If Ohio is for Lovers, What is My State For?

If Ohio is the state for lovers, what kind of state am I in? Obviously it’s not a state in which I am a lover, due lately to lack of luck as much as lack of trying.

Hawthorne Heights — “Ohio is for Lovers”

Slow things down or speed them up
Not enough or way too much
(and on and on and on…)
How are you when I’m gone?

And so it goes. I bought Green Day – _American Idiot_ last weekend. I like it a lot. Why? Because it’s the anthem of disenchanted, suburban, white, American males who see the hypocrisy in the culture and society around them, say what it is from their perspective, and go on to live out their own idiosyncratic responses to the lives of their parents in a vain attempt that ultimately will lead to their own children having the same reaction to them about 13 to 20 years from now.

Following me? Didn’t think so. S’alright. Basically, the world is jacked up ’cause people are jacked up, and people have babies; therefore, babies grow up and develop problems of their own which often tend to parallel their parents on some psychological level. This process is the antonym of the Circle of Life, but these two processes work together in some sick way. If you can figure this out, you might understand Freud better. I can’t say I do; I’ve never met the man, and I don’t care to.

Green Day – Jesus of Suburbia: I Don’t Care

Everyone’s so full of shit
Born and raised by hypocrits
Hearts recycled but never saved
From the cradle to the grave
We are the kids of war and peace
From Anaheim to the Middle East
We are the stories and disciples of
The Jesus of suburbia

Land of make believe
And it don’t believe in me
Land of make believe
And I don’t believe
And I don’t care!
I don’t care

Can’t Get Enough

For those who couldn’t get enough, you can now get more! More quotes, more hilarity, all the time. Satisfy your need to laugh with vain attempts at understanding inside jokes, misquotes, and quotes taken extremely out of context. Get it fast, get it now, and satisfy your American appetite for instant gratification. See the sidebar, seek the sidebar, and find the love and weightloss you desire.

Or something like that.


By Erundur Anwamehtar

A motorcycle lays beaten and bruised
lonely on the pavement
lights flicker and flare into dozens of windows
driving past a cycle down

A motorcycle lays beaten and bruised
a flash goes off, the scene now stored
forever on digital memory
sleuths decipher the moment: later

A motorcycle lays beaten and bruised
riderless on the pavement
the engine slowed, ceased
the force not withstood

A motorcycle lays beaten and bruised
wreckage strewn around
can’t hold it together
can’t hold it forever

A motorcycle lays beaten and bruised
life fleeting on the pavement

Darker Days Ahead

The full moon rises and glares down at the cars passing south down the highway who happen to be paying little attention to the small object to the side while trying to ignore the oncoming flood of white from cars driving past in the other lane. I joined in the stream this evening and flowed, weaved, and grooved down the highway slowing down and stopping for the occassional stoplight or blip of a small town before continuing on undaunted in my return home from a brief foray to the north.

I’d say I took this trip to hunt, to ransack, and to pillage ’cause it sounds quite manly and important, but I’d be lying. I paid money to eat seafood flown from who-knows-where, I tipped well, and then I drank south-american coffee in an all-american coffee-shop. The friends present at the feasting made it worthwhile and quite enjoyable. We traded sly comments and a myriad of jokes (some dirty) which kept us laughing throughout the meal and the after-coffee.

Weekends like these make life worthwhile. I may be no perfect saint, but being out, about, eating, drinking, and laughing helps me remember why I’m glad to be here, now, and who I am.

Green Day – Whatsername

“the regrets are useless, in my mind
she’s in my head
from so long ago and in the darkest night
if my memory serves me right
I’ll never turn back time

forgetting you, but not the time”

A White Canvas

A White Canvas
By Erundur Anwamehtar

Never argue with a painting;
it won’t argue with you
or develop redder hues

unless you paint over the issues,
making broad strokes with a brush on fire.
Watch the orange tear

the wall — the backdrop for it all —
now gone black

as the gray sky looks upon ashes framed by assorted dusts.
The wind sweeps in, swift, and through

green trees, pining for notice, hoping to decorate a canvas —
a white canvas — painted by a lover’s brush.