Swindon Town Swoodilypoopers have won the F.A. Cup!

• So, a few months ago on a friend's facebook page, this little something came out. The friend had accidentally written my name twice in a row, and so I came up with a story about a man so awesome he was named twice. I really liked it, and I wanted to develop it, maybe in some sort of serialized form on this website, but I never really got around to it. Call me lazy. Seriously, go ahead, call me lazy. Good, now that that is over with, read my little story.
  
  
  Ethan Ethan is the captain and pilot of the airship Freyja, searching for his evil brother Nahte Nahte. Every time he touches down in a new town, he gruffly sets things to right, all the while grumbling about getting a move on with the dang blasted voyage. His first mate is Frankenstein's lesser known third monster, who prefers to go by the name Percival. The cabin boy, little Robby, might or might not be Ethan Ethan's son (no one really knows). Either way, the captain and crew have adopted the boy as one of their own.
  
• Ethan Ethan's life has been a complicated one. He was born two days after his twin; Nahte Nahte was kidnapped in that short period of time. The fair wench Adelaide and the handsome Dr. Hargate Orsin, the children's dashing parents, rightly feared that their other son would be taken. In the still of the night, mere hours since his birth, the brave couple stowed away on the maiden voyage of the Freyja. Ten days out from port, the captain came down with consumption. In their small hold they heard the captain's wretched coughing. Remembering his Hippocratic Oath, the good doctor revealed himself and his family, offering his services to the captain in exchange for safe passage to the next port of call.
  
• The captain, Bartholomew Brabazone Batt Broder, agreed to the highly unusual arrangement, and allowed the small family to stay on board. The good doctor's treatments were effective enough that the captain pulled through. He was well enough by the time they arrived at the West Indies, he asked Dr. Hargate if he and his family would stay aboard and keep the crew in shape. Without hesitation, he soundly accepted
• The doctor might have taken longer to ponder the offer had he realized that the genteel captain and his crew were truly pirates, and not the British navy men they at first appeared. It was too late to back out when he finally realized. To be frank, he didn't want to. He, his sweet Adelaide, and his young son Ethan Ethan were safe from the scientists who had stolen Nahte Nahte for profane reasons not well understood. If any could teach the doctor how to deal with this dire threat, it was certainly the crew of the Freyja.
  
• Ethan Ethan has never slept on solid ground. Growing up as the beloved cabin boy aboard the Freyja, he soaked up as much as he could from any that would teach him. From his father he learned of the sciences, chemistry and alchemy and steamworking, as well as how to treat disease and shore up the human body. From his mother he learned the speech of the French, Germans, ancient Romans, and how to treat a lady. From Captain Bartholomew, he learned leadership, how to pilot an airship, and how to navigate over land and sea. From Percival, who even then was the first mate of the freyja, he learned to disregard prejudices, to read fantastic literature, and the proper way to drink tea. From Elvira Spring, the ship's weapon-master, he learned the way of the sword, the staff, the bow, and the gun. But the most important lesson did not come from any of these loved ones.
  
• When Ethan Ethan was but 13 years old, the Freyja was docked to the Eiffel Tower, delivering goods to Napoleon III, the Emperor of France. In addition to these legitimate goods, the crew was smuggling in a shipment of a mercury alloy to the alchemists of Roland Garros. Ethan Ethan was allowed, with permission from his father, to help the crew with their drop off while the Captain, Dr. Hargate and Adelaide went to dinner with the Emperor. The alchemists were late for their pickup, so the crew was late returning to the ship. As they wandered the streets of Paris, Ethan Ethan happily leading them in bawdy songs his mother would disapprove of, their leaders had returned to the Freyja. Adelaide had drank a tad much of the Emperor's wonderful wine, so she quickly retired to her room. Waiting for the crew to arrive on deck, the doctor and the captain lit their pipes and waited. In the dark of that Parisian night, they were caught unawares by the evil which had waited for them to return from dinner.
• Approaching the Eiffel Tower, Ethan Ethan had started to become tired. As he so often did when fatigued, he looked up to the night sky. As his gaze scanned the heavens he noticed an orange light emanating from the Freyja. With a shout, he realized he was seeing his beloved home bursting into flames. The crew saw the flames licking the majestic Freyja, and without thinking ran up the long stairs of the Tower.
• Aboard the ship, the captain and the doctor were battling both the fire, and a mysterious force. The nightwatchman, who had faithfully guarded the vessel for years, lay dead in a pool of blood. Straddling the body stood a figure, dark and shrouded. In his left hand he held a sword, still dripping with the blood of the dead man. In his right was a clockwork flamethrower, with flames licking the mechanisms. He had already set alight the topsail, from which he had descended only moments after the two men had stepped onto the deck.
  
  "Who are you?" The captain asked the figure as he slowly drew his sword. Hargate cursed himself for refusing to learn the ways of the sword as his son had, but he still he readied himself for a fight.
• Adelaide felt the heat. That was what woke her from her slight stupor, the overwhelming heat. Groggily getting out of bed, she clothed herself before venturing into the corridor. As she opened the door, the rush of fresh oxygen caused the flames to swoop towards her. Screaming, Adelaide ran the opposite way, towards the galley.
  
  Running into the galley, she cursed herself for reacting in such a stereotypical way. She was just glad that Hargate hadn't been here to...
  
  "Hargate!" How could she have forgotten about her husband, and her son, so quickly? She grabbed the largest pot she could see, which was still half full with the mornings gruel. She threw as much as she could into the flame, hoping it would smother the flames, before hurrying back into the galley to fill the pot with water. She was determined to be the heroine, whether she wanted to or not.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  "I have claimed that Escape is one of the main functions of fairy-stories, and since I do not disapprove of them, it is plain that I do not accept the tone of scorn or pity with which 'Escape' is now so often used. Why should a man be scorned if, finding himself in prison, he tries to get out and go home? Or if he cannot do so, he thinks and talks about other topics than jailers and prison-walls?" - J.R.R. Tolkien
  
  
  
  p.s. Sorry for the bad formatting.

If only Oprah would give me a whale, then I'd be happy!

So, it's been quite a while, blogger. How have you been?

I was talking to my friend Heather on skype last night, and we talked about how tumblr is making us lazy bloggers. Which sucks, because I want my blog to be a way to force me to write, and tumblr is kind of failing that criteria. So, I'll be updating this blog from time to time, just for those two or three million of my fans that want to know.

Oh, and I just joined this really cool thing called hitRECord. You should check it out. Her is a little something I wrote in ten minutes under this cool little prompt thing on the sight, and I think I might expand this into a longer short story.


Peppermint

Letters from my grandfather always smelled of peppermint and decay, just like his house. Looking through the faded, worn out scraps of paper, I can tell just by how shaky his signature is when the letter was written. Is the t still sharp and crisp? I must have been about four years old, and my parents would have helped me sound out the bigger words. Can you not really tell if his name ends in a w or a u or an n or an m, or maybe any other letter? I was sixteen when I received that one.

Grandaddy never talked to me like I was a child, but the letters we exchanged did start off fairly simplistic. By the last of them we had talked about death and life, the beauty to be found in the sun, stars, and a cute girl's ass, and even talked about religion and politics. Despite this, it was the last letter I received from him that made me feel like a man.

"Shit, son. The world is full of god-damned shit. But there is one thing that always smells like roses, and that is the good man who is willing to shovel that damned shit until he finds dirt. I fancy myself a shit shoveler, and I think you are one, too."

The visitation before his funeral was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. Leaning over his still form, I kissed his forehead, and smelled peppermint.

"I wish life was not so short,' he thought. 'Languages take such a time, and so do all the things one wants to know about." - J.R.R. Tolkien

The cat scurried into the forest, and the monkey jumped on a cow.

I really love Ihop. Really, really love Ihop. All you can eat pancakes, plus eggs and hashbrowns! What more is there to life?

Anyways, I do believe that the stress of this play is wreaking havoc on my immune system. I hate sore throats. Since you've heard me talk about pancakes (and I'm pretty sure your hungry) and my immune system, here is a poem.

Thin lips tremble,
Quivering.

A small, sweet sound escapes.

The South is really nice
This time of year.

“Faithless is he that says farewell when the road darkens.”― J.R.R. Tolkien

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I AM A ROBOT ALIEN! TAKE ME TO YOUR MECHANIC!

So, this is a Shakespearean sonnet that I wrote for Creative Writing. Hopefully you will like it.

If all the sky collapsed into the sea,

And all the stars recede into the night;

If all the world just simply ceased to be,

And all the men we know would just take flight;

If all the things that we hold dear expire,

And dreams that I believed so deep decay;

If the universe would die in a fire,

And all we love would fall to disarray;

Still I would wait for just one glance from you,

For just one kiss to fall upon my brow.

For your sweet face is all that brings me through

Your grace is what drives me for'ard, even now.

That I should find a lady true at all

Is proof that God does even love the small.

"I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend." - J.R.R. Tolkien

In brightest day, in blackest night, No cookies shall escape my sight!

Bonjour! I don't know about everyone else, but I am very tired. Je vais fatigue. If you haven't already guessed that I am taking French, then you obviously are from the moon. It is a pleasure to meet my first alien!

Anyways, I've noticed that most of my poetry is about wanting to be somewhere else. I used to have a penchant for poetry about walking, but I guess I am more stuck than I used to be. Oh, well, from great angst comes great art. That's how it works, right?

The Keys are in My Pocket

Sometimes I wonder

What it is I'm doing here

When I could drive off.

"Not all those who wander are lost." - J.R.R. Tolkien

Dream a little dream of me, because I'm pretty sure that's all you could handle.

Happy Labor Day to the Americans and Canadians! Happy Monday for everyone else!

I've started watching the 6th season of Boy Meets World this week. Oh, the Dramedy! Anyways, this poem is a little different, but I like how it turned out. Read, comment, and enjoy.

Second Sight

For all the things I see

Beyond the veil,

All I can remember

Is the light and the dark.

Great sun and space,

Stars fighting against the raging void.

The silence echoing,

Stretching,

Grasping for the reigns.

I've been an oracle

That the world has ignored,

But this time they'll see.

I'll show them the light and the dark

That hides

Beyond the veil,

And they'll know.

They'll understand.

A cosmic love

Circles the drain at

The nearby motel,

While the world goes on in Blissful Ignorance.

'"The world is indeed full of peril and in it there are many dark places.
But still there is much that is fair. And though in all lands, love is now
mingled with grief, it still grows, perhaps, the greater."' - J.R.R. Tolkien

College Dreams

Dreaming. That's what my Facebook status was today. It could apply every day, but I'm afraid of angering the few friends I do have. So I generally post inspirational quotes, song lyrics, and witty one liners to keep the truth at bay. All the while I'm still dreaming.

I've been skipping classes for days now. No one has tried to hunt me down, and I don't know if I should be relieved about that. I can always be found in the same place, so if anyone wanted to I'd be easy to find. But no one does. So I just stare into the sky and daydream.

When I was younger, I remember staring into the sky and feeling small. Now I just feel a vague disappointment. The universe, I'm sure, has failed me on purpose. So all I can do in response is stare it in the face and dream. The fluffy white clouds pass slowly across my vision as I think of little.

Laying down on that hill, I think back about what my grandfather told me. He would always talk about how lucky I was that I wasn't an immigrant. I agree. More importantly, though, he told me that he came here because of dreams, but none of them were ever fulfilled. Grandfather went to his grave unsatisfied and bitter.

Everything he ever told me is locked somewhere in my head, where math and history and motivation should reside. He always told me that I took everything for granted, which is true. He'd constantly talk up all my failures, but the most important he left off the list.

My mother got knocked up by a trust fund college kid messing around with the guy from across the tracks. No matter what 80's movie you love, those guys rarely step up when the girl gets pregnant. Grandfather never told me so, but it was obvious that he blamed me for my father's choices. His angel, though, still took first place in his heart. I think that's why nanna ran away with the milkman.

College opened me up to a realm of possibilities, but did nothing to prepare me for the ramifications. I think I need meds.

So as the sky slowly darkens I still gaze to heaven. I just hope I'll wake up soon.

There is nothing like looking, if you want to find something. You certainly usually find something, if you look, but it is not always quite the something you were after." - J.R.R. Tolkien

Emo Ethan waves hello from the corner.

I thought it would be a good idea to actually try and update more often, so the easiest way for me to ease into a routine is to write a haiku every few days, and let the larger stuff sort itself out. Enjoy!

Sunday weeps alone.

The blood drips from her fingers;

She is dead inside.

"Faithless is he that says fairwell when the road darkens." - J.R.R. Tolkien

In which Ethan realizes the Arrowhead actually had two barbs.

It has been a little while, mostly because I've been a little lazy. However, I thought I would share with all five of you, that I actually got two poems into the Arrowhead, Mississippi College's Literary and Art magazine. Cool thing is, you already have one of them in this blog. Yep, Son of Forest and City got an honorable mention. However, my poem entitled I is what landed me a third place finish. So, without further ado, I.

I am a liar. I never tell the truth.

I was the thirty-third astronaut in space, but I never went to the moon.
I taught Davey Crockett how to shoot, along with Daniel Boone.
I am the Emperor of Hawaii, where I have an army of dodo birds.
I am King of the Savannah, and Lord of the dungbeetle herds.
I can breathe underwater, but I've never learned to swim.
I taught Shakespeare how to act, and invented the word dim.
I was there with Alexander leading forces into battle.
I'm godfather to the Queen, and I made her baby rattle.
I built Rome in a day, created the month of May,
I swam the English Channel, and I invented flannel.
I am beyond what words can convey,
Cause I killed Ghengis Khan, Hitler, and Timothy McVey.
I am my own evil twin, so I kicked me in the shin.
I created Algebra (sorry guys), and threw the apple at Newton.
I started a league of Superheroes, and yes, I am recruiting.
I can brew a keg of beer in under thirty seconds.
I myself visited Johto, and I caught an Ekans.
I have a robot to clean my room, but he doesn't know how to work a broom.
My nails grow at twenty feet per second, as does my beard.
I've eaten ten aliens, and you're beginning to see I'm weird.
I have Majora's mask, and I saw Ceaser's ghost.
I killed Babe, and made of him a roast.

All the above is true. I never tell lies.

On another note, the Arrowhead can be viewed online at http://bobbydsign.files.wordpress.com/2011/03/arrowhead-2011_final3.pdf . Check it out, tell me what you think of it and my poem above.

"All that is gold does not glitter; not all those who wonder are lost." - J.R.R. Tolkien