Paranoid reflections
Another (very short) poem that began on Twitter and was reworked when I realized that the last line was, by mistake, a total lipogram.
I get defensive next to those who don’t know they’re unlike me
Turning my cheek before they see how close they come to strike me.
No blood is drawn so I think that should work out, good and dandy.
But I don’t know if I’m too proud or too much of a pansy.
ChiSox Win
Words count; or pairs of words at an instant, or words that you link with a dash until nobody can know just how many sit in a row.
With insults or put-downs, words push along in a train. Today you can say “Bob is an (a).” Tomorrow, “a” is out, it’s too hurtful. But to talk about a guy such as Bob, you call him a “(b)”. Until, with a not okay, taunting kids say, “oh, Bob is a b” with a wink. And so adults stop using “b” in a non-insulting way. Bob is, from now on, a c. And so on.
But for us with faith in a jinx, no such supplanting occurs. No, our substitutions occur through broad words. And now, in short spurts of words, information skips along quickly, without slowing down to watch grammar. On any random day, I could go “sox struggling to hit, chisox anyway, bosox with lots of runs but yanks catching up. that’s your junior circuit. also cubs won which was good. all-star ballot box is a thing right now and wait what. it’s april.” That’s stuff, that small a thing; it’s too long to fit as a twitting thought, anyway. It’s off of a cuff, on a fly, I wouldn’t stop to put in many dots or commas or capitals.
But now watch this, a bit of focusing: “sox Struggling to hit.” Just through typing, my nod is in my words, saying “look at this.” As data go flying, this is a saying with a saying: “watch this, now.” Possibly, if I do not do much talking to start with, anything I say is a sign.
Or not. But still, I pass my words along.
(Stick around for a follow-up post that talks about what I’m doing with this forthcoming string of posts.)
That Trojan War guy
It will not profit an old languid king
By this still ash, among bland arid crags
Stuck with an cranky woman, just to script
Unjust laws for a group of louts and fools
That hoard, and nap, and drink, and know not him.
I cannot stop voyaging. I will drink
All drops of this world. I had lots of fun
And had a lot of pain, both on my own
And with my good companions. On land and
As rainy stars through scuddding drifts would haunt
A dim bay. Now I am a titular
Man, always roaming with a hungry mind.
I saw and know a lot; towns and harbors
And customs, tropics, councils, and monarchs.
And I was not last among this grand crowd.
I drunk in giddy joy of war with troops
Far on a ringing plain of windy Troy.
I am a part of all I run across.
But all I do is just an arch, through which
To squint at that unfound world. Its margin
Will blur always and always as I walk.
How dull it is to halt, to call a stop,
To rust in a scabbard and not to glow!
As though surviving was living. Just hours
Is all too small, and not a lot is still
Around, but any hour I clutch
From that still that will not stop. It’s a thing
That can bring many things with it. How wrong
Just for four suns to sit and hoard my mind
And this gray spirit craving a long trip
To follow truth as if a sinking star
Until an utmost bound of human thought.
This my son, my own only offspring
For whom I put down this crown and island,
I’m a fan of him, who’ll try to fulfill
This labor, by slow toil to turn mild
A brutal folk, and through soft urgings to
Instil productivity, show what’s good.
Without any guilt, working in a job
Of common duty, kind, happy, won’t fail
In pansy hugging work or stuff, and pay
Fair adoration to our local gods
Ruling on his own. His work works for him.
That is my port; my boat puffs out its sail
A dark broad bay now glooms. My sailors, you
Souls that would toil, and wrought, and thought as I,
That always with a joyful frolic took
Storms and fair days, in opposition to
Brows, scalps and minds–you know I’m also old.
Saturn still has his honor and his toil
And all will pass away, but not right now.
A work of nobility can occur
Fitting of warriors that could fight Gods.
And now lights will start shining down from rocks.
A long day rolls on. A slow lunar climb
Occurs, and many sounds moan round us. Hark,
‘Tis not too hard to look for a far world.
Push off, and sitting all in a row, lash
At sounding furrows, for it is my goal
To sail past that horizon, and all baths
Of all far-off stars, until I cannot.
Possibly distant gulfs will wash us down.
Possibly our boat shall find islands fair
And run across grand champions of Troy.
Though much is fading, much will last, and though,
I am not now as strong as, in old days
I was to push on land and sky, that which
I am, I am. A mix of all of you
Not as strong as in past, but strong in will
To fight, to look, to find, and not to quit.
Invictus
Out of night that will still surround,
Black as a pit, no start, no goal,
I thank what gods may watch unfound
For my rigid, unflinching soul.
In a tight clutch of random luck
I do not turn nor cry aloud.
Through assault, still I will not duck
I am bloody, but I stand proud.
This wrath cannot but push down ways
In which horror looms. But I’m staid
And so risks of oncoming days
Find, and shall find, I’m unafraid.
Of no import if a gap’s strait,
How full of judging doom a scroll,
How tall my climb, how long my wait,
For I am captain of my soul.
NLCS Jottings
How tall must you stand, how far
From this world
Until, as a cloud,
Nobody knows what your shadow is?
Wisconsin. Wisconsin! Unsaid,
Too casual to show up in discussion
(or is it just a constraint pointing my way?)
Wisconsin, divisional champions. Missouri, wild cards,
Though I too can pull away
St. Louis from Kansas City.
An arbitrary imposition–
nobody would claim arbitration
Is arbitrary, if not
Judging from far away
And much that is not just discussions of salary.
Judging in words, if words that sound halfway
Grammatical, can sound broad.
Lash out at a sign,
A stand-in for many similar or
Dissimilar things.
A proxy, a symbol,
A goat.
Or throw off grammar, form, constraint,
Writing for your bright cohorts
Who know with a wink what you want to
(Though you wouldn’t, you know, not in just that way)
Say.
A young man…not so young, not as young
As all who mock. And not as old
As all who stand tall and jab softly.
What can you watch on TV? An at-bat.
A pitch thrown towards a man in a mask.
A batsman, bat in hands, not facing you, not facing
A backstop. So in a right look
At southpaws anyway.
Or a hit ball–a shortstop grabs, runs, throws,
A tiny blur in uniform runs backwards
Towards a far wall, puts his hand up, and?
Anything.
Or it can zoom in, not at action, not at anything,
Just a thing to look at,
A moundsman, light, bill down,
Not looking at you
But how far from far!
Or cut away
To Tony La Russa.
I am not good with knowing
Who is who, who looks how
But now I think I know
Tony La Russa’s staring stand.
I think.
Vikings Stink
Administrator’s apology: I told this blog author to whip up a lipogrammatic post about a Vikings loss. Sadly, said author is a dumb idiot and was just totally plagiarizing an actual, non-lipogrammatic thing! Phrasings such as in football is “0-2, talking about a must-win situation in” and “turn as quickly and as dramatically as it did is frustrating” sound convincing at first, I know, but look on and you find out that it’s not a lipogram at all.
So, I cut out words that didn’t fit, but what I was stuck with was ungrammatical slop. So I put in a bunch of words to try and fix it all up but I think I just wound up making it bad still. I’m not much into gridiron football, you know. So…sorry. And sorry to Vikings columnist Mark Craig, who I’m still kind of plagiarizing. Alas.
First-half
in football is 0-2, talking about a must-win situation in his foosball pool
and blaming his punt-handling guys
for not playing all that much
in
half of its first two.
“I think our trinity of
word for
day is, ‘Wow, not again,’ ” Vikings
Fan #1
said and now wants to go to
Tampa Bay in Florida
a warm location, which is host
to a good squad, which can now and again obtain
victory in front of happy
fans in contrast to
Vikings’ thralls.
at. last!
Vikings sail across tumultuous storms and stuff in
a big boat
at San Francisco, until
losing a captain to nasty piranhas
in. said storms.
But as bad as that was, it
was much not as bad as that day poor Olaf, said boat’s cook, got scurvy
to which hungry
Vikings
dominating
Old-World trading paths
at odds with said piranhas
at.tacking wildly, wound up tossing Olaf to a shark.
Vikings brought
in total yards, of masts,
first downs,
rushing yards,
and.
stuff
playing a long round of Whist,
“This was just a horrid night,” your mom
said. But
now, and I don’t think
you should try sailing until fall or so, on
a boat
that fits
from Scandinavia
half to
half.”
Obviously, a slow start
has all
Vikings fans worrying
a lot
in a. tizzy
And Vikings
trail in Find Hudson
Bay standings, against Britain’s
Lions by two months going
in to a big
NFC North match which will burst
into Sunday’s ordinarily tranquil sanctuary.
against a Lions squad
that has won six coin flips in a row! Talk about random odds! That’s just a shot in sixty-four, guys!
and is coming off a glorious crusading
victory in
Kansas City.
“For,”
said Vikings coach
Donovan McNabb, “ want of a nail, our ship was lost. And truth
is, it’s a must-win situation.”
Against all
odds
it may
look as if Vikings can find a way to blow this upcoming match
too.
Only two
of
backups who saw
that ugly
0-2 start will go
on to
play in a third match. Don’t put cash on any to go to
playoffs. Of sorts
Vikings did it in back of Kristoff’s shack last Monday. It was hot and probably in violation of most Nordic law, but so totally worth it, if you know what I’m talking about.
Old
York Giants won a Union Jack
Bowl following
an 0-2 start.
“It’s tough to swallow,” coach McNabb
said. “If
you play as badly
as my squad was
playing, to watch luck
turn as quickly and as dramatically as it did is frustrating. I
got to rub down my
back Monday, find
out what Ragnarok
is and stop
it
in a hurry.”
Amazingly,
Vikings can’t work
for Odin or any particular crony of Odin’s
in forty-hour stints. Or
half. In fact,
only four
of NFL squads
was a round for
that odd occasion
as saints would go marching in. And not a Louisianan sort.
Sunday.
“I’m almost happy
to call it a
fact that it couldn’t possibly occur
again,”
Chad Ochocinco
said.
“with our bad
way of
playing and Adrian
was flying around making plays and showing
off his spiffy uniform. I’m talking flying, right? Through air
on third down [in
first half].”
Vikings
simply could not play football with skill
in any
half. Opposing mascot
Philip
of San Antonio
and Josh Groban
of Tampa Bay would call this “a shocking display”
of “gargantuan proportions”
for fantasy football fans who had to rack up, I don’t know, a thousand
yards and two touchdowns in
half. An hour
McNabb ran out
of gas, passing
for 77 yards and no TDs.
On Sunday, dozing
Vikings got stuck
0-for-4 on
third downs of pillows
Bucs, conscious
going 5-for-6.
Bucs also had good luck against
Vikings in total yards both front AND back yards!
In plots of land, about a
half. Furlong by a half furlong.
In
first half, Adrian
ran for sixty
yards and two touchdowns on crisp Astroturf
,
Bucs running back Jim
Blount ran for 4 yards on A boat, at which I took a good hard look.
In said day’s third
half, Randy Moss
was
to obtain just two
yards on top of four from his first night, for a (baby) grand total of six. Actually you would want a total of a thousand to wind up truly “grand.” Good luck, Randy.
Blount ran for six
yards and two touchdowns on his lucky socks. Actually lucky socks, not just a psyching-him-into-thinking-it’s-good-luck thing.
Vikings’ prognosis, obviously, is not too good. Possibly Yggdrasil will fall on top of opposition but don’t bank on it.
On, Friday
right back
Phil Loadholt sat
on. his foot and is probably out for a month.
Spiking
a first-down pass, running back Fats
was consuming bluish (with a hint of pink) folks
for holding in pass.
A short
punt got
Bucs a short sharp shot
at
Vikings. Two plays,
Blount ran away
from a goalpost fifty
yards. away
Vikings did not panic
and had
Bucs thirty points down
down in a good
situation to hold onto. But
Brian Robison couldn’t stay cool
on a play on which
Bucs. Ran for sixty yards and a touchdown.
That was good for
Bucs but not Vikings.
To, try and rally back
which didn’t actually occur, Vikings
did with a long
pass to Smith
that
up a trick play off a
goal post
in bounds. On its
third. Try, it did finally work, but at that point it was not important.
Midway through his
fourth, play-calling discussion, McNabb
was angry at his running back
for roughing up his clipboard
on a rusty old drinking fountain.
Following
a
touchdown pass to Um, I don’t know. Zobrist plays for Tampa Bay, right?
With half an hour
on that stadium’s clock, a TV guy said, “Oh
snap.”
on TV, fans had not run across good ads until
kickoff, in an AFC fight.
Picking up a
ball from 6 yards
in
from Tampa Bay’s hash, Adrian ran
and was brought down
at
a “push him out of bounds” play.
Bucs won
and.
It was a hard-fought win
, too:
six of Tampa Bay’s touchdowns will count for fantasy stats
for 51 yards against a soft down pillow
that,
in
first half, didn’t apply much. to
Vikings scalps. But possibly a good nap would assist said squad?
Johnson wants to know
what should his gang do with
an imbibing sailor
on first down from his own forty. Curious
Vikings all don’t know what to do
with him
, and Blount thinks you should find a way for him to rack up a
4-yard TD with two plays
to go.
“I got a lot of
crap out of us in
half,” of my bathroom
said. A furious McNabb. “But you all
got to find a way to play for not a lot of cash.
.”
Random Q&As
You can show up as a visiting star on any TV show. What will you pick?
Oh wow. I don’t watch much TV at all. I did watch Numb3rs (it turns into a lipogram! Woohoo!) a lot, but it’s off air now. I did watch a bit of Scranton hijinks, but now not that much. So I’d go with showing up as a fan at a ballpark. Shocking, huh?
(Or singing along with Big Bird and co. I could do that.)
What topics do you find it fun arguing about?
Mostly just unimportant stuff. I don’t try to discuss big, important topics–I’m firm in my opinions, and I just kind of think anybody I talk to is also of firm thoughts. I don’t want to put up with rationalizations about why I’m wrong, so I think I shouldn’t do that to anybody I’m talking to.
Top 9 Random Tidibits about Making Slams Grand
So grand slamming is a big topic now, what with it occurring for a third go-round by a squad in a short duration. And I got to thinking, “grand” is arguably a poor word. It’s a “four-run” blast, truly–that’s your only way to notch four runs in a go. But “grand” could signify lots of things. Such as:
- going far
- finishing up your matchup
- winning a thousand dollars for a fan (WGN TV almost has this promotion, but it’s in your fifth inning, so you could obtain that many “grand”. Also, as long as I’m talking about “a thousand” on my lipogram blog, you should try and track down a short story known as “1 to 999″ by Isaac Asimov if you can. You will know why if you find it.)
- staying in bounds (possibly? A thing is cool by dint of its difficulty, translating to going not as far? I don’t know about this.)
- By that logic, any oddity of surrounding data could qualify a slam as “grand.” Of all counts, a particular count (full? Two and two? First pitch) is most common for hitting balls out. But I don’t know which. I doubt it’s known to that many. And if it would vary…no, I don’t think this is a good way to count.
- Having a triad of guys on is unusual. You start with nobody on, and must work to load up bags. Possibly you could all go out without loading up bags, just as you could possibly hit a ball into play and not fill up your count. So is a full count most uncommon?
- Okay, now I’m curious and want to look this up. 16% of slams in 2011 occur on a first pitch. I still don’t know about full counts or anything.
- This fraction is roughly constant across campaigns, although this particular statistic is a bit low.
- I didn’t plan for this post to go in this fashion at all. Oops. But it’s probably good that I’m blogging–hard to know just what to post about. I’ll probably try putting up random Q&As again.
Trying an odd tactic…
This blog host will put prompts up for you if you finish a post. So, I will try using such a prompt, posting this, and looking for follow-up prompts that I can modify this post to put in. Don’t know how many I will fit in. Obviously, I must modify phrasings slightly.
Who has a cool way of talking?
Josh Groban. His “O Holy Night” is good–I find most Christmas pop music on radios bad, but not his song.
How much visual contact do you do? “Unblinking Intimidator” or not?
Not at all. I’m not so good at picking up on social norms such as knowing how to do a lot of visual contact. Not worrying about such habits is a big plus for blogging!
Is a film always not as good as its original book? Any “usually, but…”s?
In my opinion, it’s usually “what I know first is most good.” An adaptation cannot match that quality, as it will usually omit an important thing or two. But, many film adaptations can work–Flatland, I think, is not as fun as its short film adaptation (which has a happy finish–said book lacks such). Similarly dorky, Phantom Tollbooth‘s animation is top-notch. And if many books go in a row (such as Harry P.’s magical sagas), I might dub a book or two not as good as its companions. (Say, book 4, Pyro-cup of Magic.) As I didn’t think that much of this book, I could watch its film and say “that wasn’t that bad.”
Longhand post
Hi, world! Tonight, on a humongous full-moon night, I’m going old-school, writing this longhand, hanging out with vacationing pals in Wisconsin, and trying to fight off horrid stomach cramps. I could try scanning and uploading this so you could look at my atrocious handwriting…or not.
Acoustic music is going on; a young woman sings and plays a digital piano mockup. Onto a chorus, again. And it looks as if I clap for all songs.
I might run for bathroom pit stops on many occasions, but I can just start and stop writing, so you won’t know. Lucky you, avoiding such gory particulars. Cramps stink.
I am writing with ink-my wood writing tools don’t work (I had no occasion to snap such in furyfor months now. I ought to dump stuff out of my backpack now and again), and I think I’m out of black ink. But this is good. I am most fond of this color. I cannot point out which color it is, but, you know.
Wi-fi is on in this joint. I could log on to find Cubs info. I could stick around for up to two hours, but I don’t know if I want to go on writing (longhand) that long. I could put stuff on my tool for making calls, but this is kind of fun. Or would bring fun, if my dumb stomach didn’t hurt.
Hmm, I could try writing out lipogrammatic lyrics to pop songs now, to show how many crossouts I would put in. (This will not truly show how slow it is, though.) I could ask my pals for songs to parody.
Upon discussing this, I will do a song I know and am particularly fond of. I’ll call it “What About All Of This” (not actually what you should call it). Ok…
No holiday sound on this road
But stubborn snapshots of gold*
That didn’t fall back in fall
And go on rustling in vain.
Holiday sky, midnight cold.
Wind is high, I grow old.
Old windows rustling, groaning as if in pain.
Looking for a stop, for living’s always so brisk.
I try to climb up on top, always a thing I must risk
Anything’s always so far, what about my stupid car?
What about my story so far?
What about my goal?
What about…
What about all of this?
What about hug and kiss and
What about ghost ships that still haunt?
What about…
What about a moon and stars?
What about a captain’s fighting scars
And his mad look, so thin and gaunt?
I am not in want.
Go along, nobody will mind.
You and I can go out and find
If I was right on that night,
That finish to my old past.
Don’t sit wasting a day
Watching it float away
It’s school and work and now what
If it’s dying that’s cast.
Think about hours for fun
Think about hours for play–
And about this world having won.
Got nothing to say.
If I cannot pass my buck,
What about glory and luck?
Or convincing you I don’t suck?**
What about a ring?
What about…
(to chorus)
No holiday sound on this road.
But for my song and my moan
All my town’s harbor lights bright
With sailboats rustling in vain.
Holiday sky, midnight cold.
Wind is high, strong and bold.
I find it hard to complain
If I think of
What about…
…What about Martians and
What about you and us, and
What about falls, a brook, a font?
What about…
What about buildings that fall?
What about that loud midnight call
About goings-on that will daunt?
I am not,
I am not,
I am not in want.
I’m going to stop and go on wifi now (9:30).
9:40. My thing won’t pick up this wifi signal. But I could borrow a laptop for surfing. What’s truly good is that my stomach is not so bad now! So I am happy. I thought I had cash to buy a snack with, but it looks as if I don’t, oops.
Oh, looks as if I was actually lugging a dollar around in my backpack. But that is not what I had in mind.
Music is wrapping up now. No singing, just playing, which is good. I’m not a big fan of a lot of songs…lyrically too (stop writing, clap along with rhythm, start up again) boring. I do not want information about your romantic liaison, particularly if I cannot distinguish it from any radio song. I don’t mind many songs without lyrics, though.
Now it’s just a CD or mp3 playing. Again, no lyrics, so I’m a fan.
(Postscript: Again I would stop at that point. Just typing it up now. I got a snack, too! And Cubs won!)
