Free Bird @ MindSay

                                                                                                                                            

I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings

The free bird leaps on the back of the win and floats downstream till the current ends and dips his wings in the orange sun rays and dares to claim the sky. But a bird that stalks down his narrow cage can seldom see through his bars of rage his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing. The caged bird sings with fearful trill of the things unknown but longed for still and is tune is heard on the distant hillfor the caged bird sings of freedom The free bird thinks of another breeze an the trade winds soft through the sighing trees and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn and he names the sky his own. But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing The caged bird sings with a fearful trill of things unknown but longed for still                                                                                                                  and his tune is heard on the distant hill for the caged bird sings of freedom. Maya Angelou                                                                              HE IS GONE AND I AM FREE!

Well, far from being the frequently updated source of all things inane as hoped, I still haven’t given up on this thing just yet.  Fortunately for those of you still around, the long absence has allowed me to amass a smorgasbord of random anecdotes and pointless trivia.

First off in the minds of my imagined readers, would of course be the promised visiting that occurred a few weeks back.  As was expected, everything went awesomely, and much enjoyment was derived.  Chief amongst our exploits was a trip up to Niagara Falls, which was a stunning site, in spite of being stranded on the American side due to the new border regulations demanding a passport for reentry.  I suppose I shouldn’t gripe too much, though.  Who knows how close we were to a total invasion of cultural debauchery by those skeevy Canadians?  I for one don’t trust any peoples that call themselves Canadians, but don’t hail from Canadia.  Plus, that ‘zed’ business is just plain weird.

Even restricted from the head-on view afforded by our neighbors in the north, though, we managed to get an incredible overhead view thanks to a park that runs along them.  I still need to pore through the various pictures I took, but I promise to get some up in the nearer future.  Still, if you mange to make it up to see them, make sure to bring a passport.  With the sole exception of that fabulous park, the American side is in a pitiful state of neglect, with very little to offer compared to the tourist’s utopia across the way.  Whereas the Canadians have ritzy hotels, shop-lined streets and weekly firework shows, our stateside offerings are mostly limited to the likes haunted houses and other fare not even suitable for a high-school carnival.

Moving on, though.  The rest of her stay was comparatively quiet, but none the less a blast.  We played lots of Pikmin, watched some nostalgia-laden films from out collective past, and had plenty of pizza.  Even managed to break ourselves away from our controllers long enough to go see Spider-Man 3.  (Which, for those not yet aware, is good, but not as good as the first two.  The action is definitely still there (if a little over the top), and there is definitely emotional drama, but the characters were less fleshed-out and more contrived.  Worth watching, though, if you’re a fan of 1 and 2).

Ultimately, the week went by faster than either of us preferred, but it was well worth it.  Besides, with any amount of luck, it won’t be long until I’m able to return the favor and head in the opposite direction to see her.

On another side of things, specifically one involving the rawkage of the house, my mastery of the five-buttoned guitar has progressed quite satisfactorily, and I’ve managed to make it to the final set on expert (though, whether I can claim to have played the preceding tracks expertly is up to much debate :-P).  The game is inexpressibly awesome, though, and with both Guitar Hero III and Rock Band on the horizon, it’s going get very busy and verrrry expensive around here in the near future.

Speaking on the topic of expenses, I’m going to be even more broke than usual for a while as a direct result of my recent taking a stand against the man.  Yes, I am soon to be jobless, but the path to unemployment has been paved with victory and fuck-yeah.  See, we got this new manager at OfficeMax (I’d take the time to render that as some mildly witty insult-pun, if the actual name didn’t evoke enough horror on its own), and not to put to fine a point on it, but she’s a bitch.  To make a longish story shorter, she tried to keep me from leaving to do something more important to me than my job (for all of two hours, no less), and I told her that was fine, I’d just up and quit, then.  I’ll provide more details in my theoretical next post, but suffice to say that despite not ultimately needing to quit over that, it was enough to make me realize I wanted out of that particular circle of hell, anyway. 

So, jobless, yes.  But free.  Like a bird….a free bird.  Rawk \m/

That’s all for now, but not by no means all there is.  With as much material as I’ve gathered, I’m gonna be smartlike for once, and space it out.  For the time being, though, I leave you with this; spikey bug penis: http://www.cosmosmagazine.com/node/1380

Oh dear god.   

Sympathy

            Paul Laurence Dunbar

I know what the caged bird feels, alas!
        When the sun is bright on the upland slopes;
    When the wind stirs soft through the springing grass,
    And the river flows like a stream of glass;
        When the first bird sings and the first bud opes,
    And the faint perfume from its chalice steals —
    I know what the caged bird feels!

    I know why the caged bird beats his wing
        Till its blood is red on the cruel bars;
    For he must fly back to his perch and cling
    When he fain would be on the bough a-swing;
        And a pain still throbs in the old, old scars
    And they pulse again with a keener sting —
    I know why he beats his wing!

    I know why the caged bird sings, ah me,
        When his wing is bruised and his bosom sore,—
    When he beats his bars and he would be free;
    It is not a carol of joy or glee,
        But a prayer that he sends from his heart's deep core,
    But a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings —
    I know why the caged bird sings!