Thursday, December 30, 2004

Love makes us happy. Unrequited love makes us babbling overzealous fools. Its never more obvious than in the rhythm and blues songs of old. Songs of literal begging for forgiveness. Songs in which the lead singer promises to do better. Pleads for another chance. There's something about those songs that really clicks with us as a whole. Otherwise, such music would long have been retired to the LP shelves in antique stores. As it is, the music moves as much as it did in its relative hey day, because there's something about a grown man begging, pleading, crying out for just a moment of some wronged young woman's attention. I give you exhibits A and B. A is lyrics, lyrics from a powerful song. The man? Dumped. His methodology? He's so pathetic he doesn't even bother to sing a good deal of the song. The end result? Good music. Here's the lyrics. Courtesy, of course, of

Have You Seen Her?

One month ago today
I was happy as a lark
But now I go for walks
To the movies - maybe to the park

And have a seat on the same old bench
To watch the children play (huh)
You know, tomorrow is their future
But to me, just another day

They all gather around me
They seem to know my name
We laugh, tell a few jokes
But it still doesnt ease my pain

I know I cant hide from a memory
Though day after day Ive tried
I keep sayin shell be back
But today again I lied

Verse 1:

Oh, I see her face everywhere I go
On the street, and even at the picture show
Have you seen her?
Tell me, have you seen her?

Verse 2:

Oh, I hear her voice as the cold winds blow
In the sweet music on my radio
Have you seen her?
Tell me, have you seen her?


Why, oh, why
Did she have to leave and go away [2: oh, yeah]
Oh-oh-oh, Ive been used to havin someone to lean on
And Im lost
Baby, Im lost (Oh)

[Repeat verse w/wordless vocal first two lines (2X)]

Verse 3:

Oh, she left her kiss upon my lips
But left that break within my heart
Have you seen her?
Tell me, have you seen her?

Verse 4:

Oh, I see her hand reaching out to me
Only she can set me free
Have you seen her?
Tell me, have you seen her?

[Repeat bridge]

[Repeat verse w/wordless vocal first 2 lines (4X)]

(spoken over 2nd and 3rd repeats):

As another day comes to an end
Im lookin for a letter or somethin
Anything that she would send
With all the people I know
Im still a lonely man
You know, its funny
I thought I had her in the palm of my hand

Coda [repeat to fade]:

Have you seen her
Tell me, have you seen her (tell me, have you seen her?)

And of course, Exhibit B. I give you, the Temptations. Masters of their craft, they had two lead singers. One was a romancer, the other was a begger. Eddie Kendricks and Dennis Ruffin respectively. Eddie promised and delivered the world, while David, David just promised not to mess up again. This song is David, asking just to hear her say she forgives him. Enjoy.
All I Need - The Temptations

My mood?

You know, I really don't know. . .

Wednesday, December 29, 2004

Saw this, stole this, and here we are.

You Are the Individualist


You are sensitive and intuitive, with others and yourself.

You are creative and dreamy... plus dramatic and unpredictable.

You're emotionally honest, real, and easily hurt.

Totally expressive, others always know exactly how you feel.

Monday, December 27, 2004

Ever wonder where you'd be if you'd just done something, one thing, differently? I remember right after I had a car accident, having crawled out of the rubble, and looking at my car, wishing, just wishing, that I'd just pulled over and looked down to see what that noise was that I'd heard. I might still be driving that car today. The funny thing about looking back is that it never does any good. It just makes you feel like even more of a loser, and even more of a reject, because not only did you fail miserably to make what is obviously a clearly successful decision, but now you have the long road of consquence ahead. There is nothing more irritating that your nagging faults following you, haunting you. All the mistakes you've made, all the things you wish you'd never done, and all the things you know, I mean YOU KNOW, you should've done, all past, unalterable and at the same time still there, making you wish you could alter them. You can't forget them, you can't change them, and no matter what people tell you about remembering to avoid repeating, the sweet feeling of release, of forgetting would be so much better. Sometimes its these feelings of regret that guide us into even more regret, simply to wash away the emotions of yesterday and open new wounds afresh.

Some would argue that learning from our mistakes isn't pointless, that in fact it is our mistakes that mold us, shape us, and teach us, as well as guide us. To these I would say we don't learn from mistakes, we learn from the harsh consequences they bring. And often times, that "learning" is simply us remembering the pain avoiding it. For instances like touching a hot stove or diving into an empty pool. Living through the pain, of course, teaches us not to do that, but in complex situations, when there literally is nothing that will be repeated or remain static in the future, its kind of a moot point. Next time around, I won't have to worry about that guy getting upset and beating me senseless if I just walk away right? Seems straightforward, but what if I succeed in intimidating the next person who challenges me, but when I walk away, he feels brave enough to attack me, because I turned my back on him. What if, by walking away, I leave myself open to being shot, or stabbed? Well previous experience tells me staying will lead to a fight, but does it tell me leaving won't? In each situation, its really dependent on the person, and who can really judge a person? We change as often as our clothing, and our situations dictate to us how we will react, which means nothing that we do is predictable. Sure you can guess how I'll respond to certain situations, but there's so many variables that it would be impossible to know exactly how I'd act. And that's the problem, in my mind, with human communications. Variables. Did she smile, did she laugh, was it a polite laugh or a full thrown belly laugh? Was it for my benefit or for hers? Can I take her at face value, or is she a complete hypocrite? Why did she cover her nose, is my breath smelly, or some other part of me, or does she feel a sneeze coming on? Is she embarassed, is she angry, does she know that I didn't mean to say what I said? Did that offend her? Why? What exactly did the offending? Could I say it again? Did she accept my apology? Am I chewing with my mouth open again? BAAH!! All of that for less fifteen minutes of conversation and interaction, and in the long run, nothing is accomplished and nothing is gained. Why? Because many of our behaviors are fronts, clever rouses to make us think that someone else is an incredible person in need of our attention and/or affections. So even though you may spend hours, days, weeks, months, years with someone, you may never know them until they break down and open up. But not too much, you have to open up and gain trust, but you can't open up until they gain trust, because too much and you will regret it and that finally brings us back here to where we started. Regret.

I regret that I even thought this.

Prox Map Sort - The Metric System Favorite song line of all time: "You're more difficult than bubble sort." This is what happens when programmers do music. See Devo for more.

My mood?


Friday, December 24, 2004

So I just keep singing my song,
because me and you will never belong,
together in sentences or phrases,
so if I seem in a daze its
just me reacting to what will be,
will be que sera sera,
the crowd cheers hurrah hurrah,
and we get thumbs up down and in between,
it seems,
the best get and the worse get dreams,
and that's really the very thing,
that boils my blood,
that forms my mud,
into pies, cakes, delicatessen shapes,
eclairs, long johns and pastries,
so much sugar I took over the french bakeries,
turned them into mockeries, or maybe fakeries,
since they mocked me once before.
Like a dog in front of the meat store
front-ing like he's really already ate,
I stand in front and watch everybody's fate,
unravel and unfold in front of my eyes,
kicking and screaming because I know its lies,
no one can be that happy with someone,
and my battle stays fought but never won,
What have I done?
To alienate that which I wanted,
to the extent that I've un-done it.
My effort and work
is emblazoned on man made fibrous shirts,
quitters never win, winners never quit,
what, that's it?
Your motto's such that you've got to win,
instead of being second best in the end,
I've got to destroy my enemies,
relish in their loss and defeats?
Not my plan, I'm not the man
So tell me I'm not the one, tell me my job is done,
and I'll laugh in your face,
and take that remote from your place.
In one fell swoop you'd get your taste,
and I'd be the one that wish YOU'D get erased,
or traced,
so we can all keep your pace,
your pace,
your pace,

Strangers - Portishead

My mood?

Pretty mellow actually. . .

Wednesday, December 22, 2004

Its another day without/another day within/a day when I can begin

So here we are. Wednesday, or whatever day this is. Okay, not a lot of time. I had a good thought or two, but I've lost them since this weekend.

But here's what's been happening: I got and cooked a ham.

Okay. That little section is over. Here's something I wrote.

My cornbread skillets,
made of iron, covered in grease,
formed by and touched by heat.
I make my cornbread on Thursdays,
and I make it last through the week.
My cornbread skillets,
if I told you I was in love with them,
you'd think I was bit crazy.
But I love what they are,
and they love me back unconditional
not cold hearted or judgemental,
they give my bread shape and form,
and I give them the oven that makes them warm.
I butter my cornbread skillets,
and it cooks it into my bread,
and when it comes down to it,
me and my cornbread skillets,
makes sure I keep my cool, make sure I keep my head.
Cornbread, ain't nothing wrong with that,
its what makes me tick tock and keeps me intact.
Passed down from my mother,
and her mother, and maybe her mother's mother,
or maybe we got them at a shelf in Walmart,
the real deal is that we've never been apart.
I got cornbread skillets,
and for those with it,
I'll bake you some bread.

We Live in Brooklyn Baby - Roy Ayers

My mood?

Hugs for everyone!!

Friday, December 17, 2004

She said I'll throw myself away/they're just photos after all

Taking advantage of free time. Its a fun thing. Anyway, this is what it is, and that is what it was, so don't take time to outthink me. Such is the essence of Javann.

I've been working on my accents, and I've been using it to mingle with people I don't know. I don't know why, but its fun to have people believe that I'm from Liverpool and that I'm here studying psychology. Or that I'm from a farm in Middle Tennessee and I grew up working the land. Fun stuff. I've not tried Scottish yet, but I'm sure it'll happen soon. I need to pick up a German accent and a better Northern accent, like Canadian, and Bostonian. The ultimate test of my skills will be when someone I meet is actually from the place I'm saying I'm from. Will I be able to muddle and confuse them enough that they realize that I didn't grow up in Liverpool? Or in middle Tennessee. Who says life isn't interesting?

Tuesday, December 14, 2004

And if you want me/I'm just a crosshair/I'm just a shot away from you

Ladies, gentleman, boys girls of all ages. I'm tired. I've been working working working day and night, OW! Sorry. But a dubloon to the man (or woman =)) who can tell what song I'm quoting and which artist did it. Anyway, while working at um. . .work last night, I wrote a few poems. Here's a couple I wrote.

Don't let them see you bleed,
don't let them see you cry.
Laugh at their machinations,
laugh until you die.

Don't let them win,
Make sure they don't control you,
and if they don't lose in the end,
don't let them console you.

You've got a message,
they will tell you its all a lie.
A thought so treacherous,
a false good that's missing an eye.

I've got to run now,
I hope you somehow survive.
No I'm not sure how,
But somehow we'll all stay alive.

And here's the next:

You're a failure, nobody wants you,
You'll go to the grave, a human monster.
What can you do, do about it?
Just put it out your head, forget about it.
Uninflate your dreams, they never mattered,
Drown all your hopes, you've never mattered.
The time you've wasted, its not coming back.
You're not welcome, so why don't you pack?
Take all your things, and be sure to leave,
Make all your promises, they're all so empty.
Just like you, so quit before you start.
Another mistake, just might crush your heart.
You've got questions? Well no one asked you.
You've got answers? Well no one asked you!
Why can't you be, more like someone else?
Why can't you be, anyone but yourself.
You should hate yourself, every else does.
Now be on your way, you just a once-was.

Talking To A Brick - The Cooper Temple Clause

My mood?

Don't let them console you.

Friday, December 10, 2004

I'm crazy, I'm deranged/this reality I live's so strange/and I just want to lay down to sleep/I just want to lay down and sleep

Ladies and gentlemen. Boys and girls of all ages. I'm Javann. That's right, Javann. Two A's and two N's. Now if you'll excuse me I'll go be Javann somewhere else. I've got a headache, and a juxtaposition if you will, because I feel like banging my head on the wall. If only I didn't have a headache. Anyway, here's my chosen mp3 of the day. Enjoy.

We Used To Be Friends - The Dandy Warhols

My mood?

Unbridled power shall never be mine. . .

Wednesday, December 08, 2004

What is it that makes us choose who we shall be? Some of us want strive to be feared, so we spend hours in the gym, training our bodies to become the ultimate machine, capable of destroying others. Others want to be desired, so they adorn themselves with all manners of chemicals and metals, all in hopes of being some unattainable treasure, some rare goods that shall forever remain out of the reach of all who see them. What drives us to be the good one, the bad one, or even the witty one? Why do we try to portray ourselves as certain types of people? What does that portrayal reveal about you?

I can remember back in high school (shudder) when I went through the different phases of who I wanted to be. In ninth grade, I wanted to be the tough guy, the guy that everyone feared, in tenth grade, I wanted to be the guy that all the girls wanted. In eleventh, I wanted to be the social outcast who was so above all society that no one even mattered to him. Finally, my senior year, I wanted to be the class clown, the guy that everyone liked because he was funny. Oddly enough, though I went through all of those different phases, in the end, what I ended up being was a little bit of all those things. I like being the tough guy, the different guy, or the guy all the girls like. I don't mind being the clown, the guy that makes you laugh. All of those things became an embodiment of my personality. But why? What makes me want to be those things? Friends? Family? The media? The world may never know. And neither will I. But the truth of the matter is that no matter what I, or anyone else for that matter, may be, I can still say with confidence that I'm me. And that counts for something right?

Tuesday, December 07, 2004

I know what you're thinking/this boat is sinking/and I want off/how could something so soft/be so hard/to push away?

I feel horrible. Probably because I've been out in the rain the past few mornings, and I've developed what feels like a allergic reaction to someone's carpet. Oh yeah, that's right, I did sleep on someone's carpet, which made me congested. Then again, it was my fault for being there, and this person was kind enough to extend hospitality to me instead of making me sleep in the car. So I really can't blame him for my predicament. Either way, I've been sleeping and drinking tea (ugh. . .I feel old) in hopes that my nasal passages shall open up and I shall breathe easily once more. I think I have to work tonight. I really can't remember if I do or not. Where's the Earl Grey?

My mood?

Stupid allergies. . .

Friday, December 03, 2004

I have found/all that shimmers in this world is sure to fade/away. . .again

A short note before we get to the meatier parts of today's blog:

Life is weird. Life is unexpected. Never assume that it will be otherwise. To quote a band, everything that shimmers in this world is sure to fade. All that shines today will likely be tarnished tomorrow. If you find something, someone, that maintains its shine, cherish it, treasure it, but while putting in on a pedestal, remember that the higher you place such things, the more corrosive the air in which it is.

But enough of that. Today's a reprint of a story I posted on Jerm's site. Sorry, if you've read it already. Enjoy.

He stared at the rain as it came down, wondering if it would ever end. As he looked down at the overhang below him, he could see the smoke drifting heavenward. "I didn't even realize smoke would rise during rain," he thought to himself. So many people throwing their lives away to drugs and the vices of the world. Sad. What time was it? He looked down at his watch and responded in disgust to the digital readout. Thirty more minutes before art class. Art class was the highlight of his day, the only class which really challenged him. All his other classes were challenging because of his pupils, never because of his teachers. It was all a bore really. Sadly enough, he would be quitting art next year, all because of the misunderstanding between him and his teacher.

The noise from the lunchroom drifted down the hall, making him vaguely wish he could go into that lunchroom and have people laugh and talk with him. He laughed to himself as he imagined the other children viewing him as a friend, or even as just an equal. Looking upwards, he noticed the ceiling. Something about it enraptured him, he didn't quite know what captured his attention up there, just that something did. He stood up and stretched his hand out to touch it. Too far away. He jumped. The tile he touched jumped up and away from his hand, leaving an empty space in its place.

A thought crossed his mind. The space looked like the beginning of something. The beginning of. . .a letter. The letter J maybe, and then even an A and then V. Why, he could put his entire name. . .no wait. His smile fell as he realized his name wouldn't fit. He'd have to go all down the hall. But. . .his initials. . .since a name would be indemnifying anyway. . .and initials. He began to work.

Twenty minutes later, he had a sizable J. And a problem. Robert, the fat, overbearing, super macho security guard, came around the corner, yelling at him to 'return everything back to the way its supposed to before he made sure that he spent time with a wooden paddle.' "Big man," he thought, "threatening a fifteen year old." He begin undoing that which he had done.

Suddenly he slipped. He didn't know what happened really, but as he fell towards the plate glass window he had been looking outside of earlier, he realized this collision wasn't going to work out so well for him. How did they do it on TV? Oh yeah, they tensed their arms up and pushed through. Oh well.

The crash alerted everyone to his predicament, and as he felt the pain in his leg, realized that he had bitten off more than perhaps he could chew. Robert came back around the corner, and stared at him in horror as he pulled his body back into the window his left arm. His right arm didn't seem to work right, and it felt funny. As he looked down, he was shocked to see blood flowing from his arm. The smell of vomit floated towards him, as Robert proved his manliness by emptying the contents of his oversized gut. People rushed to him. He looked into his arm and saw his bone, and touched it. The pain was enough to make his heart stop, make his vision blacken. Someone asked if he wanted to ride in an ambulance. "Never been in an ambulance before," he thought, "might be fun."

After the boring ride to the emergency room, thirty five stitches and an intriguing conversation with the doctor on in the emergency room, he sat in his room, examining his wound.

"This, this is going to make one really cool scar."

And for the mp3:
Electric Car - Joy Electric

My mood?

Bubbles. Ain't nothing wrong with that. . .
Well I couldnt just sit here and watch this blog have nothing written on it. It seems people do not embrace the trial and tribulation of owning a blog. I mean having a blog such as this one is very difficult. Actually anywebsite is difficult. YOu have to think design embrace... and then what do you get in return... few if any comments... later you find people visit. But isn't blogging a cry out to communicate with the world?

Some may reply.. well the post don't inspire. I'm not interested. It takes to much time.

The blog is a way to exercise your brain daily. And to share with the world...

embrace the world of blogging.. and challenge yourself. Your creative sense will only improve.