And having about 4 pages left to right of my 15+p essay is not as motivating as it may have been in, say, the 16th century.
Damn you, inflation. Lol
4.22.2010
Plight of the Lower Class
Eng 229, the last class I still have an assignment lingering for, is really trying to be important in my brain right now. It really is. But, being that I woke up at 7am to get to an 8-10am exam and finished an hour early, I'm in an especially "nope...nope, can't do it...nope....Believe me, I really wanna...but nope" sort of mood.
4.20.2010
The Crowd is Here.
I was asked, a few months ago, to speak to a class at Northwestern High School in Detroit, a leadership class to be precise, by the debate coach there. I had no idea why. I don't, to this day, know what inspired him, on that day, as I took pictures covering a debate tournament for a Detroit Urban Debate Education newsletter, to see me as a leader, but I accepted the opportunity.
I imagine that when I finally do get the opportunity to speak to that class, I will look like the many people before me who, after just a few short months in college, returned to their communities to divulge the secrets they've learned in college into the minds of the students they left behind.
I'm not that guy, I don't think. But, I accepted the task. I've kind of just decided to take on the high standards that others seem to see in me, to the best of my ability, but that's another log for another time.
I thought for weeks about what I would talk about until, in one faithful shuffle before my iPod was forever lost in a short walk between rooms in my Scholar House, Lupe Fiasco "Superstar" hit me like a ton of bricks.
If you are what you say you are
A superstar
Then have no fear
The camera's here
and the microphones and they wanna know
If you are what you say you are
a superstar
then have no fear
the crowd is here
and the lights are on and they want a show
To a self-proclaimed, or even a critically acclaimed, "superstar", the message should be clear. If you've got it, show it. Not in a way of a braggart or the average doucher that we often find in the post-secondary setting, but in the way of someone simply living up to their own ability.
The camera's here to see you, the microphone to listen, and they're waiting to be amazed.
The crowd is here to follow you, the lights to show your path, and all that's left is to walk it.
We often find that we spend so much time afraid of what we are. Let's not do that.
Let's just be who we are and stop wasting our majesty.
That is all.
I imagine that when I finally do get the opportunity to speak to that class, I will look like the many people before me who, after just a few short months in college, returned to their communities to divulge the secrets they've learned in college into the minds of the students they left behind.
I'm not that guy, I don't think. But, I accepted the task. I've kind of just decided to take on the high standards that others seem to see in me, to the best of my ability, but that's another log for another time.
I thought for weeks about what I would talk about until, in one faithful shuffle before my iPod was forever lost in a short walk between rooms in my Scholar House, Lupe Fiasco "Superstar" hit me like a ton of bricks.
If you are what you say you are
A superstar
Then have no fear
The camera's here
and the microphones and they wanna know
If you are what you say you are
a superstar
then have no fear
the crowd is here
and the lights are on and they want a show
To a self-proclaimed, or even a critically acclaimed, "superstar", the message should be clear. If you've got it, show it. Not in a way of a braggart or the average doucher that we often find in the post-secondary setting, but in the way of someone simply living up to their own ability.
The camera's here to see you, the microphone to listen, and they're waiting to be amazed.
The crowd is here to follow you, the lights to show your path, and all that's left is to walk it.
We often find that we spend so much time afraid of what we are. Let's not do that.
Let's just be who we are and stop wasting our majesty.
That is all.
4.19.2010
Looking for my Chapstick.
The sun is now out. It has made its decision. The weather is great.
The brownies now rise. The bunnies are a-hopping. It is a good day.
The first class is skipped. The second class is complete. The third: optional.
Done after today. Only office hours remain. The grind takes respite.
Finished before all. The city is mine alone. Windsor to Renni.
The day is half gone. The week still just beginning. Time for "us" is gone.
Winter swears, broken. Spring sunshine conquers delay. Summer love begins.
New beginnings found. Only to ends, will they lead. No regrets linger.
The nights ever last. The hours passed joyously. Paradise is found.
The breeze is pleasant. The grass is soft and fragrant. The people rejoice.
The weather is great. We have made our own decisions. The sun is now out.
Written in Haiku by Taqee Vernon.
The brownies now rise. The bunnies are a-hopping. It is a good day.
The first class is skipped. The second class is complete. The third: optional.
Done after today. Only office hours remain. The grind takes respite.
Finished before all. The city is mine alone. Windsor to Renni.
The day is half gone. The week still just beginning. Time for "us" is gone.
Winter swears, broken. Spring sunshine conquers delay. Summer love begins.
New beginnings found. Only to ends, will they lead. No regrets linger.
The nights ever last. The hours passed joyously. Paradise is found.
The breeze is pleasant. The grass is soft and fragrant. The people rejoice.
The weather is great. We have made our own decisions. The sun is now out.
Written in Haiku by Taqee Vernon.
4.16.2010
34" Belt, 32" Waist
This is a prose written from the mind of a man two holes to the left of the last, with jeans, jeans of consciousness, inches wider than the waist.
This is the prose of a man below the waistline, that being the best clue he can bestow. From their comes this poem he speak, and from their his heart do hang, to the mercy of onlookers both peer and rival. For they are they who judge the lives of men.
From this place I so spake, at the expense of my cabulaire, the vessel of my chords and the bearer of sovereign thought. It is the gatekeeper that guards me from the cuts suffered he who sees safety in Kenshin's reversed blade, and the chain linking the Cerberus' faces against the sovereignty of my thought. For through this organ, not organ by nature, but by utility, I strum the words that seem romantic to my meaning and listens the crowd, both nodding and shifting as they feel appropriate; the account of my character so justly but unlawfully based.
From this place do my thoughts bestow, though my mind here take respite. And what better place than to unearth the truths of my sentiment. It is here that the Cerberus ear has fallen it prey to the songs matched before only in the Japanese fictions of Puff and Tuff. It is here that my mind, in its eventful slumber, discovers its mind before itself, and thoughts, though honest before, run deeper to elixir's truth. It is here, then, that I find myself willing to speak what, if spake with fitting pant, would not retain its sovereign delight, nor be appreciated in memory as it be appreciated in record.
From this message now, as gates do the wicked, a first final glance must be granted they who venture here. From mind unattended and fear incompelled comes truth unrelented. Though fact be created of chaotic lie, fact from rested fact is fact, alone, conceived.
'anna...you occupy the passageways, not they that wander the maize of my thought, nor they posted along its walls where memories, be they sweet or bitter, share their hosteline discomfort. But instead a fellow shifter of the walls. In your company is determined the course of our days and the cost to those Sisters to divulge, through sights both quarreled and equitted, the length of our starlit eve.
Good Morrow, y'all.
This is the prose of a man below the waistline, that being the best clue he can bestow. From their comes this poem he speak, and from their his heart do hang, to the mercy of onlookers both peer and rival. For they are they who judge the lives of men.
From this place I so spake, at the expense of my cabulaire, the vessel of my chords and the bearer of sovereign thought. It is the gatekeeper that guards me from the cuts suffered he who sees safety in Kenshin's reversed blade, and the chain linking the Cerberus' faces against the sovereignty of my thought. For through this organ, not organ by nature, but by utility, I strum the words that seem romantic to my meaning and listens the crowd, both nodding and shifting as they feel appropriate; the account of my character so justly but unlawfully based.
From this place do my thoughts bestow, though my mind here take respite. And what better place than to unearth the truths of my sentiment. It is here that the Cerberus ear has fallen it prey to the songs matched before only in the Japanese fictions of Puff and Tuff. It is here that my mind, in its eventful slumber, discovers its mind before itself, and thoughts, though honest before, run deeper to elixir's truth. It is here, then, that I find myself willing to speak what, if spake with fitting pant, would not retain its sovereign delight, nor be appreciated in memory as it be appreciated in record.
From this message now, as gates do the wicked, a first final glance must be granted they who venture here. From mind unattended and fear incompelled comes truth unrelented. Though fact be created of chaotic lie, fact from rested fact is fact, alone, conceived.
'anna...you occupy the passageways, not they that wander the maize of my thought, nor they posted along its walls where memories, be they sweet or bitter, share their hosteline discomfort. But instead a fellow shifter of the walls. In your company is determined the course of our days and the cost to those Sisters to divulge, through sights both quarreled and equitted, the length of our starlit eve.
Good Morrow, y'all.
4.09.2010
Sober Thoughts
Let it be know that, as of this time on this day, in this century, I finished the draft that changed my life forever. =)
4.08.2010
Who Loves Short Shorts?
There's this hilarious College Humor video, DVD Commentary: The Movie. Check it out. Now!
Chester, Chester, Child 'Star
Never really thought I could write a 15 page paper, to be honest. It just seems like one of those things that only people who are genuinely concerned with the very nature of writing could do.
Like, people come to your high school every few months during your junior and senior year to chastise you for complaining about a 5 page paper, and they always say
"You should be happy. As soon as you get to college, boom. You're gonna be begging for 5 page papers."
I'm gonna take this moment to call them all functional illiterates. Or call myself a dysfunctional literate. Either way, someone's got problems.
For starters, no...I would never beg for a paper of any length. If you want to know just how serious I am, consider this: my application to UMich was delayed for [precisely] 3 weeks (21 days) because I didn't feel like writing the 500 word pre-admission essay for the Ross School of Business (for good reason, as I knew I wasn't in there).
I hate writing. I do. I'm sure my extra lengthy for no reason at all blogs might have you questioning that, but rest assured: writing sucks my soul out.
Now, back to this 15 page research paper about...video games.
Like, people come to your high school every few months during your junior and senior year to chastise you for complaining about a 5 page paper, and they always say
"You should be happy. As soon as you get to college, boom. You're gonna be begging for 5 page papers."
I'm gonna take this moment to call them all functional illiterates. Or call myself a dysfunctional literate. Either way, someone's got problems.
For starters, no...I would never beg for a paper of any length. If you want to know just how serious I am, consider this: my application to UMich was delayed for [precisely] 3 weeks (21 days) because I didn't feel like writing the 500 word pre-admission essay for the Ross School of Business (for good reason, as I knew I wasn't in there).
I hate writing. I do. I'm sure my extra lengthy for no reason at all blogs might have you questioning that, but rest assured: writing sucks my soul out.
Now, back to this 15 page research paper about...video games.
4.06.2010
Single for the Night.
Not a stranger to being single, I tell you what. It is definitely my neutral zone.
Not that I'm special for something like that, but it's the truth. Lol. The fact that we're not born into matrimony kinda means that it's everyone's neutral, but I mean it for me to be a evermore annoying quality.
Women...
The motions are so tiring, and so similar, it's crazy. I think going through the same thing a hundred times has me pegged with the burden of tested fatalism, with a hint of characteristic optimism. Lol
Long story short: I never cease to be amazed by the nonsense I go through...a lot. Lol
I could probably write a book on my life, as it pertains to me and the laydehs. Would it sell? Probably not, but it would make for a pretty good read for, like, an airplane ride, at least, and that would be enough for me. Tyra's book club would have to be my healthy silver medal.
But, in this book, would just be a long, drawn-out list of experiences, triumphs, fails and flukes- Flukes would even get a separate chapter to themselves on an individual basis- all in the interest of finding out that the only commonality amongst all these experiences- the only independent variable to the function that is my love life- is me. Ha.
I'm done ranting, for now.
Duty calls.
Not that I'm special for something like that, but it's the truth. Lol. The fact that we're not born into matrimony kinda means that it's everyone's neutral, but I mean it for me to be a evermore annoying quality.
Women...
The motions are so tiring, and so similar, it's crazy. I think going through the same thing a hundred times has me pegged with the burden of tested fatalism, with a hint of characteristic optimism. Lol
Long story short: I never cease to be amazed by the nonsense I go through...a lot. Lol
I could probably write a book on my life, as it pertains to me and the laydehs. Would it sell? Probably not, but it would make for a pretty good read for, like, an airplane ride, at least, and that would be enough for me. Tyra's book club would have to be my healthy silver medal.
But, in this book, would just be a long, drawn-out list of experiences, triumphs, fails and flukes- Flukes would even get a separate chapter to themselves on an individual basis- all in the interest of finding out that the only commonality amongst all these experiences- the only independent variable to the function that is my love life- is me. Ha.
I'm done ranting, for now.
Duty calls.
4.05.2010
Newton, We Have a Problem.
I thought up a few interesting as heck essays to write. They seem like some real sweet stuff, but they're gonna require a whole mess of research. Dunno how I feel about that just yet, but I think I'll get over it.
Imagine, me using my brain for the sake of good. Lol. That'd Be something stupid. Of course, what I consider academia could just as easily seen as me being bored out of my brains for a while, but what's the difference?
I imagine Newton was bored to tears until that apple konk'd him upside the head and gave him the inspiration to do what, in his time, must have seemed like the work of the insane or at least the socially impaired.
"Yo, Isaac, wanna hit Ye Olden Shadowed Saloon with us?"
"No, I'm actually thinking to partake in the wonderment of the non-physical universe and its interactivity upon those things over yonder tree branch that doth cause them assault my fitted beret whilst I'd sit finishing mine independent studies."
All of this while he was out of school on account of the Bubonic Plague sweeping the nation like there was no tomorrow. What a strange fellow he must've been.
So, if I can duplicate that kind of boredom, let's say by not having anything better to do with my time in the library save to, dare I say it, read a book...well, then, I might just be onto something with these.
The reason I haven't disclosed the subjects of the essays, though, is because if I don't go through with their writing, I don't want anyone to be disappointed. Lol
Well, here's to you, whoever of you are reading this, for you must truly have nothing better to do.
Maybe, though, your time would be just as well spent on your own pondering and personal thoughts. I'm grateful to have been the subject of your interest, I'll tell you that much.
Taq
Imagine, me using my brain for the sake of good. Lol. That'd Be something stupid. Of course, what I consider academia could just as easily seen as me being bored out of my brains for a while, but what's the difference?
I imagine Newton was bored to tears until that apple konk'd him upside the head and gave him the inspiration to do what, in his time, must have seemed like the work of the insane or at least the socially impaired.
"Yo, Isaac, wanna hit Ye Olden Shadowed Saloon with us?"
"No, I'm actually thinking to partake in the wonderment of the non-physical universe and its interactivity upon those things over yonder tree branch that doth cause them assault my fitted beret whilst I'd sit finishing mine independent studies."
All of this while he was out of school on account of the Bubonic Plague sweeping the nation like there was no tomorrow. What a strange fellow he must've been.
So, if I can duplicate that kind of boredom, let's say by not having anything better to do with my time in the library save to, dare I say it, read a book...well, then, I might just be onto something with these.
The reason I haven't disclosed the subjects of the essays, though, is because if I don't go through with their writing, I don't want anyone to be disappointed. Lol
Well, here's to you, whoever of you are reading this, for you must truly have nothing better to do.
Maybe, though, your time would be just as well spent on your own pondering and personal thoughts. I'm grateful to have been the subject of your interest, I'll tell you that much.
Taq
And I Heard 'Em Say
Only been a day. Lol. I ain't impressive, it would appear.
So far, I've just taken to Pandora Radio to give me something to do on the internet, Logging about nothing important and texting/calling people more often.
Sounds like a good start, I guess. I gotta keep working on this english paper, tho. That's something.
Isn't it weird that I wouldn't give up social networks and the like for my scholastic life? Lol. One would think that that would be the first thing on my mind. Nooope!
Kid Cudi, for the record, is a good start for a Pandora playlist, by the way.
I made her say...hold up...born in '91...how old is that..? Old enough. Lol
So far, I've just taken to Pandora Radio to give me something to do on the internet, Logging about nothing important and texting/calling people more often.
Sounds like a good start, I guess. I gotta keep working on this english paper, tho. That's something.
Isn't it weird that I wouldn't give up social networks and the like for my scholastic life? Lol. One would think that that would be the first thing on my mind. Nooope!
Kid Cudi, for the record, is a good start for a Pandora playlist, by the way.
I made her say...hold up...born in '91...how old is that..? Old enough. Lol
Just Call It a Come Ack.
I never really knew what the B stood for, anyhow, but fuck a blog. Lol
Having given up on social networks, I can't be true to form if I use this for anything big. It's just a log. Not a Blog, in the traditional sense. Not a place to put my soul on blast or something, I plan on having friends for that, at least by the time I'm done with this shit. That be the whole point. Not name-dropping, shit talking, virtual crying or anything of the sort. The bulletin board so that I remember the questions I'm, at the end of the day, seeking to answer and, eventually, the answers I had the audacity to question. Lol. Put that in your pipe and smoke, it, future employers!
So, to that end, where the hell did this all come from? Lol
To be honest, it was another whim's decision, brought to you by the good people at Taq Nation. Lol.
I saw, on Facebook, the return of someone who'd given up FB for Lent, and circumstances well within my control dictated I take a nap from the public eye. It all really started with the death of my Formspring's credibility.
That's that, the rest, as they say, is history in the making.
I'm really interested to test a theory of mine, and it won't be any less effective if the few people who entertain this blog know what it is.
I think that the existence of a Facebook, of itself, makes people feel so close that they forget that they're not close. The telephone, maybe. Text messaging, maybe too. But those are forms of communication that we've grown to accept in their place. Facebook, I think, inspires lack of communication and creates that very same lack as a form of communication.
Ain't that a bitch?
Like, you feel so close to your friends, and feel that they must too feel so close to you, that the responsibility of contacting one another is constantly tossed from side to side.
"I see [friend] is logged on to Facebook chat, therefore they must be choosing not to talk to me right now."
"Oh, you can tweet, but you can't reply to my text?"
"Hello in person = text message = hand written letter = @reply = FB message = telegram = affection"
"We're not FB friends -or- they don't follow me on Twitter, so we aren't friends."
^all those mentalities are the ones I'm seeking to rid myself of by getting rid of my social networking outlets.
Good luck to me, then, and I hope to see you all on the other side of the boob tube.
Taq
Having given up on social networks, I can't be true to form if I use this for anything big. It's just a log. Not a Blog, in the traditional sense. Not a place to put my soul on blast or something, I plan on having friends for that, at least by the time I'm done with this shit. That be the whole point. Not name-dropping, shit talking, virtual crying or anything of the sort. The bulletin board so that I remember the questions I'm, at the end of the day, seeking to answer and, eventually, the answers I had the audacity to question. Lol. Put that in your pipe and smoke, it, future employers!
So, to that end, where the hell did this all come from? Lol
To be honest, it was another whim's decision, brought to you by the good people at Taq Nation. Lol.
I saw, on Facebook, the return of someone who'd given up FB for Lent, and circumstances well within my control dictated I take a nap from the public eye. It all really started with the death of my Formspring's credibility.
That's that, the rest, as they say, is history in the making.
I'm really interested to test a theory of mine, and it won't be any less effective if the few people who entertain this blog know what it is.
I think that the existence of a Facebook, of itself, makes people feel so close that they forget that they're not close. The telephone, maybe. Text messaging, maybe too. But those are forms of communication that we've grown to accept in their place. Facebook, I think, inspires lack of communication and creates that very same lack as a form of communication.
Ain't that a bitch?
Like, you feel so close to your friends, and feel that they must too feel so close to you, that the responsibility of contacting one another is constantly tossed from side to side.
"I see [friend] is logged on to Facebook chat, therefore they must be choosing not to talk to me right now."
"Oh, you can tweet, but you can't reply to my text?"
"Hello in person = text message = hand written letter = @reply = FB message = telegram = affection"
"We're not FB friends -or- they don't follow me on Twitter, so we aren't friends."
^all those mentalities are the ones I'm seeking to rid myself of by getting rid of my social networking outlets.
Good luck to me, then, and I hope to see you all on the other side of the boob tube.
Taq
4.04.2010
In Desperation, Fight Naked.
I don't like the Facebook generation. I find that it is training people to detach themselves from one another by always feeling attached to one another. In the cases of those we have lost contact with, or those who are simply too far away to keep convenient contact with, this is both the venom and the serum. On the one hand, we have a means to communicate. On the other hand, we have already taken the substance out of what it means to communicate.
Thanks to the facebook mobile environment, all my friends are in my pocket throughout the course of the day. The incentive to actually make direct, intimate contact has become so white-washed by the ease with which I could potentially do so that it has sullied the title "friend" by virtue of its nature. The online generation has trained a country of mindless drones, programmed to broadcast themselves to the whole of society without actually thinking about the consequences of doing so, and the result is [somehow] a less real world.
Who are my friends? This is the question I seek to answer in my hiatus from photo uploading, tagging and commenting.
What are my friends to me? A question who's answer has never truly been known to me, much less has it remained relevant in the "new world" of cybertronic affection.
Whoever is [un]lucky enough to have the [dis]pleasure of reading this and working it through the bureacracy of management, marketing and the like, feel free to shoot me an email timvr@umich.edu [entertain my acting like you don't already have this information on record], as I'd love to hear whatever response it is you find appropriate. I feel like it's a conversation worth having, if nothing else.
to the Facebook Team:
Thank you for all the good times. This is not at all a stab at your ability to make an enjoyable experience, it is simply a young man's attempt to find his place in whatever is left in the world not bounded by an LCD monitor.
Taqee Vernon,
University of Michigan Undergraduate Student
Thanks to the facebook mobile environment, all my friends are in my pocket throughout the course of the day. The incentive to actually make direct, intimate contact has become so white-washed by the ease with which I could potentially do so that it has sullied the title "friend" by virtue of its nature. The online generation has trained a country of mindless drones, programmed to broadcast themselves to the whole of society without actually thinking about the consequences of doing so, and the result is [somehow] a less real world.
Who are my friends? This is the question I seek to answer in my hiatus from photo uploading, tagging and commenting.
What are my friends to me? A question who's answer has never truly been known to me, much less has it remained relevant in the "new world" of cybertronic affection.
Whoever is [un]lucky enough to have the [dis]pleasure of reading this and working it through the bureacracy of management, marketing and the like, feel free to shoot me an email timvr@umich.edu [entertain my acting like you don't already have this information on record], as I'd love to hear whatever response it is you find appropriate. I feel like it's a conversation worth having, if nothing else.
to the Facebook Team:
Thank you for all the good times. This is not at all a stab at your ability to make an enjoyable experience, it is simply a young man's attempt to find his place in whatever is left in the world not bounded by an LCD monitor.
Taqee Vernon,
University of Michigan Undergraduate Student
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