In honor of the upcoming RUGBY WORLD CUP this september, i’m duty bound to pay tribute to my dudes; the 2007 world champion South African Springboks! my goal was to squirrel away a bag of ducats and finance a trip to new zealand (home of the world’s top ranked team, the All Blacks) to watch the world cup glory, but the massive bucket of dough necessary to finance such a sojourn didn’t materialize. alas, i’ll be watching the matches in my drawers, from the comfort of the sofa. either way, it’ll be kick ass to watch another world cup…here’ s hoping the boys in green and gold can bring home another Webb Ellis trophy.

All the world speaks-
though not all are tuned to listen-
futures are scribed in the faint glow of
distant worlds,
and the past can often be plucked from
anonymous sunsets
and wayfaring clouds-
all one must do is keep an open eye
or two-
and the world will explain itself-
all one must do is keep an ear to the
wind,
and the whispers of time will be filtered
in like cool mountain water-
think of the clarity that comes
with such a connection-
imagine the peace that emerges with
such stark realizations-
that all the world speaks with the same
thunderous voice-
words drift like weather fronts across
the skies-
and emotions rumble like seismic
vibrations-
the language is the same-
tune in and listen-
listen to the world as it explains itself,
and discover yourself within its explanation-
keep an ear to the wind,
an eye to the sky,
and scribe your future in the faint glow
of a distant world*

1. punching a guy in the face is approximately as loud as a gunshot.
2. the same german army that made europe its bitch is no match for an archaeologist.
3. indiana jones is arguably the strongest human on earth and is able to effortlessly shove giant tablets of stone that more than likely took multiple egyptians to heft (he totally moved a friggin’ huge stone out of his way while exiting the infamous snake pit).
4. how the hell did indy stow away on a fucking diving submarine?
5. if the movies are any indication, indy would be great in the UFC.  the dude pummeled nazis, communists, and indians, and never broke a bone.

the movie is quite dated, but remains a true classic.

Egon Schiele – “House With Shingles” – 1915

django reinhardt – i can’t give you anything but love

Sunlight, like fresh honey-
thick and sticky with love-
moments, like fragments suspended
in ancient amber-
frozen in that stillness-
as pure as they were the second they
were entombed-
yes, sunlight shifts-
but its heat remains-
it will always return to cast its
glow-
heat so intense that if often burns-
it burns, but I have yet to feel its
warmth-
the rays are often shadowed by clouds,
you see-
the wound is mine, yet I never
made the cut-
how then does it stitch itself?
that sunlight, rich and dense-
is haunting-
it taunts the heart that beat its
tune-
how then, will it stitch itself?

He never got the chance to build his own
castle-
his castle was built around him-
he didn’t have the time to sail the tranquil
waves-
the sea was disgruntled before he could ever
raise his sail-
his path was already paved,
before he took his first step-
each stone was already placed before he planted
his front foot-
he didn’t allow the opportunity to create a
garden-
the vines had sprouted before he had a chance
to kneel-
he reached out his hand, and it was met
with a swift breeze-
open, it was-
and cold*

All the sun had to do was show
his face-
to remind the tree that it was
capable of bearing fruit-
all the rain had to do was glide
to earth-
to prove to the soil that it was capable
of rearing life-
all it takes sometimes is that natural catalyst-
that ready made boost-
to remind the lungs to inhale life
for all it’s worth*

You are my snow angel-
my life crystallizes in your frozen
breath-
my love for you-
encased in the symmetry of a snowflake-
and gleaming like a solid slab of February
ice-
the frigid wind only stokes the
embers burning inside-
they grow hot with each swirling
gust-
they grow powerful with each
howling burst-
and they burn forever in their shining
home-
an angel-
gliding gracefully through the fine
powder-
floating mysteriously through the
winter mist-
your smile as stark as the white
horizon-
an angel-
my snow angel-
my life, crystallized in your frozen
breath-
I see myself in your reflection-
and in it, I smile*

I searched the desert sands
just to later realize that I was in the
jungle-
and the pool of water that I sought so
desperately was just within reach,
only I was too parched to
swallow-
and by that point, too weak to
stand-
I lay there on my back-
atop a mossy patch of green, tangled
earth-
insects trekking over me as if I were
an abandoned log-
they went about their way-
in search of their own sparkling oases-
the leaves around me rustled with
life-
and the brush was alive with movement-
I lay motionless, staring at the soaring
blue sky-
deep blue, and rich-
with a tint of yellow orange sun-
soaking in the sounds of my temporary
confinement-
I heard feet brush past me-
I’d closed my eyes to rest, you see-
I followed the hurried sound with my ears
and opened them slowly to see myself
walking toward the pool,
which was only a few paces away-
right in front of me,
the entire time-
I wearily watched this version
stride to the pool and take a drink-
how effortless it truly was-
I questioned how difficult I’d made it
out to be, sipping from that pool-
I turned back to the sky-
and cursed this alternate me-
enraged at the thought of what could
be-
but I was only cursing myself-
I realized then that I wandered the desert
because I never thought that I was
worthy of a drink*

Richard Birdsall – String Quintet II – Chamber Music IV