TheSouthernCross's Xanga

Goodbye, cruel world

Mon, 03 Mar 2008 19:27:57 GMT

After some deliberation, I've decided to migrate to a new blog.

http://davohynds.wordpress.com/

It's just better for me, more and better features. So farewell, Xanga friends, but I'm not going far.

Thanks all for reading.

Fin Xanga.

A river, dark and silent

Mon, 25 Feb 2008 18:26:46 GMT

In the midst of the weighty chaos of the everyday,
In the tumultuous heaviness,
Consistent only in its inconsistency,
I rest in you.

Who knew that love could run so deep?

List of things not to do again any time soon

Mon, 11 Feb 2008 14:37:33 GMT

List of things not to do again any time soon:

#52
Drink that much vodka.

Idyllic childhood birthday cake

Tue, 05 Feb 2008 19:42:29 GMT

As I was walking to work this morning, I passed a kid standing at the bus stop. He had his tongue out and was making a farting noise with his mouth, staring off at nothing. His mom stood across from him, berating him. He payed attention to anything except for her. "Keep on doing that, you little shit," she said. "I'll withhold your birthday all day if that's how you're going to act. You won't get anything. I have the right to do that, you know?" The other mother and six kids standing with them stared awkwardly at the trees.

The scene jolted me out of my routine. In the familiarity of the ins and outs of my day, it's helpful to remember that mine is not the summation of the human experience. A world exists outside of my own world, and for some this world is vastly different from mine.

I'm at a loss at times like these.

Well-travelled blog

Tue, 29 Jan 2008 12:41:15 GMT

My blog has seen the world. Or so it would seem. I recently tallied the hits on my blog by location.

So here are where my visitors are reading from, in order from most to least:

Belgium
California
Indiana
New York
Spain

I really am curious about the Belgium one. I think I only know one person in Belgium, and that's S-Dawg, my high school English teacher, but I don't think it's him.

I figure Cali is you, Kelley?

Oh, and I logged a new one yesterday: Syrian Arab Republic. Ok. I'm sure I don't know a soul there.

My blog... it's been around the block.

It's alright, my son.

Tue, 15 Jan 2008 03:56:04 GMT

I stood beneath the street lamp as snowflakes crept stealthily down to join the legions of their ancestors which blanketed the ground.

The only sound came from a solitary, restless windchime.

Some snowflakes lit upon my eyelashes, but dissolved quickly into me.

And I dissolved into them until my nose was a carrot and my eyes stared wide and black like coals.

I stood until even the windchime had no more to say, and all that was left was the sound of snowflakes colliding with each other.

F*-ed up Nativity scene

Thu, 13 Dec 2007 19:07:20 GMT

As we were driving back to campus after lunch, Lisa and I passed one of those gaudy, plastic, light-up Nativity scenes. None of the figurines looked remotely Middle Eastern.

Me: Damn! We've got too many Swedes in Bethlehem.
Lisa: Throw a Chinaman in there. They fix everything.

I think that was the conclusion our neighbors reached, too. If your Nativity scene looks like it's from Scandanavia, throw a Chinaman in there.

Good god.

Davo is ( )

Tue, 11 Dec 2007 19:51:26 GMT

Davo is: Sad that my friends lives are all falling apart.
Davo is: Trying to hold everyone's lives together for them.
Davo is: Trying to hold my own life together.
Davo is: Trying to hold everyone together.
Davo is: Trying to hold everyone.
Davo is: Holding on.

Craving

Fri, 30 Nov 2007 15:27:56 GMT

I'm hardcore craving those bite-size powdered sugar donuts right now.

Smoke kills.

Tue, 27 Nov 2007 19:25:56 GMT

In my coat pocket are a lighter, 3 pennies, and six friend. There were eight friends, but I smoked two of them just now. I touched them to my lips as they burned. Tar stained their white paper as they dissolved into wind-blown ash. The three pennies are not my friends. They are the brazen reminders of emptiness and futile pursuits. I sit alone on the porch.

The nicotine buzz subsides, and the honest reality of life pressures in from the stark, sun-washed pavement. Now, the air is clear and cutting. The sun graces my cheeks, but one side of me is cold, smitten by the harsh late-fall breeze. I am alone.

Do cigarettes forgive?

I’m tired of numbing my mind on nicotine splits and satiating my lungs’ narcissistic lust for smoke. Cigarettes should choose to be smoked and not have to burn at my bidding.