat into her hands. She walked across the room and put it on the bed. Thomas took off his leather gloves and put them in the pockets of his brown slacks.

He sat quietly on a rickety chair that stood by the desk. The wood creaked beneath his weight. Jennifer smiled at him and walked back across the room until she leaned against the doorframe opposite him. She leaned back and slowly let herself drop into a sitting position on the floor.

"You're looking well," Jennifer said, placing her hands on her knees.

Thomas nodded in thanks. There was a brief silence. Jennifer moved her arms to her sides and let her hands rest on the floor. She reconsidered this a moment later and returned them to her knees. Thomas picked a stray cat hair off of his hunter green sweater.

"Things have been busy around here this fall," Jennifer said, "Mom's been trying to finish her Master's degree online and my sister has been busy with my nephew. He's starting first grade next year. Amanda's trying to get him to learn the alphabet ahead of time, but he has trouble remembering anything past P," She brushed a strand of hair from her face. "I don't think he'll ever be a librarian."

Thomas leaned back in his chair and smiled, "Daniel says that kids today get too much stimulation. They have so many things presented to them incessantly that they can't even begin to desire to retain anything. There's always something shiny, obnoxious, and new to distract them."

Jennifer considered this. Her eyes, also blue, seemed to focus inward momentarily and then she replied, "I suppose, but I think a lot of stimulation is good. You can't ever learn anything if you're not exposed to anything. And, you can't ever be interested in something if you don't know it's there, you know?"

Thomas began to drum his fingers on the desk. The soft rhythm quietly supported him as he asked, "How's your brother doing?"

With a quick snort, Jennifer replied, "Oh, he does what he wants. It makes him happy."

A grey tabby cat sauntered into the room. Upon seeing the two of them it began to purr loudly. Jennifer extended a hand and the cat nuzzled it. Bits of pink showed as it ran its muzzle across her palm.

"This is Copernicus. He's my room mate," Jennifer said with a smile. Dimples formed in her cheeks.

Eyeing the cat, Thomas asked, "When did Galileo die?"

The cat's ears swiveled around after he had spoken. A yellow eye turned on him. Then, purring loudly, the cat walked over to Thomas and starting rubbing the length of its body on his leg.

Thomas shifted his leg a little and the cat followed it. With a soft sound, the cat plopped onto Thomas' shoe. It looked up at him, still purring, and twitched its tail.

Jennifer shifted again. She crossed her legs and straightened her back. "He died three years ago. It was a few months after you left."

Thomas stopped drumming his fingers. Not wanting to look at Jennifer, he bent over and reluctantly began to pet the cat. "I'm sorry to hear that. I liked the thing."

Jennifer laughed, "You hated him. Remember when he used your bookcase as a scratching post? You wanted me to get rid of him. You told me to get a fish."

The cat, enjoying Thomas' attention, purred louder.

"It was an antique," Thomas said, "Anyway; I never made you get rid of it. I even let it sleep in the bed once, when you had that nasty cold," he laughed, "There were tissues all over the place and you drank all of the green tea. I made you chicken noodle soup, remember? And we laughed because I'd forgotten that you're a vegetarian."

Jennifer, laughing, reached over and began to pet the cat as well. Accidentally, her hand brushed against Thomas'. They looked at each other. Thomas sat up and began to pick cat hair off of the cuffs of his sweater.

"How is your fiancée?" Jennifer asked. She kept her eyes on the cat.

Thomas shifted in his seat. He replied, matter-of-factly, "Doing well. We're going to the orchestra with her parents next week."

Jennifer smiled politely, "How lovely. I've heard that the orchestra is sounding wonderful this season."

The cat, bored suddenly, stood and walked over to the bookshelf and began to groom itself. Jennifer brought her hands to her knees.

“Her father keeps telling me that we should have a Catholic wedding, but Heather doesn't think that's a good idea. She doesn't want the ceremony to be too long and have the guests sitting there bored."

"She's anxious to be Mrs. O'Connor," Jennifer said. She followed the cat with her eyes. It was grooming its tail.

Smiling, Thomas stood. He walked over to the bookshelf and ran his fingertips over the spines of the dusty tomes. Then, he ran the fingertip of his index finger over the glass of a picture frame. It left a streak.

Jennifer stood and leaned against the doorframe. She crossed her arms. After a moment, she walked over to the desk. The sound of rustling paper filled the room. Thomas turned to watch. "What are you looking for?" He asked.

Searching a moment more, Jennifer grabbed a slightly yellowed piece of paper. It was folded into a small square. She turned to face Thomas, "Here, I'd like you to have this."

After giving her a confused glance, Thomas took the piece of paper in his hand and looked at it. It felt fragile. He recognized his handwriting. "What is this?"

Jennifer sat in the chair. It creaked. "It's the letter you wrote me from Cambridge," she said coolly.

Thomas unfolded the paper and began to read it quietly to himself. His lips formed the words silently. He did this for about a minute and then said, "Jen, I can't take this. I wrote it for you."

Jennifer looked him in the eyes. He noticed how blue her eyes were. No, he had known that. He'd just forgotten.

"I know what it says. I don't need it," She said crisply.

Not Mine, but Tom McGovern's "Untitled"

Franny took in her breath slightly but continued to hold the phone to her ear. A dial tone, of course, followed the formal break in the connection. She appeared to find it extraordinarily beautiful to listen to, rather as if it were the best possible substitute for the primordial silence itself. But she seemed to know, too, when to stop listening to it, as if all of what little or much wisdom there is in the world were suddenly hers. When she had replaced the phone, she seemed to know just what to do next, too. She cleared away the smoking things, then drew back the cotton bedspread from the bed she had been sitting on, took off her slippers, and got into the bed. For some minutes, before she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, she just lay quiet, smiling at the ceiling.

V-A-C-A-T-I-O-N: spells more bad poetry!

"A Delicious Heart Attack"

My green shoes are black
because it is raining
sausages and onions
my breath smells like
a greasy hole in the wall
restaurant where the cook
hits on your friend and
the bathroom is a shithole
yet aching after ingesting
a delicious heart attack
I wonder
will there be a parallel universe
where you and I sit
next to each other
in an empty bus station.


"A Glance That Lingers"

beneath barren bookshelves
I watched your face
aglow with the light
it moved with grace
and I pondered what kind
of us we could be like

I pictured us laughing
dirty backpackers by the Siene
behind us the city of light
but what happens then?

"Poet"

I have a first sentence
it flowered in me
a burst of creativity
as I rush to get the words
on this blank page

these little black marks
hold no meaning
but with them
I will make a world
and take my day of rest

Poet.
A person who is unable to
look at a closed door
and not wonder about
what magnificent secret
could be on the other side.


"O'Murchadah"

I know very well how I got my name
the blood of sea warriors
courses through my veins
as unpredictable as the salty waves
with no particular course or aim

The emerald isle kept them
until it bore no more earthly apples
and they ventured to the sea again
in search of greener shores

A port in Boston received the lot
and in firehouses and cobblestone streets
the blood of my family did clot and heal
until it was ready to explore once more

Now the tide has reversed
and the salty blood of Murphy
shall return to the earth that gave it birth

"The Caravan"

Sand is blowing on the wind
it is too caustic and grates the skin
as the particles fly past

brown spots dance on the horizon
silhouetted against the sun
camels and horses
scattered like bagatelles

This silk will fetch a fine price
jewels for my coterie
and that must suffice
for a trader in this dry sea

"The Four Wish Tiger" or "Shitty Poem about Imaginary Allegory and Shallow Rhyming"

The four wish tiger prowls these woods
each stripe ablaze in different hue
I can't quite describe and not sure I would
if able to describe it for you I could
but I will say its are are a sapphire blue

above the clouds in a dark cave it dwells
perilous and arduous is the journey
past the dark wood the water swells
and off in the distance a wolf yells
but the tiger is waiting for me

He will ask me many questions
and I will try to answer
putting together a sonorous string of definitions
and witty monologue on the importance of intuition
but, he, the tiger, will not listen

the four wish tiger, a magical beast
dislikes pretensions and will roar
openings its jaws wide to feast
my answers, so shallow, it will abhor

ee cummings "i have found what you are like"

i have found what you are like
the rain,

(Who feathers frightened fields
with the superior dust-of-sleep. wields

easily the pale club of the wind
and swirled justly souls of flower strike

the air in utterable coolness

deeds of green thrilling light
with thinned

newfragile yellows

lurch and.press

-in the woods
which
stutter
and

sing

And the coolness of your smile is
stirringofbirds between my arms;but
i should rather than anything
have(almost when hugeness will shut
quietly)almost,
your kiss

Meant to be read aloud.

"Time"

the tick has come my dear
to tell the tock of us
sit settle simmer shine
your eyes they silent observe

the hands are leaving
the footsteps leaving
must the calling clock always call
but darling it is so
misleading
to take ticking tocking true

I am here it is clear
to those who hear
and wish to tenderly
sigh sob swimming dying
by giving themselves away

the mermaids, the black woods
an errant path is showing
and off in the celestial bureaucracy
He waits knowing.

Trial and error slightly
denied the way I'm breaking into
JD, Capote, Fitzgerald
a dream in sepia
you reach without a word

through words calling
through the tick tocking
and the clocking
a face always stares

seaweed stares
from aquamarine eyes
that resonate from the seafoam
and the sirens screaming

luring us and echoing
resounding around the sound
while leaves cracking and
closing call quietly for a silent God

crunching echoes footsteps
leaves dry brown
breath smoke steams
streams water laps
enjoy cold air
clouds out and in
time slow goes
mittens cold hands
scarves neck warm
three one words

water whispers beneath
the grey veil of air moving
invisible mazes neurons fire

My next argument for Phil 334

If pirates are better than ninjas then they will meet more of the revised criteria for awesomeness than ninjas.

Some definitions:
Pirate - One who commits piracy by engaging in robbery, pillaging, or plundering at sea.
Ninja -A spy and/or assassin in feudal Japan.
Cool – Adjective meaning excellent; first-rate.
Awesomeness – Noun meaning the quality of being very impressive.

P1 – Wearing all black is cool.
A.Ninjas wear all black due to the need for stealth.
B.Pirates can''''t wear black because it is bleached out by the sun.
C. Wearing black is part of the revised criteria for awesomeness.

P2 – The habit of having a parrot on your shoulder is cool.
A.Ninjas generally do not have parrots. There are no parrots in Japan.
B.Pirates have a tradition of wearing parrots on their shoulders.
C.Having a parrot on your shoulder is part of the revised criteria for awesomeness.

P3 – Having your own refined fighting style is cool.
A.Ninjas know Kung F u. Kung Fu is a refined fighting style.
B.Pirates have little or no refinement in their fighting style.
C.Having a refined fighting style is a part of the revised criteria for awesomeness.

P4 – Being a profession that has been personified by Jackie Chan is cool.
A.Ninjas have been personified by Jackie Chan.
a. see Rush Hour, Mr. Nice Guy; Shenghai Knights.
B.Pirates have not been personified by Jackie Chan.
C.Being a profession that has been personified by Jackie Chan is a part of the revised criteria for awesomeness.

P5 – Drinking Rum is cool.
A.Ninjas do not drink rum. It deadens their reflexes.
B.Pirates drink copious amounts of rum. Yo ho.
C.Drinking rum is a part of the revised criteria for awesomeness.

Pirates meet two of the revised criteria for awesomeness. Ninjas meet three of the revised criteria for awesomeness. Three is more than two so Ninjas are better than pirates.

My Agrument for Phil 334

If pirates are better than ninjas then they will meet more of the criteria for awesomeness than ninjas.

Some definitions:
Pirate - One who commits piracy by engaging in robbery, pillaging, or plundering at sea.
Ninja -A spy and/or assassin in feudal Japan.
Cool – Adjective meaning excellent; first-rate.
Awesomeness – Noun meaning the quality of being very impressive.

P1- Ships equipped with cannons are cool.
A. Ninjas do not have ships equipped with cannons.
B. Pirates do have ships equipped with cannons.
C. Ships equipped with cannons are part of the criteria for awesomeness.

P2- Kitana swords are cool.
A. Ninjas have kitana swords.
B. Pirates do not have kitana swords.
C. Kitana swords are part of the criteria for awesomeness.

P3- The absence of a moral code is cool.
A. Ninjas must adhere to a strict moral code detailed by their feudal lord.
B. Pirates do not have to adhere to a moral code.
C. The absence of a moral code is part of the criteria for awesomeness.

P4- Autonomy is cool.
A.Ninjas are not autonomous. They are employed by their feudal lords.
B.Pirate crews are autonomous. They are sworn only loosely to their captains.
C.Autonomy is part of the criteria for awesomeness.

P5- Being a profession that has been personified by Johnny Depp is cool.
A.Ninjas have not been personified by Johnny Depp.
B.Pirates have been personified by Johnny Depp.
C.Being a profession that has been personified by Johnny Depp is part of the criteria for awesomeness.

P6- The ability to be stealthy is cool.
A.Ninjas have the ability to be stealthy.
B.Pirates do not usually have the ability to be stealthy.
C.The ability to be stealthy is part of the criteria for awesomeness.

Pirates meet four requirements of the criteria for awesomeness. Ninjas meet two requirement of the criteria for awesomeness. Four is more than two so pirates are better than ninjas.

last picture of me, I swear.

it just goes w/ this blog

From "ThePassion" by Jeanette Winterson

"Lovers are not at their best when it matters. Mouths dry up, palms sweat, coversation flags and all the time the heart is threatening to fly from the body once and for all. Lovers have been known to have heart attacks. Lovers drink too much from nervousness and cannot perform. They eat too little and faint during their fervently wished consummation. They do not stroke the favoured cat and their face paint comes loose. This is not all. Whatever you have set store by, your dress, your dinner, your poetry, will go wrong."