tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33762072011-06-08T01:43:22.452-05:00North FellOverexuberant.Northhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.comBlogger621100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-1140851781064149422006-02-24T23:04:00.000-06:002006-02-25T01:16:21.106-06:00I have always been the type of person that keeps my addictions deep under wraps. I do not want people to know, exactly, what it is I am addicted to, and how deep that addiction has its claws into me.When I was younger, I was the only person out of my social group that was an avid reader. And by avid reader, I really mean avid fantasy novel reader. My friends made fun of me mercilessly at times.InThe Nightmarehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01841212438872516268noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-1115868983402567992005-05-11T22:36:00.000-05:002005-05-11T22:36:23.406-05:00MarcI wrote an "I believe" post a long time ago. See it here. I am trying to get into the habit of writing more and more, and feel like it needs some sort of companion list.The Top Ten List of Things I Cannot Believe(1) I cannot believe that I have spent the overwhelming majority of my evening stuck on the driver's side of this hotel room's queen-sized bed. I got here right after work with a bag The Nightmarehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01841212438872516268noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-1113788484634050712005-04-17T20:01:00.000-05:002005-04-17T20:41:24.636-05:00The End of the RoadI can see the last five years of my life laid out behind me. The vertical ascents. The rocky landings. The traffic and the open stretches of Midwestern prairie extending out in all directions. The fast food drive-thrus. The suites and the shithole, flea-bag, ant-encrusted trenches that I occasionally had to live through for one evening at a time, four-sometimes-five nights a Northhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-1112153125838000332005-03-29T20:12:00.000-06:002005-03-29T21:35:05.990-06:00I remember a time - which time now seems so distant - when I was able to write and think and be without constantly feeling like I should be editing myself. When I felt free to say what I wanted to say, when I wanted to say it, how I wanted to say it. I used to write with individuals in mind - with actual pictures of people in actual places sitting in their chairs browsing through their routines, Northhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-1070907494937177842003-12-08T12:18:00.001-06:002003-12-08T12:26:45.780-06:00Vision and Invisibility
7.13.2003: Portland, Oregon
I know I’ve been to Portland before. My company sends me out to the Northwest all the time. But today, as I stared out of the window and gazed over the streets below us, I found that nothing looked familiar. I walked around the airport terminal as if I had never seen it in my life. At one point I thought I recognized one of the many coffee Northhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-1058572757727579832003-07-18T18:59:00.002-05:002003-07-21T20:17:50.146-05:00An Excerpt from a Dream
At work. Boxing things up to send them home. One box moves. One box screams out. In pain. Needs help. Open box-cutter. Pull big brown box forward. Slice along taped line carefully. An arm pops out.
"Frederico?"
It is him. For another week, Frederico has been imprisoned inside the box his wife has mailed him to work in. He has learned not to become bored.
"It's Thursday,Northhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-905064372003-03-11T00:15:00.000-06:002003-03-11T00:15:18.466-06:00And There Are Things
...that make no sense. Never. Speaking. Writing. Listening. Laying on the floor in a pile of random books, as if knowledge could be absorbed through the skin straight to the brain. Instantaneously. Rhythmically. Of French philosophes. Of foreign languages. Of astronomy and taxonomies and dichotomies of relationships, hips, hops, barleycorn drinks spilled in filthy kitchen Northhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-880226182003-01-25T17:21:00.000-06:002003-01-25T17:21:33.236-06:00!!!!! (2)
And you float quietly into pillows and sheets and blankets with the old, familiar smell ... like raindrops on a dry tongue, with the taste of quenched thirst draining away the sensation of touch and sight and sound.
Breathe in.
No face. No arms. No stomach to rub with two fingers like some groove on a record, again and again, around and around. Just lying still. Quiet. Breathless. Northhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-877185952003-01-20T02:23:00.000-06:002003-01-20T02:23:30.510-06:00!!!!!
You start gently, on a cloud, and drift away into the wilderness, the darkness around the edges of the great metropolis, slowly losing sight of everything that mattered thirty minutes before, everything that could matter for the moments to come.
And the car is speeding through the forests, through the thick jungle of motels and mini-marts, and the songs are on the stereo, pulsing in and Northhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-861532382002-12-17T00:13:00.000-06:002002-12-17T00:14:15.000-06:00Hick Love
And you, with your gropin' hands and your slobberin' mouth, wouldn't let it stop. You just had to keep on pluggin' and pullin' your way towards me and fitting things into place and dropping hints an' gestures an' five dollar bills on that diner's table and you would walk out, your hands in your pockets, a smile on your face, and the satisfication of a job well done written on your ass. Northhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-851730702002-11-27T12:45:00.000-06:002002-11-27T12:49:22.000-06:00Never Do Anything
The lights are dim, but not as dull as the muffled din that ricochets off the ceiling. Incandescent lights, neon posters tacked onto walls, barely visible around the corner, into the bedroom of whoever lives here – it’s all pointless – this place is dead. The party started at nine o’clock, apparently with two kegs and a lot of hope. The masses started gathering at nine fifteen,Northhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-844522162002-11-12T21:29:00.000-06:002002-11-20T20:13:27.000-06:00Walk
__ we want __ be.
Lilac on blue. Purple paisley pants were lying on the floor, and I was stretched out on the bed. No pants on. No socks on. Just a pair of boxers and a t-shirt. The sun was shining through the open window, and the wind was blowing in. It was brisk but not chilly. I had the comforter pulled up over my mouth. There was a clock on a nightstand, and a computer on a desk, and Northhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-828206432002-10-10T21:09:00.000-05:002002-10-10T21:09:11.016-05:00North Fell
This Is Your Name In Lights
I hope it feels nice.
Northhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-824538742002-10-03T00:18:00.000-05:002002-10-03T00:18:51.226-05:00North Fell
Lucky Boy
"And the third number in our Pick Three Game is ... 7!"
I stand off in the distance, behind the cameras, behind the lights, behind the wardrobe department. I have a cup of orange juice in one hand and a wadded up newspaper in my other hand. "Seven," I say to myself. "Not so good. Not so bad. A little above the mean, I would suppose." But I don't think much about it.
I get Northhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-818289452002-09-19T12:01:00.000-05:002002-09-20T04:54:58.000-05:00North Fell
Things
A silouehette. A sacrifice. A sad gaze into the ground, with drooping eyelids and crossed toes.
A clenched fist. A sticky bun. A hand in a pocket, feeling the dimes roll between the fingers as the feet shuffle in rhythm.
There are doors, and there are floors, and there are hearts that feel blood pump in and out, in and out, and out, and out, and down they go together.
"And Northhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-805860112002-08-22T16:47:00.000-05:002002-08-22T16:47:43.870-05:00North Fell
I'm going to be gone for a while. Check back every once in a while if you'd like, but I won't be writing much here at least until maybe October. I'm running short on creativity right now, and unfortunately I need some for a grade so I've got to conserve all that I can. Hope you're not mad. Smoochies.Northhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-799728732002-08-08T02:12:00.000-05:002002-08-08T02:12:01.170-05:00North Fell
Hi All. Welcome to the world of the incredible rambling man. The pressure cooker's been off the stove for a few weeks now, and I've been relaxing for the most part. Catching up on reading here, rejuvenating my video gaming abilities there, and so on and so on. I've really enjoyed myself and I'm kind of sad to see these lazy days disappear. I haven't been this untethered since I was a Northhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-796791672002-08-01T02:36:00.000-05:002002-08-01T02:36:21.210-05:00North Fell
"... I've Let This Shit Slide For Too Many Years, Too Many Times Now ..."
And I'm stronger.
Can I tell you all how much I hate this page? I do. I can't stand looking at it for the most part. This is the "honest" page. The page where I write down what I'm really thinking. It's a collection of things that I'm afraid to say out loud, and I promised myself from the beginning that I Northhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-794295622002-07-26T02:47:00.000-05:002002-07-26T02:47:32.433-05:00North Fell
Unrequited Love Is All I Need
About one year ago, almost to the week, I fell in love with a beautiful woman. I always hesitate to use the word "woman" when referring to someone of my own age group (in this case referencing a twenty-one year old, female college student), but I believe I dislike the use of the word "girl" even less because there is so much less emphasis on the whole ofNorthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-792088612002-07-20T23:43:00.000-05:002002-07-20T23:43:31.596-05:00North Fell
It's A War on Words
You just can't deal with crowds.
Or maybe you can. It's all a matter of perspective, I would imagine. Tonight is not a night where I am in any shape or mood to be out and about and around people. They annoy me. They frustrate me. They confuse me. I just arrived home from a bad 80's "B" movie party set where boys and girls were wearing fake plastic lei's and Northhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-787115662002-07-08T21:21:00.000-05:002002-07-08T21:21:40.596-05:00North Fell
Walter Downs, part 1
Walt Downs sat quietly on the bench, the collar of his somber gray trench coat turned up against the biting, late October wind. He, like the handful of other elderly folks that sat beside and around him, patiently awaited the city bus to the free clinic for a glaucoma checkup. His fears about his constantly fading eyesight were subdued once a month by a woman Northhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-782564892002-06-27T00:07:00.000-05:002005-05-11T21:42:33.136-05:00North FellThe Nihilist In You, and You, and You and You and YOUI read the previous post and I think 'shit! I'm turning into a nihilist! no! no! not me! i'm too cool to be a fucking nihilist!'. I assure you all I believe in things. Maybe not a whole lot of things, but I do believe in things. Maybe this could help.(1) I believe in tipping, and tipping well. Waitresses, valet guys, whomever, it Northhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-781641622002-06-24T23:42:00.000-05:002002-06-24T23:42:06.776-05:00North Fell
Let's Do A Line
Let's get real fucked up like cochroaches on cocaine walking through the summer snows baying at one another as they pass on into the nothing, the void, the shadows of the memory of their collected consciousness. Let's become unconscious. Let's fall apart in front of each other and mix the pieces around and play 52 organ pick up and stand at attention after every Northhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-778320382002-06-16T23:12:00.000-05:002002-06-16T23:12:44.503-05:00North Fell
Aghast
Mouth apart, feet wide open. If something's right in front of you and you can't see it, does that mean you aren't there? Where does energy originate? If it came down to it would you want to participate in the Black Hole Experiment?
You are standing on the pavement in the middle of July. To your left is a Citgo gas station, premium unleaded at one-twenty-two a gallon. It is a Northhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-776861402002-06-13T00:32:00.000-05:002002-06-13T00:32:49.660-05:00North Fell
This Bathrobe is Making My Skin Crawl
I've decided to write through sleepy eyes tonight. Everything seems so distant, so hazy, so undefined, and I can't help but lie on the bed with the comforter pulled over me from one side, so I can't stretch my legs straight out, and I can't quite move, but I can be content to sit and stare at the screen and listen and try to keep my eyes open. Northhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-773606302002-06-04T23:05:00.000-05:002002-06-04T23:05:36.000-05:00North Fell
Tomorrow I'll Be A Grave Man
And the cup runneth over ... the cup spilt on the concrete floor, between the tiny piles of cedar ashes and cigarette dust flicked from the long extinguished smoking stick of Jenny Jeni, sitting quietly in the corner talking to herself about death, her death. Her companions nod in acknowledgement from time to time as she hits on various points, both good Northhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-773100222002-06-03T19:47:00.000-05:002002-06-03T19:47:32.746-05:00North Fell
The End of the World As You -- No
Bitch, I'm gone. Kill you.
I spent a long, long, long day and previous night alone, on the plane, in the car, on the bed in the hotel, and all I think about is me, and more me, and what I've done and whether or not it was wrong, or right, or misdirected or well-intentioned, and I don't know, but "I try" or "I tried" is about the best I can come up Northhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-771315812002-05-30T00:14:00.000-05:002002-05-30T00:14:36.380-05:00North Fell
The Return of the Jitterbug
I've written about four, maybe five, mediocre postings since that fateful B-Day when I was "Busted" for once and for all. I hate, more than my busting companion, the fact that I have this here page. I hate that I feel like I have that much to say, and I hate that I don't feel absolutely, 100% comfortable putting it down on that other page, and I hate the Northhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-768674582002-05-22T22:12:00.000-05:002002-05-22T22:12:39.603-05:00North Fell
The Third Damn Time - Goddammit, Something Please Come Out
I have sat and stared at this screen for the last three days, and I've tried and tried to put something down, and I can't. I just cannot do it. I've been thinking a lot of themes and ideals and ideas for things I'd like to start working on this summer. One of the major ones that keeps coming up again and again is death. Why? Northhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-766462452002-05-16T23:41:00.000-05:002002-05-16T23:41:32.833-05:00North Fell:
The Pear Shaped Pussywillow
Maybe such a title is bad, no? Fuck it.
I've got that terribly tired feeling going on right about now, and I don't want to write, but for some reason every time I even so much as think about this page I feel guilty. God, I can't reason it out. I don't know why that is. I have that other healthy blog, and every seems to love it, but no one's really coming Northhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-764862982002-05-13T01:02:00.000-05:002002-05-13T01:02:43.116-05:00teloFh l:Nr
Violins as the Devil:
Ask Sir Paul McCartney how he felt about those damned string arrangements in "The Long And Winding Road". I'm sure he'll ramble on in that hackneyed accent of his about "damned producers"/"fucking hacks"/or, most likely, "fucking bandmates". Me? I love my bandmates, all 14 (or so) of them. I've had a good time, and a long enough run, but it's been over for quiteNorthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-763236122002-05-08T19:30:00.000-05:002002-05-08T19:30:44.436-05:00North Fell:
I Sang Until The Throat Hurt, But Then I Sang Some More:
Huh? You'd think that it's a bad idea writing a title before you write a story, right? Maybe. Maybe not. I don't care, to be frank. I like the titles. I like the stories, too. I had a big plan last night -- write a huge thing about Braid's The Age Of Octeen and how influential it could've been, or should've been, and how it Northhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-762079842002-05-05T23:21:00.000-05:002002-05-05T23:23:19.000-05:00North Fell:
I Guess We Want Things To Stay The Same --
I'm in a terrible mood. Absolutely, positively one of the worst funks this down-trodden young man has seen since he got out of 'Nam (figuratively, of course). I hate to admit it, and I hate to be stuck inside of it, but you should see the songs I've got queued up on the ol' mp3 player right now, all Beatles tunes, all sappy and sorry and Northhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-761563322002-05-04T11:29:00.000-05:002002-05-04T11:29:21.006-05:00North Fell:
Oh! Goddamn! I am in that disgusting, filthy, horrible moment where I have a block of things in my head that I want to get out, but they stop somewhere near my fingers, and I look at the page and there is nothing there. There are no thoughts, there are no feelings, there are no concrete sayings. I can't understand what it is that I want to say, and I can't understand how to get Northhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-757993182002-04-25T00:44:00.000-05:002002-04-25T00:48:28.000-05:00North Fell:
You're not fooling anyone --
Have I ever told you that I have an unhealthy obsession with legal pads? You know the kind that I'm talking about -- yellow pages, flip from the top over, nice and long. Are you feeling me? Can you understand it? No? I didn't expect you to. I've probably been through about ten or eleven over the course of the past year, from the traveling kind to the Northhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-753378152002-04-12T15:43:00.000-05:002002-04-12T15:43:29.970-05:00North Fell:
When you watch out for the left, the right is bound to get you -- Enjoy -
Madeline
Madeline-
All alight with fixtures
Bright enough to cause a twinkle in a female’s eyes
How many pale, hungry screams can you pack away?
Fit every downcast chin
All the unfelt replies to strangers’ demands
And wool-knit sweaters that cover stains on chests too constricted with regret
Are you Northhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-751971182002-04-09T02:37:00.000-05:002002-04-09T02:37:35.000-05:00North Fell
Music, Its Redeeming Qualities, and A Leap of Faith:
"Turn that shit off!"
"Who the fuck are you?"
"I'm your guilty conscience, coming back in the guise of an emaciated old man, telling you that everything you like is crap, and you might as well stop listening to it now, because you're never going to be able to find copies of it when you're older, when technology has moved on."
So Northhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-751517692002-04-07T23:12:00.000-05:002002-04-07T23:12:02.090-05:00North Fell
A Confrontation With A Well Known Person, Better Known As Myself:
If you'll look down, you'll see an imaginary conversation that took place between electrical connections in a brain. The connections were slower than usual, having been bombarded by alcohol, and unneeded inhalations of tobacco smoke, over the course of about six hours, on a Friday night, surrounded by many other Northhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-751018372002-04-06T03:04:00.000-06:002002-04-07T21:56:39.000-05:00North Fell
Consider this a deconstruction:
"You know (--) you could've had me."
(--)
"Well ... it's true."
The party seethes in and out, the music alternating between (--) obnoxious (--) to (--) subdued.
I don't care, I say.
"You should."
(--) You threw me away. (--) Do you have any idea how sick I made myself (--)?
"No."
I didn't think so. (--)
"So ..."
So what? So ... you're just Northhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-113671132002-04-01T23:21:00.000-06:002002-04-01T23:21:32.233-06:00North Fell:
I am so hyper right now. Like ridiculously so.
"Calm down."
No way. Absolutely impossible. I want to scream, I'm in such an overactive mood. I want to run upside down on the ceiling, and fall down, and break my wrist, just so I can go to the hospital, just because it'd be something to do. I want to run in front of a car, with my middle fingers both raised, and jump on the hood, Northhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-112426532002-03-29T02:23:00.000-06:002002-03-29T02:23:54.840-06:00North Fell:
I could tell you how I'm feeling at this moment, and you'd probably think less of me, but what do I care? You are a series of one's and zero's to me, as I am to you.
Right now, I am a hopeless romantic. I want, more than anything else, at this moment, to be alone with a beautiful, passionate, charming woman snuggled deep in my arms, whispering to each other over a pillow. I want Northhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-111035402002-03-25T11:33:00.000-06:002002-03-25T18:15:09.000-06:00North Fell:
It's dangerous times. Dangerous times, I tells ya.
I do this thing where I proclaim something inferior, or something unneccesary. You know the drill -- gross overgeneralization, gross miscalculations, etc, and the whole deal. Then, I fall in love with whatever it is I dismissed. Months later for the most part. Sometimes it takes a year or two. Suddenly I find myself fixated on Northhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-110259002002-03-22T20:48:00.000-06:002002-03-22T20:48:10.820-06:00North Fell:
I'm starting to stretch it on the picture front. Apologies --
I can hear voices upstairs.
"Do you think that any of us -- anyone that we know, anywhere, will ever be able to have sex with someone that looks as hot as that chick in that one commercial does?" We all laugh, because, obviously, the answer is no. Why does the media stretch the notion or object of beauty so rail thin? Northhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-109888662002-03-21T18:45:00.000-06:002002-03-21T18:45:21.543-06:00North Fell
Thank you for all the nice comments. Much appreciated --
I used to think that bold, off color, or in your face statements should be followed by the speaker yelling, "Exclamation Point!" Why not?
"I have genital warts! Exclamation Point!"
That way there would be no misinterpretation. Everyone would get the gist of the statement, immediately. No beating about the breakers.
"I justNorthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-109556762002-03-20T21:32:00.000-06:002002-03-20T21:32:19.443-06:00North Fell:
I'm playing through the pain --
I was thinking about sex today. Sex. It's such a great little word. It's got the 's' and the 'e', which are very common, very average. Everyone does it, right? Everyone, assuming they have sexual organs, has sex. It's just something that we do. It's natural. But look at that 'x' tacked on to the end of the word. Look at it, the 'x', sitting there Northhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-109253892002-03-20T02:51:00.000-06:002002-03-20T02:52:48.000-06:00North Fell:
This is very much the scene if you drive down the interstates in the Midwestern United States. Truckers and overpasses. Corn and soybeans. White folk and other folk. Conformity at its finest.
"The 3/5 Compromise was retarded. Did they not have souls?" she asks as she sits on the couch, scribbling notes on a looseleaf piece of paper, trying to balance a notebook on one knee, and a Northhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-108868552002-03-18T23:59:00.000-06:002002-03-18T23:59:57.790-06:00North Fell:
This one's going to be short. Sorry.
You are Socrates. You destroy the past. You clear wide paths for new knowledge. Welcome to your world, you have just created it.
I sometimes wish that I had pursued a career in advertising. That was actually on the list as a child. Very much so. I had a very close friend growing up. Our last names both started with the letter H. We were alwaysNorthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-108510272002-03-18T01:55:00.000-06:002002-03-18T01:55:40.420-06:00North Fell:
This is my little brother, on a boat.
I want the world to open itself for that little kid. To me he'll always be little. He'll always be the pint sized Twerp sitting next to me in the lazy boy, both of us wearing Chicago Bears outfits, it being around playoffs time during the American football season. He was probably three, and I was around ten. We were smiling, me being much Northhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-108354632002-03-17T16:24:00.000-06:002002-03-17T16:26:27.000-06:00North Fell:
I just want to drown in a sea of G major chords right now.
I had a whole rant about music, and how much I hate it, and how very much I love it, all at the same time, qeued up, ready to post, but I thought better of it. It just didn't make any sense. Once again, refer to High Fidelity in instances such as this. To paraphrase -- Was it our misery that lead us to listen to pop music? Northhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-108053542002-03-16T15:53:00.000-06:002002-03-16T15:53:13.820-06:00North Fell:
I think I'd like to document the rest of my life in pictures. Maybe I should get a camera first. I really have absolutely no idea what I'm doing with it. All I know is that, on occasion, one or two photos from my little disposable cameras comes back looking alright. I don't know. Depends on the month, I guess. If I were a rich man, I'd bring a camera around with me at all times, Northhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-107812852002-03-15T18:37:00.000-06:002002-03-15T18:37:20.130-06:00North Fell:
Sunlight. That's the Sun in that picture. Glad to have you aboard.
Waters may be choppy here for a while. I've been trying to think about what it is I'd really like to say with this website. I know there are a scant few people reading this, for which I say "thank you" much for being interested. I'm thinking about telling my parent's about this site. I think they'd like to see it, Northhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-107479792002-03-14T21:02:00.000-06:002002-03-14T21:02:49.316-06:00North Fell:
I have scanned more pictures. Rejoice --
I haven't come to too many crossroads in my life. Other than silly little growing pains, and minor adjustments after departing the proverbial nest, there hasn't been too much in the way of Left v. Right -- though I will lean towards left almost one hundred percent of the time. Is this something to be thankful for, this never having to Northhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-107119732002-03-13T18:30:00.000-06:002002-03-13T19:50:29.000-06:00North Fell:
I may have already used this picture. Sincerest apologies, I currently only have twelve on file --
"Did you hear about Chucky's cousin?"
"No. Who's that?"
"He's this guy that grew up in San Bernadino, right at the base of the mountains out there, off of the 215. He had some major psychological problems, like a short term memory that went in and out from time to time, at varying Northhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-106754342002-03-12T19:43:00.000-06:002002-03-12T19:43:38.950-06:00North Fell:
"Say, King of the Sea, how have you been?" I ask, looking immediately to my right, at an attractive Asian woman, not expecting an answer.
"Oh, you know. Day in, day out, I'm here, holding my water-spitting fish. It's a living."
He turns his head, slowly, in my direction, dust and small rocks splitting off, and falling into the fountain. His shoulders creak as the neck muscles Northhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-106324862002-03-11T16:42:00.000-06:002002-03-11T16:42:35.920-06:00North Fell:
I'm afeared I may be growing up too quickly. I may already be past the prime of my "cool" days. I may have never had any "cool" days. In fact, we'll just assume the latter, and discard the notion of the former. I think that I may have always been afraid that I wasn't cool. For the most part, I believe it stems back to my neighbor friend, Kyle, as young tots, growing up together, Northhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-106059732002-03-10T22:14:00.000-06:002002-03-10T22:14:06.593-06:00North Fell:
"Should I take a picture of you while you throw the ball?"
"Yeah. Why not?"
I grab my camera and squat down on the wood. It doesn't feel right. I'm no photographer, but I know that a simple squat won't do. It feels like I'm going to the bathroom when I crouch like this. Minus the toilet, of course. I think I'll lay down.
"Hey," everyone yells. "What're you doing?" Their Northhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-105799732002-03-10T01:35:00.000-06:002002-03-10T01:35:57.780-06:00North Fell:
"Get up."
Who said that?
"Get up, asshole. Get up."
What? Where am I? Who's speaking to me?
"I said 'get up' you lazy son-of-a-bitch. Get up."
I roll over, open my eyes, slowly, and I squint. A thin red light pulses back and forth across the alarm clock. It is 7:02am. I am in a hotel. "Who's talking?"
The alarm clock pulsates, and noise bolts out of its speaker. "Me, dipshit.Northhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-105708912002-03-09T19:02:00.000-06:002002-03-09T19:02:46.713-06:00North Fell:
The Fox News Channel blares in the background, intermingling with Outkast's Stankonia, eminating two rooms to the other side of my door. One tells you the news, the other tells you how it is. I just sit here, staring at the screen, trying to think of something important to write. It's hard to do when it's cold outside, when you look out of your window and only see pavement, in Northhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-105277612002-03-08T11:15:00.000-06:002002-03-08T11:15:48.296-06:00Norht Fell:
An excerpt from a longer piece, sans the picture --
You think you’re hungry when you’re bored. It happens all the time. You have nothing to look at, and the computer screen is blank, mocking you, willing you to not write anything. And then you get hungry and feel the need to go to a Taco Bell and order a Chili Cheese Burrito. So you put on your pants, and you grab your rental car Northhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-105088352002-03-07T18:05:00.000-06:002002-03-07T18:05:15.303-06:00North Fell:
The sky outside, right now, is an ugly grey, devoid of life, devoid of character. Sometimes I drive, at sunset, from my former home, to my current home. I drive west, into the setting sun, into the last minutes of the day. I stretch time. I have lived longer than my contemporaries. I see the sun cascade slowly down, burning dully, but elegantly, and I see the pinks expand across Northhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-104681212002-03-06T18:24:00.000-06:002002-03-06T18:24:49.513-06:00North Fell
I've always loved pictures of inanimate objects. There's a certain beauty to some of it, sometimes. Maybe it's that these balls were sitting there, serene, colorful, and only moments later they were hurled as hard as someone possibly could throw them, as straight as possible, at solid objects. And then there was a collision, and there was a loud, cracking noise, and the more damage Northhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3376207.post-104441652002-03-06T03:55:00.000-06:002002-03-06T18:23:45.000-06:00North Fell:
I am an anonymous person. This is an anonymous forum.
I grew up in the heartland. I grew up where cornfields stretch out for miles on the side of the highways and interstates, and the only thing that seperates them from each other on occasion are soybean fields. And I liked growing up there, because the town I lived in for the first eighteen years of my life was cozy. It was smallNorthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11050907935775278749noreply@blogger.com0