Tag Archives: Hampshire College

When It Comes, It Comes Slowly

3 Mar

Managed to watch some of the Academy Awards last night, even though ABC makes it difficult to do so unless you actually pay for cable. Remember paying for cable? When you had to pay a large monthly sum for the privilege of watching commercials on a bunch of channels you probably didn’t care about? Who still does that?

Ellen joked that 12 Years A Slave would win Best Picture because if it didn’t everyone in the Academy would be racist. It won Best Picture.

The Academy Awards used to be segregated.

Lupita won for Best Supporting Actress. This is after she graduated from Hampshire College. These two things probably aren’t related, but it’s neat that I “know” someone who was there. She gave a great speech.

Meanwhile nearly 400 (!) people were arrested for protesting the building of a giant pipe. One of them looks like Chelsea Clinton. It is almost certainly NOT her.

I wish humanity developed faster.

But at least we do develop. Better than stagnation.


I wonder if I ever did put this in The Omen?

17 Oct

(The Omen is Hampshire College’s student produced magazine which publishes whatever it gets. This is from… well, I don’t remember. I found it in the dusty recesses of my digital archives.)

I wish that I were a poet. So that I could look around, and see poetry everywhere, like Neo sees code instead of blondes and brunettes when he’s in The Matrix. And it always comes back to movies.

I don’t know why I am writing this. I am typing because the server is down, and I can’t waste time looking up advance movie news and script reviews on the internet. I am writing because I am a writer, and I haven’t written all day. I write poetry sometimes, but I’m not a poet. Sometimes I never write, but I am still a writer.

Vulnerability is always beautiful.

Sometimes, if you go out into a rainstorm, and you look up at the falling drops, you might never see them hit the ground.

I wish I were a poet. I wish that my words made people react, cheer, laugh and cry. But they are just words, and words are everything. Words have power beyond poetry.

Words have power beyond paper, beyond sound. And you might not care. Why should everyone care?
Pick a subject. Somewhere, somebody cares about that subject so much that it becomes what he or she does. Their life is devoted to that subject. If you care too, go talk to them. Because talk always makes things better while accomplishing nothing.

Do, or do not. There is no try. Because it always comes back to movies.

Are people defined by what they do? Are people defined by who they are? Do people do what they do because of who they are? If you do nothing, are you a person? That’s right, see, I’m the one writing here. I control the words. I can make you feel inferior, and I can spout out personal wisdom like a self-made Jesus. Or I can make myself sound stupid and naïve. Without realizing it. And you can choose not to read it. And then you’ll never know what you missed. Even if what you missed is just this.

So, this doesn’t seem to be about anything. Which means I could put it in The Omen. Or I could leave it on my computer, saving it for when I write the last great American movie, before America ceases to exist. Saying “I wish I were a poet” is a stupid thing to say. If I really wanted to be a poet, I would define myself as a poet. That’s how I became a writer after all. Done.

Hey, Grandpa, maybe you can come back tomorrow and read it to me again?
As you wish.
Because with me, it always comes back to movies.