Me?

But who is me?
I wish I could answer.
I've always wished I could answer.
Why not now?
I'll give it a shot.
Me? 
In five words or less?
I just like to read. 
It closes my eyes; 
opens my mind. 
It turns off my ears; 
revs my heart. 

Reading.
Everything.
Kinda neat, really.

?

Maybe I will look back at this shit one day
all this shit, and
it will make complete and utter
sense
But for now,
Universe 1, Dan 0

Coffee Shop

Is there anything more beautiful in life than an elderly couple enjoying a cup of coffee and a biscuit every Friday evening at the local coffee shop?

Clarity vs. Emptiness

Thoughts upstairs are honed with exact clarity
Speech makes the words fatty, jumbled, unnatural, and empty

Others don't think the way I do. Shared experience?
Then their speech pulls the rug out from under me.
They know more and their lives mean more

Biting Off More than I Can Chew, Better than Starving

I put quite a few things on my plate this year. I'm the President of my Scholarship Hall at the University of Kansas, I am a columnist for the University Daily Kansan, I am an avid blogger, a full-time student enrolled in 17 credit hours, and I am training for my first marathon in October.

But I am also a growing boy, and growing boys need to eat. There is a lot on my plate, but who's saying I won't want seconds?

I'll leave you with two of my favorite Henry-quotes:

"When everything seems to be going against you, remember that an airplane takes off against the wind, not with it." -- Henry Ford

"I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms." -- Henry David Thoreau

Speechless

I came across this from "The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows." It's truly amazing how much power words can have. This is nothing short of mind-blowing (to me at least).

sonder

n. the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own—populated with their own ambitions, friends,routines, worries and inherited craziness—an epic story that continues invisibly around you like an anthill sprawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to thousands of other lives that you’ll never know existed, in which you might appear only once, as an extra sipping coffee in the background, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, as a lighted window at dusk.

The Song of the Cicadas

August is a scene of change. A scene played with the accompaniment of the singing Cicadas.

Cicadas, for those who haven't caught sight, are peanut-sized insects with wings, large, red eyes in the locus where ears might be better served (on the side of the head), and a protective shell with vibrant colors. Reds, greens, yellows, and oranges.

In Jean de la Fontaine's collection of fables "Les fables de la La Fontaine", Fontaine writes "La Cigale et la Fourmi" (The Cicada and the Ant), based on one of Aesop's fables. In the story, the cicada spends the entire summer singing while the ant, in direct contrast, stores away food in preparation for the ensuing winter months. The Cicada finds itself ill-prepared when the cold days arrive, coming to represent insouciance in the animal kingdom.

The Cicada fails to think ahead, essentially singing itself to death.

There are several ways this fable can be interpreted. Should we lead a life like the ant? Resourceful, forward-thinking, and a little fretful? Maybe compulsively fretful? Or should we live life like the Cicada? Carefree and in the moment.

As August hits and winter drops its first hints of rearing its ugly head, the Cicada sees its imminent demise. August is when the Cicada sings loudest. It won't go out with a whimper. It'll meet its end, but not without being heard.

The Cicada molts, and when it does, it leaves behind a brown, hard shell that blends in with the environment.

While the first of January is considered the start of the new year, August 1 is a turn of the calendar in its own right.

August sneaks up on us like that long-lost high school friend you run into at a party. The moment you see him or her, it strikes you how much you've both changed and how much time has passed since you last saw each other.

Summer habits suddenly seem trivial, with the coming of August 1. Life picks up its pace a notch and a half to the metronome of the high school marching band and drum-line thumping along. Anticipation builds. Thump. Thump thump. Thump. Thump Thump. The Cicadas keep singing.

Old, familiar faces look fresh, new, and vigorous. The winding running trails through wooded forests are littered with crunchy, brown leaves. Crunch. Crunch Crunch. Crunch. Crunch Crunch.

It's the beginning of the end around us: plants begin to wilt under the late-summer sun, the foliage begins to redden and brown and fall to the ground, and strong scents of dead grass waft through the warm air, but it's the beginning of the beginning for us: an all but fresh slate at school and work.

As we see life around us begin to fight a losing battle, we humans come closer in self-defense.

After the late and last harvest of the year, we gather in a period of Thanksgiving. In the dead of Winter, we light up our homes and spruces and sing carols and give gifts.

We can often lose touch with those around us during the summer. Everything is easy and comfortable. There is no shortage of sunlight or time spent poolside. The Cicada just sits back and sings.

But Autumn helps put a little fear back into us. Like the ant. Fear motivates.

We come closer, and work harder. All the while, the Cicada knows what's coming. Buzz. Buzz Buzz. Buzz. Buzz Buzz.