e.e., Willie, and Me

For our Analysis of Literary Forms class we've had to read a wide variety of very interesting pieces. Some of the most prominent in my mind are e.e. cummings and William Faulkner. Both of these writers were largely modernist in their style and composition, emphasizing free verse and stream of conscious quite frequently. And it is because of these two greats that I find myself doing this:

"These, Thoughts"

11/16/09

Do you love me more than these?

My mind

A vagabond

Roman, circus, or not

No home

[So many]

Just thoughts

[So many]

Wanderer

My mind

[So many]

thoughts thoughts thoughts thoughts fill my head

build build build control my mind sway me away from the

true path

[truth proven in vulnerable

forced to understand truth

broken till belief]

Then I hear—

Do you love me more than these?

Hesitation

Do you love me more than these?

Perhaps

Do you love me more than these?

Yes. Now, body, act.

God helps those who help

Others

I realize the brackets are very e.e cummings, but they really seem to set the text apart in a way that parentheses, italics, bold, all caps can't. And I think it's really important for the bracket portions to be separated.

Anyway, it's been a while since I've posted, and even longer since I've posted creativity, so I'm going to put one more up. This is a few months old, but still one of my favorites...maybe I'll put two.

"A Cigarette With God"

9/25/09

Does it hurt? I don’t

‘no.’

Confusion-delusion profuses

And the noose is

…not mine.

Hands in the air

With everybody else staring at me

There’s more rope if you wanna go…

Not mine.

And that’s where I struggle.

That’s where I hurt.

Where this heart screams that instead I

Take the noose!

And hang the emotions!

Fuck my heart!

I can survive

I can live

I’ll be OK!

And Norah calms me

“Something has to make you run…”

My feet are tired

They hurt

I need new shoes because these ones

Are worn

And sole-less

Thank God I’m not soulless with my

Feet on gravel

Blood

Crimson

Raw

Bones

And I’m tired.

Should I worry?

Do I dare?

My heart is bare from all these cares

And the cost of these fairs is so great my rhymes even fucking annoy me!

“All

This

Uselessness

I

Write”

Leave me on the tile

“emptiness”

Longing for

“Distractions.”

And finding God silent.

Leisure strolls with fear in tow.

Finding God waiting.

Smoking His last cigarette.

Where were You?

I felt You.

I saw You.

Knew You.

But couldn’t hear You.

“WAIT.”

And I wait

And I wait

And I wait

And I wait

And I wait

And I wait

And I wait

And I wait

And I wait

And I wait

Are You annoyed?

Are you?

Cause I am!

Then He passed me His last

And taught me to relax

Taught me to calm the storms of my

Capsized, bleeding ship now floating

Where were You?

Where were You?

I was here.

I AM here all along.

I know. But where were You?

Silent. Does that bother you?

And then my turn…

I trust

And I wait

That one is what spurred on my recent post entitled "The 'Fuck' I'm Talking About".

I really enjoy it because it accurately shows my struggle at that time. And I think it is so beautiful. Sorry if any are offended (by either the f-word, or the image of God smoking [see The Fray's song "You Found Me"])

"Table"

9/15/09

Quiet night

Darkest liquid calm my nerves

I feel I am the only

One of my kind

Alone

Solitary

Table as my company

No kings or rich man can compare

Try, electric generators if you dare but

I know I am

Alone

Failed metaphors of poet’s past

May tempt my mind to ease

There is no one like

Me

We

Are alone

To hoard and store, few can compare

To this “fair” price we fare for our

Transgressions?

Nay, for our hope.

Ha ha ha!

Hope!

Thanks be to God for my hope!

This gift that I must hold for now

To save bestow for someone grand

But hold it close, keep it tight!

For hope will give me life…

And where does this hope lead?

This special hope bleed?

To love

Thanks be to God for my love

This gift I must hold for now

To save bestow—

Crimson

Clover

Crowded heart

Claustrophobia

I hold so much in my heart so much passion emotions love and I’m not sure what to do with it I don’t see a drain for my relief or a leak to release this swelling and so it builds builds builds builds builds and I am left to hold it with nowhere to put it no one to share it and you can’t see my pain you can’t understand…

And I don’t know why we’re alone

Or what great sins we to atone,

I only know that I have love

And not a way to rid me of—

These quiet nights

Downtown

Coffee shop

Table for one, please.

These are seriously my three favorite poems I've written this year. I think they are so progressive and show so much of my development as a writer and poet. They really are the essence of my recent poet-identity-crisis (see...oh I haven't written a blog about that yet...hm), my experimentation because of that dilemma, and the changes that have been happening in my life this semester.

Too much good stuff.

As always, thanks for reading.

That hourly prayer...

God I ask for strength...

I ask for confidence...

I ask for comfort...

I ask for peace...

And I ask for wisdom...

Steady my heart, Lord

So be it.

Check the Cards in My Back Pocket

My mom said something interesting to me the other day.

"Nathan, you don't just keep your cards close to your chest, you hide them."

I responded by pointing at my sleeve, "You see that? You see that? That's a rock. Not because it really is, but because I tell you it is."

I know I have a problem. A problem many people may think is not that bad. I don't like to admit my feelings or present myself in a way that my feelings (whether romantic or otherwise—annoyance, anger, depression) are evident. Only recently (the last few weeks) have I begun to acknowledge outwardly as well as inwardly that I have problems, that I have issues that are important.

I don't know how to deal with this problem. I feel awkward, I feel selfish when I talk about my problems. The only times I do are when I can't take it anymore (see U2's "I know I'll go crazy if I don't go crazy tonight" song...whatever the title is) or when I'm asked more than twice "What's up?"

"Hey wanna listen to me spill my guts about my problems?" sounds selfish. To me, it is selfish. (insert chuckle here) Yet, I constantly implore others for their issues, I am constantly trying to aid others and help them through their problems, in showing them love—in bending over backwards to love on them so that they feel safe and comforted. I can't help it, it's what I'm about. And if it kills me (which I think it slowly is) at least God will be happy I'm loving and my friends will be happy that they're no longer hurting. Is there relief in that? Is there some sort of "pouring back in" from all the pouring out I do? Yeah... Is it enough? I don't think so. I love to help. Every other week I look forward to Sack Lunch Ministries. I find relief there, there is a release of my pain when I'm with those people, when I feel that I'm doing good.

Last night I lay in bed and asked God, "What am I moving towards? What can be so amazing, so awe-inspiring, that it is worth all this pain?" I lied to myself and said there could be nothing that great. But deep inside I'm still, in part, an idealist, a romantic. And today it was echoed by a very good friend, "There is no 'probably' or 'sure.' Something great is coming. Something amazing is out there." I love her. She's such a good friend.

So, if you ever want to actually see what color that heart I like to say is a rock on my sleeve is, just check my back pocket, or ask three times—it builds so much, there's no way I'll be able keep it in with that kind of probing. Or if you think I'm selfish too, just come tell me your problems. I'd honestly love to hear them.

As always, thanks for listening—er, reading.

Perceptions. Distractions.

Perceptions.

We talked today (tonight) in class about perceptions. About how we perceive things differently. This was all spoken of in the name of criticism, how other cultures/time periods looked at a piece of literature etc etc etc, Professor Garton even talked about how my perception of the desk was different from his perception of the desk, and thus there were actually two desks (or as many desks as their were people in the room).

It's interesting to think of all the different perceptions in the world. How I perceive something is totally different than how you perceive it. And if I were to attempt to explain my perception to you, you come to it with your own and are thus biased (whether for or against mine).

Thus the question: is anything objective?

Well I don't want to get into that, but perceptions...

Perceptions make life interesting. Differing perceptions make life worth living. I would hate a world where everyone saw things the same, or rather everyone was sitting on my lap as the metaphor has it.

Some perceptions are annoying. Damn annoying. Others are admirable. Some are just unheard of. And still others are completely and utterly unique, but so profound that they catch you off guard.

In class we were talking about a story where a woman put a down payment on an abortion ($5 down payment, ha! still makes me laugh...) and Garton explained that it could be seen as admirable if it was used as a threat in order to get the man to shape up. I vocalized my agreement to this statement (that it was understandable, not that it was right). Hosanna objected and said the fact that the family didn't have the money to give their son 50¢ made the down payment/idea of a threat reckless and immature. I realized that I had not thought of that factor, granted I had only stated that I could see how the use of the abortion as a threat could be seen as noble, still it bothered me that I had failed to look at the issue from this perspective.

Small? Yes. Petty? Definitely. It still stuck with me and got me thinking about all these different angles I fail to see and factor in.

I realize I'm naïve at times and I'm fine with that (by fine I mean I acknowledge it and am working on it), I don't know...

Distractions.

There comes a time when life becomes too overwhelming. When things begin to wear you down to the point where you just want to scream because your emotions/mind/whole body is telling you that something is not right. If you're like me, and you've spent the last three years training yourself to never lose control in anger or even break down and cry, these times can be extremely difficult as there is no way to get rid your emotions.

As a writer, I typically turn to poetry.

Rocky Votolato sings:

"Caught me looking through you're eyes,

No, I'm not doing alright

I'm just as stupid and desperate as I've always been

All this uselessness I write

Just come at me with a knife

Come cut this sickness from my mind

Help me forget about a shattered lie

Bleed my failure into something right."

("The Night's Disguise" from the album "Makers")

I always sing "Help me forget about a shattered life," but apparently that's wrong and I just learned that. I like my line better, frankly. :) I love this chorus (I love this song, I love this album, greatest album of all time in my book) because I feel like this so often. Some of my favorite bits are "No, I'm not doing alright," "All this uselessness I write," "Just come at me with a knife/Come cut this sickness from my mind," and "Bleed my failure into something right." Ok so that's almost the whole chorus, but I said it was one of my favorite songs so, give me a break.

For me, recently, I have learned the value of distractions in these times of desperation and utter emotional/mental/physical retreat. Mainly I turn to stories. Television mostly because I can relax. Many, many times books, don't get me wrong I'm still an English Major, c'mon. Often I turn to music.

Many times I find people to be a distraction. Friends for coffee or a movie. Sometimes just in thought a person can be a distraction.

The point? No point. I ramble. Forgive me if I talk a little wild. Not like anyone reads this anyway. :) These are my thoughts.

Now, I need a distraction. Pizza and the season premiere of How I Met Your Mother? Yes. Please.

And the Most Bad-Ass Line of the Year Award goes to...

Castiel (from the TV series Supernatural)

for saying, "I'm going to find God" in last weeks episode.

And the Greatest Sheep Impression of the Semester Award goes to...

Professor Natalie Hewitt

for Baaaaaaaaing in reply to "And what does BA stand for, Mrs. Hewitt?"

Sigh. I'm Not That Strong Yet...

I just wrote a post that none of you will see, because I can't be that honest.

I can't be that real.

And I wish that I could, but I can't.

This helped though. Thanks, Glen.

Evolution Week to Week//The Progression of Movement

I am an incredibly analytical person.

I am incredibly self-reflective.

I spend much of my time pondering actions (others and my own) and reflecting on what they (I) do and what it means about their (my) personality.

I'll be honest.

Most of my thought time is spent pondering myself. Thinking about why I think the way I think, why I do what I do, and whether I feel that in the eyes of God it is an acceptable action or train of thought.

I fail at this often.

Not in the weighing whether God would be pleased or not, but that God wouldn't be pleased with what I do.

For those of you that knew me when I was in high school (and for those of you reading this [if any] that means none of you), you know I was a very different person.

I was talking to an old friend about this last night. I asked her if there was anything about myself that she thought I should fix. She told me that the one thing that she had always tried to help me mature past I had already fixed.

To a degree.

She said that she had always tried to get me to become confident, and to be confident with myself enough to not care what others thought and to just have fun.

Again, for those who didn't know me, I used to be an extremely uptight, prudish person, who was extremely self conscious. Extremely.

Many (I use that word loosely when referring to my blog readers) of you may now be making the joke "used to!?! Ha!" Whatever... :)

Seriously though. I have relaxed a lot since then. And it's because of a lot of different things that have happened to me in the last two years.

The first thing I would relate this to was my trip to Europe. I traveled to Europe the summer of 2007, right before college, with 50 people I had never met and traveled to 8 different countries in 2 weeks on a bus. Now, the company I went with was aimed at people 18-30 years old. So safe to say I was with a bunch of partiers.

Not my forte.

Still really isn't.

But I'm much different now when it comes to those types of people and those situations than I used to.

If you want to know more about this trip, I have many stories about awkward situations and funny encounters that are still very non-Nathan.

The next post-it on my descansos timeline, I would say, was my freshman year.

Specifically, my roommates.

Living with the three guys I was forced to stay with taught me a lot, and really massaged this idea into my brain of relaxation and chillness. I really attribute my recent lack of anger issues (another thing I used to struggle with a lot) and the limited patience I now have (which is still leaps and bounds more than I had before) to them.

I really had a tough time that year in my room, but now I wouldn't trade it for anything. All those long nights of asking them to turn down the TV because it was 3 in the morning and I was trying to sleep...

Sigh.

Good times.

This next pin-point is more spread out and really comes before my Europe trip and extends till today. It's also the most vague point I will make.
And this is it: love.
Various love encounters (and very much so lack thereof) have really shaped my thoughts, my emotions, and my contentment when things are out of hand (which if you read my blog semi-regularly, you know really bugs me. See "Frustrated With Rocks...").

There have been plenty of girls in the last 6 years that in one way, shape, or form taught me more than I could ever put into words and perhaps more than I will ever know.

For that, I thank you.

The last post-it would be labeled: "Surgery"

My surgery this last winter gave me so much time to chill and relax. I had to. There was nothing else for me to do. I really think that those 6 weeks changed me a lot more than I realize. As well, I think getting my jaw fixed (and more recently my braces off ) has increased my confidence and comfortability with what I look like. Which directly reflects on how I act.

Anyway, I say all of this because I realize how many mistakes I make. And how often I completely screw things up. And how much more work I have to do. I know I will never be perfect, but it is still something I have to keep in mind. Because what I do, what I say, the look I give has more of an effect than I can possibly imagine.

At Clash 'n' Bowl last week I was nominated for King and had to walk down the red carpet and show off for everyone how awful (amazing) I looked. When I was standing in line, my thought was "I have to go all out, I have to just forget all these people are watching and just have fun. I have to." So I did, to the best of my ability.

I'm not really sure if I was amazing...

Actually I know I wasn't because I didn't win. Well, that might not have had to do with my strut (though it was amazing) and more to do with the fact that when it came time for everyone to cheer for their pick, I didn't egg anyone on. Ok, I'll strut and show off but I'm not going to beg for your cheers. Sorry, I still have my pride. :) So I just stood there and smirked.

Obviously my nonchalance was not what people were looking for. But I knew that.

But I'm really proud of myself for doing it as well (or not) as I did.

But it's little things like that that I take as a victory. My next goal: dancing. I am so self-conscious about dancing in public, at dances, whatever. So my new goal is to, once again, go all out. My aim is seriously to be as carefree as Niall when he's at dances (see Josh's Wedding, sorry no link, just ask someone, he was having so much fun).

I can't do that. It's difficult for me, but I'm working on it. And I've come so far, so I'll just give it time and it'll come. Baby steps, right? (see What About Bob?)

Also, and I realize this is a huge blog, thanks for bearing with me. Well, if you have...

Anyway, I also along these same lines have been thinking about the fact that I had so many plans for this year that were canceled on me.
The first being going to England. That didn't work out. Various reasons.
Then RA. Well, I don't even want that now. Wouldn't work out. They were right not to pick me.
And then the internship at 826 Tutoring Center in Echo Park. Which again, didn't work out.

Ever since I found out that I wasn't going to have any of those things, I have wondered, "What is my next year going to be like? Should I think that this is an opening so that God can do something awesome? Or am I just putting God in a box he doesn't belong in? AAAAAAHHHHHHH!!"

But I'm a fatalist when it comes to some things. "It is what it is. No worries" (see window sticker of truck in Hope parking lot, that little piece of plastic and adhesive got me through a lot of tough times).

So I don't know what this year holds. What's going to happen. But I'm interested. And I hope it's something interesting and fun, that I won't expect.

We'll see.

I'm ready.

Whenever it comes...

Thanks for listening...er reading.

Born to...Definitely Not Work at Gap

So I got a job at Gap this summer, it's only supposed to be seasonal, but my manager said that it may turn part-time depending on how their quarter goes. I went through a myriad of different emotions about the job. Somedays I love it, other days I just like it, some days it's whatever, and then frequently, I hate it. Lately it's been better, but now that school has started I realize how difficult it is to juggle two jobs (Gap and 'Brary), school, life (family, friends, eating, etc etc etc), and writing...

Writing!

AH!

I need to do that...

But anyway, Lisa Hare came to Gap a few weeks ago and she talked to my manager and if you know Lisa, you know that she is a very energetic fun person. So she mentioned to one of my managers how "great" I am, and my manager said "Yeah, he's one of our best new workers." Awesome! Right?

So I'm not sure what I would do if they offered me a part time job? Probably ultimately take it since I like getting checks for $300+. And then in addition to the brary? That's like $500 every two weeks. Not bad not bad.

Is not a bad thing if every time I do something wrong or have to ask a stupid question or feel like an inadequate worker for whatever reason, I take a little pride in it? Oh well...

So, work's fun, but we'll see.

Frustrated with Rocks and Failing at Hard Places...

I've realized the last few days how much I enjoy problem solving. I had to change a light bulb at work, but it was one of those artsy-mini ones that can point in a million directions so I had no idea how to unscrew any of it. And it took me a while to figure it out. I began to think about all the different little projects that I have enjoyed figuring out, typically things I have had to build (don't get too excited, they've all been furniture pieces that I've followed the directions, ie desks, tables, chairs, etc etc etc. Nathan still does not do physical activity, save for walking, and not just from A to B but also as a leisurely activity).

Anyway, the thought progressed to "Man, I really enjoy problem solving in general. Laying out an issue and figuring out each part so to complete the entire thing. That's probably why I'm a writer..."

And then, the thought became "Oh my god! I hate when the solution to a problem is 'wait' or 'you can't do anything.'"

And now I'm frustrated with problems that have solutions that are "waiting" or are "out of my hands."

That's it. That's my rant.

Short

Sweet

To the point

...? Maybe not.

Realized I hadn't written in a while, so thought I might jot a bit.

I'm also frustrated with gravity, but that's a different rant, and also most likely more to blame on my clumsiness...

And... Now I'm Published

Officially self published author Nathan Glen McWherter

Check out here to see the book. It doesn't say it on that page but the book is also available for FREE download. So, to find the free download link just do a quick search for "Bones of a Nightingale" or "Nathan Glen McWherter" (however, if you search for "Nathan McWherter" you won't find me, but you'll find my dad. Weird) and it'll be one of the big blue (purple? I'm color blind) buttons right there.

So, IT'S DONE!

Check it out, of course I would prefer everyone to buy a printed copy, but I don't even have money right now to have my own, so I understand.

Bones of a Nightingale Cover Done

Well, it's done. Over. Almost.

The cover's done. Six months of me talking about it, waiting for it, scouring over my 21 poems and 2 prose making them perfect (kinda), and now...well I'm closer.

Here's the cover, photos and design by Niall McCarthy.

Well, I can't seem to get the picture much bigger. The back cover says:

"Poetry is like alcohol. Both are weapons in the desperate fight to escape the agonies and tortures of life. Both, when used create madmen, inescapable confusion, and unpredictable chaos. But where a drunkard's night ends, is where a poet's night begins—with throw up. In poetry though I don't get a hang over the next morning or a crazy night I wish I could forget or hours I wish I could remember. I just get relief. The drunks have all the fun though."

And the spine says:

"All good things rise from joy and happiness, but in many cases also from pain and suffering. I fear we shall never fully understand the extent to which the former comes in the later."

So, I love it. I think it's awesome. Exactly what I want. And if you, like Niall, don't understand the picture frame and polaroid, well then you'll just have to spend $6.36 and read it. It should be done within the next few days (this time I'm serious), I just have to scour over it a bit more, make sure its near perfect. So, soon. Yay.

Please, please, please, please leave a comment and tell me what you think. Thanks.

"Suspicions": An Older Poem, Posted Late, by Request

So, I wrote this over winter break, on a plane flying back from Washington D.C. I had just listened to Death Cab for Cutie's "We Looked Like Giants," and in it there is a line that goes:

"I don't know about you but I swear on my name they can smell it on me,

And I've never been too good with secrets."

You'll actually read where that line fits in. But, I heard that and I didn't know the song too well, so I didn't know what he was really talking about, but the picture I had in my head I needed to relay, I needed to put down. So I wrote a poem that I originally called...

Well, here I wanted to give cool trivia but I don't remember what I called it. But it wasn't called "Suspicions" till later. By later I mean like 45 minutes later on the plane, after I had gone to the bathroom and had time to think more.

Also, this is the first (and I think only) poem I've ever written that was purely fictional (metaphors, analogies, and other poetic devices obviously don't count when relaying emotions and feelings) and not from my own point of view. There may be one or two...yep I just thought of another. Ok, well it's still the first.

So, here's the poem posted by request (though later than would have been ideal) from the ride on a plane from Washington D.C. after listening to Death Cab while a Richard Gere movie played in the background that wasn't originally called "Suspicions" and is the first fictional poem not being spoken by, but still written by Nathan Glen McWherter and actually written on my iPhone instead of a cocktail napkin like all the greats (Hey! iPhones are the new cocktail napkins, give me a break! I'm just upgrading. Also I apologize for the run-on sentence, but if we were talking, it would have been exactly like that, so I felt the need to relay the sentence as would have been spoken. "Oh, relay is my word of the day!" Shut up, Niall!)

Anyway, here you go, I hope it makes sense. I added a line (more of a word) since I last let someone read it, and I think that line (word) clears it up a bit. We'll see.

Also, this poem is not featured in Bones of a Nightingale, so this is a kind of sneak peek to my second book of poetry.

Suspicions

1/3/09

The table bat not,

But echoed response,

And it made me laugh at his expense,

That his hands might hurt some

But the table was fine

And my pride grew tired.

He battered and pried

And left his shield to lie.

And I?

Adroit, sleeping my boredom to droll.

My eyes laughed, but my lips were as you have never seen:

Tight locked, hidden in frustration.

His patience died by my pleasure.

And dear, you would have laughed with me,

And I would be distracted and lost evermore because of it.

But his words, darling, lay empty.

And you would have laughed.

They wanted you strung up,

Tied to horses that fly

North, East, West, South;

Lying in a gutter with a hole through your brain.

My first words, that God would damn them to their lies.

They said you were in Quantico.

In Quantico that night you spent with your sister.

Your sister whom I have never met.

They said you stole secrets.

That you worked for the government.

A white hat, with a ridiculous salary.

But now your hat was black

Because it wasn't enough.

And he called you Diane.

You would've laughed.

He said he could smell you on my sweater.

And I've never been good at keeping secrets.

But I said you were with me that night

And we went to the fair.

I called him something I could never repeat to you.

And he hit me.

I laughed through blood and tears

And said to charge me

Or let me go.

He opened the door

And I left with three tails.

And my face fell

At my falling thoughts.

And you would've laughed.

Laugh with me, darling.

Laugh.

Well... Thoughts? Criticisms? Does it make sense what's going on?

And the "Would" Award goes to...

Josh "Cannonball" Coya

For his seductive post-P90X body, teddy bear smile, and Vice President Elect "position."

Oh, and yeah, "would" is a double entendre.

The Anvils, Booby Traps, and Car Explosions of Chivalry

So I've been thinking for the past few weeks...as I often do. Though, the thoughts I am about to unveil typically (though not always) come when I am holding the door open for a girl.

Why is it chivalrous for me hold a door open for a girl? What is the point of that? Is there some ancient tradition that I'm missing? Or is it simply common courtesy? 'Cause if so, then I'm not buying it. Oh and no, I don't have my receipt. Sorry.

Now, I'm not bashing chivalry in any sense, nor do I abhor courtesy. In fact I have often been criticized for being too courteous at times. There are those reading who are now laughing because they know me as a jerk (ass), and others who are nodding their heads because they themselves have said this to me. I do my best and try my hardest to be chivalrous and courteous to as many beautiful girls as I can, but I may have to stop following what we ideally see as "chivalry," and instead do the exact opposite.

Spitball with me for a second, because here is what I was thinking today when I held the door open for Hosanna and let her walk through first.

What the hell am I doing!? What if there is a booby trap on this door and I just killed her!

I pictured myself opening the door, she thanking me and walking through, and a giant anvil falling on her head! Then she died, and I felt really bad.

But of course this isn't the only type of booby trap that could have afflicted her today. What if when I opened the door (or let's say that I don't open the door and instead let her open the door and walk through, while I follow. I often do this because it is too awkward for me to maneuver in front and open the door) and then she walked through and a huge circle saw dropped down and cut her head off!

What am I to do then? "Oops. Sorry. I was just being courteous."

NO!

In this scenario it would be better for me to walk through the door first, let myself get destroyed by the anvil or decapitated by the saw, rather than let Hosanna die!

OR!

What if I take a girl out to dinner and I decide I should open my car door for her and wait for her to get in before I do (I did this for Angie Abbe after formal). Simple, right? Courteous, correct (alliteration rules)? NO!

What if one of my crazy roommates decided to play a little trick on me so that my car EXPLODES! the next time I get in it (haha, those crazy roommates of mine). And after I shut the door, before I get in, THE CAR BLOWS UP! and she dies! So sad.

Or a not too common chivalrous maneuver is to walk on the street side of the sidewalk. I've been told this is so if a car drives by and there is a puddle, the girl doesn't get wet.

BUT!

What if we're walking by a gas station and there are some very hot male models having a gasoline fight (as they often do), and one of them accidently lights a match (who can blame them?), then the entire gas station blows up, killing her, but because she was there, it saved me because the fire deflected around me! And she died. How terrible.

Well...at least she didn't get wet!

I am never letting a girl go through a door before me, letting her in my car first, or letting her walk on the gas station side of the sidewalk. She will be protected. Again, except from water.

FULL SCALE CENSORSHIP!

Well it's official.

I'm a writer.

That may sound a few years (like 22... no, 17... ok like 13) too late, but hear me out.

I now consider myself a true writer, because I have been officially censored. And not on a small scale either. It's not like "Oh Nathan, you can't say that word/sentence/paragraph. Silly writer..."

Nope this is a FULL SCALE CENSORSHIP!

And honestly, I'm proud of it all.

I tip my hat to Kelsey and Jeremy for helping me along, also I would like to thank McSweeney's, the Onion, and Mr. Twisselmann, my senior AP Lit teacher.

Honestly, those three groups helped me get to where I am, as a writer and as a censored writer.

(BTW Kelsey right now is shaking her head at me about how over dramatic I'm being about this, I don't care, I'm stoked!)

Here's the thing: I wrote last week about how I am in love with Swift's "A Modest Proposal" (still true, love that guy, love that essay), and a few months ago I thought it'd be fun to write an article in the same fashion as Swift. I had a great idea, a lot of satirical/sarcastic points to make, and the passion to pull it off.

So over the weekend I wrote out my article and text Kelse immediately to tell her how stoked I was about it, she said she was excited to read it.

Come Tuesday, I give her the article, she read it...

and she tells me we can't publish it.

Sigh.

Ok.

Kelse at first was unsure, but then Jeremy read it and enforced the idea and it was decided.

I was being censored.

Apparently the article attacks too much. Which for satire and our newspaper, and especially for the "Opinion" section is definitely a good thing, but as Jeremy said "It doesn't attack something bad, it just attacks laziness. It'd be more effective if it stung a little because what you're attacking is actually wrong." (no, that's not a direct quote, it's a paraphrase, see this is why I like blogs better than newspaper articles I can kind of make things up as I go along, AND I don't get censored).

So we talked for a bit and now I have a completely new idea for the article and it's better...I'm not going to say "a lot" better, but definitely a step up. For more information on the new article, please see the Hope International Tribune next Thursday (4/23).

So, now for your reading pleasure, I give you, "Proposing a 'Swift' and Pretty Decent Proposal: The Version They Won't Let You Read In The Newspaper, Uncut, UnCENSORED, and a little bit Unoriginal (Oops!)"

Nathan McWherter

Copy Editor and Satirist

     It is a melancholy object to those, who walk through our great school to find students of all years lying along the sidewalk, tired and worn out from the long trek across campus. After all, the legs of these great youth can only take so much; and I mean, look at the size of this campus!

     It is in light of these atrocities that I humbly propose a pretty decent proposal: that all members of the student body be given their own golf cart in order to relieve them of the tedious walk around school.

     The continuous trauma sustained by the legs during walks, I am told, has unhealthy side effects that include fatigue, aches, and perspiration. Students are stressed and overworked, and adding to this load is unconstitutional at best.

     Golf carts are nice, cushy devices that will relieve this strain. Many may see this as lazy, unnecessary, and an overall inconvenience to those who are forced to enjoy the natural recreation of walking. This is not the case however, as it is a necessity to basic human function.

     The difficulty is that the school is not built for this, thus many students will have to drive in circles and maneuver around pillars in order to get a simple ten feet away. This may take hours and could cause many students to be late, but it is a necessary evil in preserving the well being of our extremities.

     A great advantage to this proposal, however, is the possibility of circling the school parking lot and smoking. This could be misconstrued as unhealthy and against school policy, however the occupation is extremely relaxing and worth further reflection.

     As well, there can be no more glorious a sound than that of a golf cart backing up. I, in fact, have this repetitive and divinely inspired harmonic as my ringtone. I also propose that Dr. Cho create a nine-part golf cart ensemble, strictly to spread the joy found in this mechanical tone.

     Nevertheless, there are many drawbacks that need be taken into account. For instance, as with the rest of the world, rush hour will be a problem, especially in regards to the commute to chapel. We may have to build a freeway across the campus to accommodate this inconvenience. However, an acceptable solution to this problem would be the addition of a carpool lane (making the campus more green, and garnering the North West’s respect). When looking at a golf cart there are many additional areas that can sustain human weight. Of course the passenger seat would be the first choice but others may include (but are not limited to) the back bumper, the front bumper, the side rail, and of course the roof. I myself have seen each of these locations utilized around our beautiful campus.

     In addition, a parking structure may be in order to provide space for all the parked golf carts. This will call for an increase in the amount of zealous, passionate Security guards working very hard to secure our vehicles. Nonetheless, it is obvious to see they will be forced to walk, since the increase in golf cart activity will decrease the possibility of Security-golf-cart-usage. Also, as mentioned before, with the addition of a golf cart parking structure we can be sure to see much more of everyone’s favorite sport, Operations’ Native-American-Inspired-Smoke-Signal-Polo. Yeah, I know, I am excited, too.

     I regret to report that there is a minute snag to this proposal. From several reports I have read, and after numerous interviews with leading physicists, there appears to be an eventual deterioration of the leg tendons due to excessive golf cart use (in spite of the health benefits linked to smoking). My sources report that this is, of course, not due to the infrequent use of the leg muscles (as many would have you believe), but rather a rare radiation produced by the golf cart motor. Despite this frightening degeneration, scientist’s report that continued and over-use of the legs will in fact destroy the leg muscles and tendons at a much faster rate.

     I regret, yet again, that this proposal will create a nuisance to Operations and Security as they travel across our handsome school. I mean, look at the size of this campus! However, I feel that their sacrifice in this time is necessary in preserving the legs of our youth. They can walk after all.

     I admit though, in the sincerity of my heart, that if even given such a golf cart to journey with back and forth, I would decline to use such vehicle as I enjoy long walks and what others may see as “unhealthy” exercise.

Well? Comments? Agreements? Laughters?

"Proposing a 'Swift' and Pretty Decent Proposal"

(Article to come two weeks from today. In which case, on that day, this post shall be deleted as it will no longer be necessary. Sorry for the inconvenience, and heartache over a post on this blog being deleted)

To clarify, this post is to fill for the posting of my upcoming opinion piece that I am very excited about.

I have recently become enthralled by Jonathan Swift's satirical essay entitled "A Modest Proposal." So much so that I have determined to write my own satire piece (published in our fair Hope International Tribune two weeks from today) in the vein of Swift's humor and intelligence.

I accept that I shall be a mere pebble in the shadow of a monolith, though I pray to God a pretty pebble at that.

To prepare for the greatest opinion piece I shall write whilst a member of the newspaper staff* I have posted a link to Swift's essay.

Be forewarned:

- it was written in 1729 in Ireland so the spelling and sentence structure is a bit different

- it is 6 pages long when typed into Word (single spaced, 12 point, Times New Roman), that's a 12 page exegetical paper roughly

- it is meant to critique the proposals made to solve the economic crises of the time (sound familiar?) and possibly the over population issues they were dealing with

- it is completely and undeniably ridiculous in all the points it makes

- it is very long winded, though this was the style of the time, it also increases the hilarity since his sarcastic proposal is so deep and intricate

- it uses harsh language such as vermin, filth, and famine

In addition, if you do not like 18th century literature or do not wish to read that much (I would implore you to rethink this since the essay is nothing short of utter, divine, satirical glory), please enjoy many other such literary pieces that may be a bit more modern.

Some acceptable replacements may be McSweeney's or The Onion.

An example of a great article from both may be Michael Ian Black's piece on eating babies (very similar to Swift's) and that bit about the Pope, abortion, fornication, and self-gratification.

Also I'm sure you can see that I found the link button. I'm a bit trigger-happy.

In conclusion: satire rules, and no one likes babies.

*This assumes that my "French Fries...I Mean C'mon!" article will be good, but not great; it also creates a loophole for any opinion piece I write in the coming years as a freelance; and assumes (as in ass-out-of-you-and-me) that you even care about anything I write (reading my blog does not prove that to me). Also, this does not imply that "Nerd is the New Cool" was not a great article, simply that a satirical article eclipses one about nerdom, however incredible all things nerd may be.

And the Wow-Way-to-Be-a-Cliche Award goes to...

Christopher Robin Ogden

For his undying, unnerving, and generally unimpressive Jack Sparrow impression. As well as his predictable Australian accent. And yes, that is his full name.

Virtues and Fairytales...yet "Sexy"

So Kelsey Dettman text me yesterday and asked me what I was doing tomorrow (that is today) and Sunday (that is tomorrow). I said I was free most of both days. She asked me if I would be willing to "star in an awesome video that would make me the most famous person in library videos" (not her words, but doesn't that make it sound awesome?). Anyway, so I said yes.

And actually right now we're filming. I'm on my computer sitting here listening to Kelse as she explains what the video is.

It's actually really funny. She described it as "a library psa that is like a beer commercial without the beer" (those are her words, c'mon you think I could make that up?).

So the premise is that I am an "inadequate" library patron who can't find "full text articles" online, and Bethany and Angie are "sexy" (notice the quotes, haha. No I like them, kinda ;) ) librarians who laugh at me for my "inadequacy." Then a voice from above explains to me how to find "full text articles." Then both "sexy" librarians are impressed with my "full text article" and come over pulling their hair down and looking like beer commercial girls and start to "flirt" with me. I then look up at where the voice came from and mouth "thank you."

So yeah. That's what's going on literally at this moment. In fact, here's what I wrote, verbatim while we were testing my fingers typing:

"This is really cool. I’m sitting here in the International Business Office shooting a video for Kelsey’s project that is about library This is really bad grammar eveyrhting that I am writing and Kelse says I should put this in my blog. I should! That’d be awesome! Now she’s filming above my hands and it’s weird because I don’t like my hands."

That's a direct copy of what I wrote, hence everything being spelled bad. Andie don't make fun of me, I know there are grammatical problems with that section.

Anyway the only reason that I even posted this is because Kelse joked that I should be blogging while we're filming. So I am. I might attach a link to the actual video once it's done, just so anyone who read this and cared can see it. I think it's going to turn out to be pretty funny.

BTW the "full text articles" is in fact to be a penis reference. I realize that by saying penis I have made my blog explicit (ha! Yeah, no). So yes, as a clarification, "full text articles" = penis.

"Where Did I See That?" b.k.a. Read, Dismiss, Remember (RDR)

I was driving home today from Barnes & Noble, and I looked over at the bag my new book lay in. If you haven't seen the Barnes & Noble bags they are covered in quotes from different literary books. Anyway, I looked over at the bag then up at various signs along the road, including a gas station. And suddenly I remembered.

Wife.

I read the word "wife" somewhere, but I couldn't remember where. Nor could I remember actually reading any of the signs or even the bag. I looked several times over at the bag, but had to concentrate on the road so I didn't actually find where the word was.

But it got me thinking: how amazing the brain that it reads so many words in a brief glance and then immediately dismisses each and every one of them.

I don't know if this happens for many other people. But it happens to me all the time. Typically I'm so determined that I look at every sign and written word around me to find where that specific word I read was.

There are even times where I'll remember a word that wasn't actually written, but parts of that word were written close to each other and my brain put them together. The one example I can think of is those signs in the caf on each table, I always see the word "Roswell," but it doesn't say "Roswell" anywhere on it. I think it says "well" and then "ros" is the end of another word two lines above it.

Weird right?

I just tried to Google search the idea to see if any professional research has been done about this, but nothing came up.

It's possible that I could be crazy and this could be nothing. Or this could be an incredible feat of the brain's power. Or maybe I was abducted by aliens and hypnotized to only remember the words "wife" and "Roswell."

Well the second makes sense, not so much the first.

Thoughts?

It's Time to Define Myself

It seems that everyone around me is attempting to define themselves. They are looking for specific boxes to put themselves in. And while I hate boxes (not purely in the metaphorical sense of thinking, but especially in the moving sense [I always use bags, or flat pieces of wood. Unnecessary? Perhaps. But it's a statement and to be maintained, extreme measures must be taken and held. Stop rambling in parentheses? Sure.])...

...

Oh, there I was.

—And while I hate boxes, it's the new fad and the only reason you are even reading what strange ideas I decide to spout about (rhyme!) is because of a fad (one I enjoy whole-heartedly mind you). Thus I have decided to find my own definition for myself. My own box.

I'll begin with the boxes I've seen others sitting in.

About a week ago Niall decided to classify himself as a "minarchist." Don't know what it is? Wikipedia it (yeah, it's a verb now, like Google. Also spaghetti has been updated to an adjective, just a heads up next time you can't find the words to explain...well anything really). Anyway, Wikipedia minarchist, that's how Niall found out about it. So Niall is a minarchist.

Then tonight I just read Alaina's blog about her own self discovery of her sexist nature (not really sure if that sentence was grammatically correct, if it wasn't Andie will comment on this post and the score will then be 6-0, if it was...well then it was). The strange bit about Alaina being sexist is that she's sexist against women (so she says, I don't believe it, I think it's against mannequins. Don't worry Ellen, we love you, wherever you are).

I need to stop using parentheses. If I use one more, you should stop reading.

No one's going to read my blog anymore. Sad.

Anyway, Alaina is a sexist.

Niall is a minarchist.

Now me.

Well I don't really care for miniature dolls, so I can't join Niall in his box.

And I love mannequins and women, so Alaina will sit in her box alone.

So let's see...what am I?

I am an anglophile.

Well, I do enjoy angel hair pasta. Right angles look pretty cool, too. But I don't enjoy geometry or crumpets. No, I'm not an anglophile.

I am an anthropoid.

No, I don't read many anthologies. Unless I have to. I enjoy full texts. And I know for a fact that I'm made of flesh and blood not wires and metal gears. So, no. Not an anthropoid.

I am suave.

No, I actually use a name brand from CVS. It seems to work best with my hair and body.

This is proving difficult.

I am a rock.

I do have very tough skin (I don't bleed. Period). I do often sit about and appear to do nothing at all. I would guess that if we could master the technique of mind reading, we would discover that rocks think and are most likely over-thinkers. This is true of me. Am I a rock? Wait, I'm not bumpy. No, I am sadly not a rock. Close though. Yeah, I know. I got excited, too.

I am a pirate.

No that's Chris. Why would you think I was a pirate?

I am a merry-go-round.

I do view myself as very colorful. I wear every color (blue, red, gray, black, and white). I enjoy spinning in circles. In fact I keep returning to the same places I've been before (room, work, class, room, caf, room, repeat). Hm. I am a— No. Too gay.

That's it!

I am a lesbian.

Ben Folds just convinced me.

Solved.

Hey look. I stopped using parentheses!

And the Adjective of the Year Award goes to...

Andie Marie Diaz

For her use of the word "pubey" in reference to a beard.

Bones of a Nightingale Update

For months now I have been talking about the poetry book I plan to self-publish on Lulu.com called Bones of a Nightingale. I said about three months ago that it would be done by the end of January.

Sad to say, it's not done yet. Not my fault.

Ok maybe it is.

The stumbling block is finding time. Not to write, all the poems are done, in fact all (I hope) of the formatting is done as well.

It's the cover. Niall and I went out to Ikea a month and a half ago (?) and took awesome pictures, if you haven't seen them check out the photo album "Niall Takes Pictures of Nathan" on my Facebook. If we're not friends, why the hell are you reading this?

Sorry. If we're not friends, I'm happy you're here.

Anyway.

The photos came out amazing, but Niall and I just haven't gotten around to taking the cover shot yet, which I'm actually happy for because he has been working really hard on other photos and learning how to age pictures and put really cool textures on them (if you haven't seen them go to hamskies.blogspot.com or click on "Petitioning the Open Sky" at the bottom of this blog). The aged look is what I really want for my cover, so I'm happy he's been working on that.

Niall actually told me yesterday that he plans to devote this week to me and while that hasn't happened yet, it most likely will either tomorrow or on Friday.

More to come on that.

So the title I actually really like (am I allowed to say "actually really"? Two words ending in "ly" right next to each other sound weird. Oh well, I'm the English Lit Major. As Alex says, "I do what I want!").

The title comes from two of my favorite quotes about writing. The first is from the song "The Engine Driver" by the Decemberists. It says:

"And I am a writer, writer of fictions

And I am the heart that you call home

And I've written pages, upon pages

Trying to rid you from my bones."

Originally I liked the title To Rid My Bones, but then Natalie Hewitt showed us this really cool quote by Percy Bysshe Shelley:

"A Poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds."

Thus, Bones of a Nightingale came to be. And now I'm waiting to take a picture of an empty gold-leafed frame with a gray polaroid inside.

Completely unrelated. Yet not. You'll have to read the book to understand.

And no, you cannot have a free copy. Lulu has to make money somehow.

Updates will follow. Hopefully the cover picture will be posted by Monday.

Sigh.

Reflections on Lewis and the Slow Death of the Myth

I just finished The Great Divorce by C.S. Lewis for my Myth, Fantasy, and Imagination class. I'm not sure how I feel about it just yet. The overall idea is good and I like many of the characters, but then Lewis will write in these strange allusions. I'm all for allusions mind you, but when he decides to make his lead character a huge George MacDonald fan (an idea I endorse and have utilized) and then brings MacDonald into the story, I just don't like it. Especially when the narrator asks a question regarding MacDonald's works that contradict what Lewis is writing about, and Lewis (through MacDonald the character) explains that MacDonald didn't know everything and begins to state that MacDonald's views are incorrect.

It's just doesn't sit well with me.

Granted, Lewis is writing a fictional account of a ground-breaking idea. But to, in essence, tear down your self-proclaimed hero seems...tacky to say the least.

Along with this and one other strange allusion I can't remember, I've never been a fan of Lewis's voice. The way he writes is strange and different. It's definitely a style thing, but it's not an old thing, because there are plenty of writings that are much older that I love (Shakespeare, Dumas, Doestyevsky for example).

It's sad because my roommate, Josh, asked if I would maybe like Great Divorce and even Lewis a bit more if it wasn't "being shoved down [my] throat." Hmh. I wonder the same.

See, every text for the course is by Lewis, or Lewis's friend (J.R.R. Tolkien), or his mentor/hero (George MacDonald). And it is this lack of variation that is so frustrating.

It's really getting out of hand. The title is so amazing and the genre is incredible, but we are all being blind sided by a bigot (not Lewis). Mythology has recently become an obsession of mine (one I wish I could begin to pursue more), and of course fantasy and especially imagination have always been my loves. There is so much information and ideas that we are not experiencing.

It saddens me.

Irony is that heartless bitch, since I remember back last semester when Cora (the professor) told me that I could "take that class over at Cal State if [I] want to." At the time I thought it was weird her trying to push me out since she is so determined to teach and mentor everyone to follow her ways. Now I wish I would have taken her up on the offer.

If the class were merely re-named as "C.S. Lewis 101" or "C.S. Lewis and Friends" that'd be fine, but to ruin the idea of mythology and imagination (that "bitch" again: the lack of imagination in choosing the course texts), and especially to have us read Mere Christianity (Lewis's renowned book on theology) under the same pretext of fantasy.

Yeah, I know right?

I take comfort only in our final project. We have to write out a 125 page story (in groups, mine is of 5) that displays all the attributes of a fantasy/myth story (of course, there must must MUST be a "christian truth" present). Then we have to present the story in whatever form we want, using the entire school as our "stage." We of course have to have a song and a dance, with food and costumes, and take up the entire class period—75 minutes.

It'll be fun, and our story is coming together well.

I only wish I was learning about Icarus and Loki instead of the Pevensie children and Bilbo (there is no correlation between the two contrasting groups I used as an example).