Handbook for the Sellout chapter 1

So I was browsing iTunes today, and saw a new single by Anberlin... turns out they have a new album coming out in september.

Yes.

Contrary to the cynical title of this post, I'm very excited. The album is entitled "Dark is the way, light is a place"

So emo.

So brilliant.

I've listened to the two main tracks on YouTube ("Impossible"[the single] and "We Owe This to Ourselves"). To be honest, I thought the single was excessively poppy and repetitive, though the guitar riff was nice. The solo was classic Joseph Milligan- which means it was awesome- but I swear he does those same climaxing 3 bends in every solo. I'm not sure if this is bad though; better to be a bit predictable and brilliant than experimental and awful.

The next song was just brilliant- all in all can't wait for the album- but I'm disappointed that they haven't returned to Aaron Sprinkle for production. Yeah, I know it's cool to get your big name producers now that you're on a major label- but seriously, all that does is make you sound produced- which isn't really all that great.

Finally- a post!

So... it's summer.

...and I haven't written much.

Some English major I turned out to be.

But! I have in mind a project- a series of poems and short stories meditating on the concept of meanwhiles and in-betweens... stemming from an assignment from Dr. Sanders last semester to write about the Meanwhile-ology of anything in the light of protology and eschatology.

Most stories focus on significant and astounding events- yet those events are few and far between in real life. Most of our days we spend in between significant events- between matriculation and graduation, between falling in love and getting married. Between birth and death. All things told, it is in the meanwhile that we live, breathe, love, and spend our days.

So- anyway, I finally pulled one poem together, and it's kind of loose- I hope to expand it later- anyway, here it is:

A Worker takes his Daily Bread

The summer’s sliding days are slow and slothfully inclined

And hours from hours are seldom known, for all are like entwined,

When light let fall from heights above collides with blackened ground-

My teachers said light makes no noise, but I can hear the sound;

It rings and roams the skies about the sun-burnt workers head

As he walks slowly up the hill, to take his Daily Bread.

(My father spoke to me today, with frenzy in his eyes

“The World, the Flesh, and Devil three- are shadows and are lies)

The music of the spheres soaks through his green abundant sleeve

As he the hill ascends all to the Sacrament receive

The Holy See is surrounded is, and Switzerland has chilled,

Constantinople still recalls when Patriarchs were killed.

And all the three, unto this day, have Holy Martyrs lost

There will no peace on earth be found when Rubicons are crossed.

Yet all these wars that kingdoms cleave, are not of Kings alone

They shake as stern our dearest loves, as any Monarch’s throne.

The trembling, soil-encrusted hand, that drinks the Cup and prays,

Is all that ever mattered in these slow, inconstant days.