Manomet as a Village

If Manomet was a village in a Russian novel, the third of july would be the night all important events take place. The rest of the novel would involve recounted with different characters what happen that night and how it has affected them. Until at the end we know everything that happened to everyone and learned something about human dynamics.

Specifically if where a Tolstoy novel we would be introduced to an overwhelming amount of characters and be expected to remember each one intimately. If it where a Dostoevsky novel the morally debased character and their band of rogues would be from whitehourse and walk over to the meek heroes group in manomet beach (both beaches in manomet, separated by a rocky turbulent point)

If Manomet was a village in a Swedish novel, the third of july would the climax in the middle. Our main characters will have their dynamic moment and will sympathies with them until the epilogue. The static characters will do as expected except one that will become a main character and surprise us.

If Manomet was a village in a Southern novel, the third of july would be a metaphor stretched thin being aimed at the main characters, the town, the time in history, and its self (being a perfect representation of third of Julys in manomet). It would of course be slow and sweet, and the chapter (or probably chapters) allotted to the third, would end with a dark sky over the bon fires ambers, lit by one last firework, and something important happening in secret.

If Manomet was a village in a modern novel (contemporary, excuse me) the third of july would be the beginning and ending of the story. There would be cookie cutter romance, but a twist in the plot that makes us the readers feel dirty for being able to relate to it.

Specifically if it where a book sold at Newberry Comics or the like (like Chuck, the other Chuck, Author, ect ect) there would be a lot of swear words, and the drinking down the beach would be highlighted along with the peoples baser thoughts and actions.

Its always in the back, like the cool kids of the bus

I thought about you

As I do

As people do, about the ones that got away,

the ones that they are reminded about in Bob Dylan songs

But it went a little more vivid then the thoughts

I could feel your jeans, tight to your thighs, the skin underneath them,

after taking the jeans off

Your laugh when you understood, the meaning of what I was articulating

The easy stare into nothing, as you kept your hands busy,

until I come and hold them

I thought about you

Fondly in this, detailed way, with pictures online to aid me

And it hit into my gut

You slapped me in the face once, and now that memory is what appears

my skin singed from the hit, cause in this ample amount of vividness

that hit, was hard

And all I can do is write this, awful piece

This trite work that only hurts me more, and makes me feel so talentless

And useless

I cant talk to you anymore, I don't think

It isn't aloud anymore, right?

I once wrote one of my shortest and favorite pieces about you,

well, staring you

And now your in this calamity of a plea,

despicable representation of writing,

accurate portrayal of me

You cant break my heart, or any cliche of that matter

Ive told you, Im not as weak as you think, as the other boys who have loved you were

But you are a queen in my thoughts

To you I am merely a fictional character, of a book you read from time to time,

maybe to keep up with, I don't know anymore

I am a ghost that haunts, unaware of his dimensional situation

I like to end with lies, lies to myself,

cause thats what keeps the hopeless hoping,

Maybe someday, I will see you again, and you will realize,

I am real

Lessons from Braking up a wedding

-Yes, being drunk was necessary

-If all goes according to plan, only the person you stole from the altar will be on your side

-Setting off sprinklers in a church, although very epic, is a criminal offense

-If you ask anyone to help you, they will back out the day before

-Take the abuse, but dont fight back, get out of there (I was lucky to have a cast as a weapon)

-Believe in nothing

-Be prepared to have not have a committed relationship with the person after for two reasons

1. They just escaped from matrimony, that ceremony is the edge of entrapment

2. You peek with that night of passion, its all mundane after that

-Embrace the cliche, you cant escape it

-Look good

-Tell people before you do it, who have nothing to do with it, so you have to commit

-You will feel bad for the other person

-Make sure there is photographers (I mean who doesnt have photographers at their wedding, i am kind of pissed)

-Have a location to go after, wondering around aimlessly effects your nerves

Favorite Cartoonist if you didnt know

Rereading (bad habit)

Shatov went trudging after her and soon married her in Geneva. They lived together for about three weeks, and then parted as free people not bound by anything; also, of course, because of poverty. - Demons or The Possessed depending on the translator

Islands Float

I dont have any bridges, now do I?

Commenting this to my sleeve

wearing it, on it,

next to the cliché phrase.

And with out these bridges,

I wade threw the water

up to your shores

or theirs, who cares how you put it,

"somebody's"

And though I must seem like an ocean,

from your landlocked entities,

thats just my front, the barrier.

And while others shut them selves off

from one another.

Making plans and actions final.

I watch their safe walk ways, go up in flames,

from island in the middle, or out there

somewhere.

Knowing I can just wade in the water

to get anywhere.

New or old

Timing

My twitter is full of posts relating how my Ipod has the uncanny ability to play a song (when set to random) the embraces the utter essence of where ever I am and what ever I am felling at that moment. It happens quite a lot and always at key points of my day or week.

Now my posts have all been brief. They consist of merely explaining "Right now, my ipod did that again" and maybe quoting a line like "If we can call them friends, then we can call them on the phone"

I wanted to explain a little more in depth on todays, for some reason. Its no stronger connection to my thoughts then usual. It wasn't during an emotionally import day that I needed to empress. In fact its a mundane example. But non the less I felt an urge. I can control my urges, but sometimes it seems like its going to feel so good.

I was riding my bike for a while and coming close to the end of my trip. Heading down 3a (state road) I noticed there was an awful lot of dead animals on the road. Not just road kill either, like raccoons and possums, though there was a fair share of those. The thing that got my attention the most were the amount of dead birds. They were scattered about and didnt seem to be injured. It was as if they just fell over wile searching for worms on the grass next to the road. I couldn't shake it. Tired as i was though, I couldnt come up with any theories, just noticed it, and thought about it. Then Fionn Regan came on, and I thought about how his tone fits plymouths tone perfectly, well to me it does. The context doesnt always fit, but most of the time it does, but thats not important, the tone, the tone for this town. As I ran this threw, just about to push out the plague of dead birds running threw my head, hear is what Fionn whispered to me.

"The skeletal wings of birds, I'll take the stairs
The ghosts of tiny animals, with the tiniest of feet
The forecast is going down, a storm"

Thank you Ipod, for picking the perfect song. Thank you Fionn, for the perfect tone.