Bus

Swerving, we spot lights

Craning our necks

We are “we” no longer, as the bus clanks open

Its tattoed dirty arms

I am falling

Little steps backward, forward,

Nothing to hold on to, swaying wildly

In the bus’s dance

Distracted by swirling

Thoughts of papers, people,

Swishing and pushing by with

Momentary closeness

(mall flowers, fresh

sweat, soup fills the air)

Disgusting or confusing, or

Perhaps forgotten

As I tumble off the steps

Delivered to a liquor store’s bosom

I walk home, breathing in

stir-fry mixing into dusk

A  resting shadow against pastel houses

I heard the echoes of all the warning voices in my head. They kept telling me what to do. They told me which path to take. They were all rational in a way and I still ignored them. All my friends, I knew they loved me and wanted what was best for me. However, I chose to ignore their warnings. I endured the pain for over two months. In addition, I neglected them and I chose love over the friendships I held close to my heart for so long. And for what? Nothing.

I woke up on that Tuesday morning. It was 10:00 a.m. and it was too early for waking on a spring break day, but later than waking up for school on a usual weekday. I lazily roamed my apartment probing the shelves for some breakfast food. I found the cereal and milk and sat at the dining room table.

My heart seemed to sink lower in my chest as time passed and I dug my spoon into my cereal, started to crunch, and then munch on my Multigrain Cheerios. I reflected on the past two months. I used to be so happy and carefree about everything. I had found someone to call my boyfriend and he tried everything to make me happy. Yet, I still was not.

During the past two months, I fell deeper into a hole I could not climb out of by myself. I never saw my boyfriend at all during that time except for four days out of two months. He went to school in San Bruno, lived in South San Francisco, and worked two days a week in San Francisco. As time went by, I realized he did not have the time to spend with me. Especially after getting into Dartmouth, the end to him and me was inevitable.

I could barely breathe after finishing my cereal. The thoughts hit me and hurt me harder than the pecking of a crow against bare skin. I started to realize that I had to end it and that my pain hurt me too much. I grew anxious and proceeded to pace around the apartment. I thought of all the advice my friends gave me. That if it was meant to be, he would come back to me even if I let him go. That we had to end it because he was going away to college and asking him to stay in California and go to University of California, Berkeley was the most selfish thing I could have done. But was it selfish to want more time with him? I did not think so. However, none of my attempts at gaining more time worked. He ignored, neglected, and evaded them. I decided that was worst than leaving him. I decided that without compromise, I could not stay with him. Was that not what relationships needed? Did they not need compromises to keep working properly?

At only seventeen years old, I did not know what relationships needed to have. My boyfriend was the first person I fell in “love” with. Even though I cared for him so much, I still had to walk away.

Somehow 6:00 p.m. came. The time passed by so quickly, I did not know what to do with myself. I stared at my T-Mobile Sidekick and automatically dialed his number without searching for it in my address book. The phone rang a couple of times and he answered it. I told him the priceless words: “We need to talk.”

It made him nervous. The kindhearted voice grew colder. He asked me to never say that phrase again because usually something bad came immediately after. I told him that it was in fact bad. I dragged in a long breath and started my story. I expressed my unhappiness about our relationship and how despite loving him, I did not know how much longer I could take it.

“Okay. So?” he responded.

The nonchalant response nearly killed me. Did he care? I immediately wondered. Did he still love me? My chest started to hurt and I felt the surge of sorrow throughout my body.

“I think it’s better if we’re just friends,” I told him in a slightly quiet voice.

“If that’s what you want.” He told me.

“Do you not care at all?” I asked him. “I don’t know what else to do.”

He was silent for a second. My question lingered still in the air. I fiddled with my fingers wishing I did not have to tell him over the phone. Wishing I could hold him in my arms and tell him that I still loved him. Without seeing his face, the words I spoke felt so impersonal. I felt like a stranger was telling him how I felt and I was watching from the outside.

“I’m extremely sad,” he told me. His voice was so small I could barely hear him. “But as of one moment ago, I’m extremely angry.”

“Angry at me?”

He outlined every single reason he was angry with me. He was mad at me because he saw a picture of me on Facebook hugging another person who was only my friend, commenting that it was romantic, and saying that I was “dreading what had to come.” He threw me into the cage of fear as he raised his voice at me.

I never expected that from him. As he yelled at me, I again felt that I was on the outside looking in. I could not believe what was happening to me. I could not comprehend why the person I fell in love with would be so angry with me all at once in heavy waves that did not cease to exist. They came rolling in faster and harder and I wanted to shrink away from them. I withstood the waves that washed over me until he hung up me, telling me to never contact him again.

In the next day, I walked around in a zombie like state. Voices entered my mind through my ears, but I was not processing them. People who spoke to me were on a completely different frequency, and I could not be bothered. Overwhelming sadness plagued me as I tried to overcome the emotions that rocked my body. I wanted to weep. I wanted to sit and curl up into a ball because regret slapped me in the face.

Would I ever know the true meaning of love if I could not even stay in a relationship with someone I really did love?

Besides a gloriously restored version of the 1922, German movie, directed by F. W. Murnau, the production featured the magnificent  8,264 pipe Ruffatti Organ (played by Dennis James) to provide the accompanying music for the film.  Two sound effects artists, Mark Goldstein and Todd Manley were also employed to further glorify it.

The mood was set as the organ opened with Bach’s Toccata and Fugue and as the film proceeded people in the audience began to laugh less and less and got in the mood.  For although many modern viewers dismiss this kind of expressionist film as old and corny, it is a true masterpiece of the era.  If one can get in the right mood to watch these kinds of films, they can be truly enjoyable.   I think the main reason the audience received it so well was the Organ’s huge baroque melody echoing throughout the chamber.  The sound effects were also a great addition to the production (original viewings would have included sound effects).  They did, however add a certain comical characteristic to the film that was not meant to be.  Sadly, this made the audience laugh in some fairly ominous moments.  But aside from these minor interruptions Nosferatu really was creepy.  The effect of Count Orlok’s  cutting and oh so toothy stare from across the hall and the organs spiraling chords provided for a much more chilling and exciting Halloween than I have experienced in a very long time.  In all, it was  quite a pleasurable evening and I would recommend the Symphony’s future Halloween concerts to everyone without a party to attend and even to those who do.

visit http://www.sfsymphony.org/ for more info about the SF Symphony

Hailing from Dallas, Texas, they have only their van, a record contract, and one self-titled EP, yet they already have fans nationwide. Compared to many of their peers, they have not been together very long: In late 2007, vocalist/frontman Tarcy Thomason (who was at the time in a band called Enter The Collector) realized he could not deny his need to create his own music. He sent out a Myspace bulletin announcing his decision. Life really is first com, first served, for the first to hit the reply button was Craig Calloway, AVP’s guitarist/vocalist. What started out as a side project for the two of them quickly thickened; with the additions of Joe Westbrook (drums), Joe Kirkland (guitar/vocals), and Jason Dean (bass), the AVP line-up was completed. With their catchy tunes and relatable lyrics, Artist Vs. Poet is hard to miss. Their songs stick on to you and refuse to let go like craft glitter. Their stories are teen angst told in a voice that turns your ear toward them each time you listen. From singing about a first broken heart in “Infallible Remedy”, to unrequited true love with “Lisa Marie”, to one last fight for the girl - as described in “Assurance, Closure” - each of their songs take on a point of view that anyone can relate to. They show you that hormone-driven teenage drama is actually not completely overrated.

In the epoch of too many pop-punk bands that all sound alike, AVP is a breath of fresh air. Of course it is a pop-punk band, and keeps all the forms of one, such as a four or five piece band, and uptempo tunes. But unlike their cohorts, AVP’s drum beats do not just tick like a metronome, they contribute to the mood of the song; the guitars drive and steer the song; the bass adds texture and depth. From this combination comes Thomason’s slightly nasally, lyrical, almost pensive voice. Together they are at once heart-wrenching, sweet, cheeky, and absolutely genius.

Do yourself a favor and download/buy/somehow obtain a copy of their debut EP. I bet you that you will fall in love. If you do somehow obtain a copy of their EP, you should know that AVP is on tour this fall with Forever The Sickest Kids and The Rocket Summer; also, their first full length album is due out in February of Twenty-Ten.

A band that was born because of Myspace was found by many, many people by Myspace. It maybe fate, or it maybe coincidence, but I hope you will be the next chapter to this saga.

sources:
fearlessrecords.com

Myspace.com/artistvspoet

Twitter.com/artistvspoettx

Now, what do you think of when you think of when you hear the term “Public Transit”? Unsanitary? Loud? Raucous teenagers tagging the back of your seat with orange paint-pens when the driver isn’t looking? Maybe there are some other things you think of as well, but regardless of where your mind may wander off to, you’re probably right. Buses are dirty, and there are some kids who think that defacing public property with their cheap logos is their duty; however at the same time there’s a slight thrill that comes with riding certain bus lines through the streets of San Francisco, and I’ll tell you why:

In our everyday lives, there are bound to be a few interesting characters out there to see and mingle with. Sometimes you have to go looking for them, and sometimes they just stumble through our lives like movie scenes we can watch when our eyes are wide enough to see. When you get on one of San Francisco’s bus lines, the odds of viewing some interesting characters are upped by at least 90%. Whether you’re riding the 24 Divisidero inbound through the Castro or the 43 Masonic through the Haight, there are sights to see and things to hear that aren’t on your SF Travel Guide.

Bus rides start off as seeming uneventful and boring. The initial thought when learning that the bus is the only available mode of transportation does not warrant a jump for joy (at least not for me). But once you get yourself settled in the hard, plastic, less than inviting or comfortable seats, there’s a sense of slight relaxation: ok, so I’ve made it to the vehicle safely, what now? Think about it: tales from the bus are always easy stories to crack out at parties or gatherings, or just when you need to fill an awkward gap with some kind of conversation. “Oh, one time I was on the bus… and this old crazy guy started singing Chris Brown songs really loudly in the seat next to mine!” or, perhaps, “You’ll never believe what happened to me on the bus today! So, there was this lady, and she was carrying around a dead cat in her bag…” See? It’s never really boring and there’s always some kind of story to take away.

So next time you’re on a bus don’t think of it as a drag! Take it as an opportunity to observe some new people and maybe see a new side of the community we live in.

here, under stars
the dry lake
rivers rush into
splits, consumes us

here, under stars
we lie wondering
about you, me,
covered and naked

here, under stars

i a m w i t h y o u .

Ponyo is a suitable cartoon for audiences of all ages, just like all of Miyazaki’s other productions. There are points in this movie that any age group can relate to. Children can connect to the minds of Ponyo and Sōsuke, while adults and teenagers can relate to the issues in this movie, such as family problems and personal responsibilities of the characters. And like many other cartoons, Ponyo brings out the audience’s creative minds. It lets viewers reflect on their stress free childhood and allow their imaginations to arise once again. This movie proved to be a success as it reached ninth place in the box office charts on the opening week.

Although this new Miyazaki production captured the attention of many people, it fails to reach the standards set by his other movies. A key quality to most of Miyazaki’s movies is the line of distinction between good and evil. There are usually two sides that have a goal for different or opposing reasons, and it is almost impossible to determine who belongs on what side. In Ponyo, the two sides presented are clear, but not very distinct. Sure, Kōichi and Sōsuke both want to stay with Ponyo. But this issue only shows the separation and the importance of family and friends. The conflict here did not leave me questioning about the pros and cons of each side, like I did while watching Princess Mononoke, another movie by Miyazaki. The movie also becomes a little hectic at times, mainly because of Ponyo’s actions. I heard a quote one time about how a critic described Ponyo. He stated that a person who is high or drunk will understand and really enjoy this movie. I agree with this point because many events in the movie are too crazy for a “normal” mind to comprehend and take in.

This movie would be best for children at the elementary stage, due to their activeness and their relatively simple minds, compared to older viewers. Ponyo will only work for some teenagers because they have a better understanding of events and have a more complex way of thinking about movies. This movie does not seem like one that was made specifically for adult viewers, but they may get a few laughs out of it. Overall, the animations are outstanding, along with Miyazaki’s illustrious imagination. Little Mermaid lovers should not miss Ponyo.

With the sun kissing her back

Ever so slightly,

And the wind caressing the soft swirls and twirls

Of golden strands,

Her eyes shine off a moonlit twinkle.

The combination of:

Tiptoes

Hops

Leaps

Across hot-lava pressed rocks,

Or into knee-high, new baby-born grass,

Avoiding the occasional sharp stings and bites,

Above the tender, warm soil.

She stares ahead

Opening her eyes to find she is there.

Slowly dipping her toes beneath the refreshing flow,

She soaks in the passion—the embrace—the beauty

Of a cold stream on the hot, summer day.

There’s chat for that. Of course, I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know. Chances are, Bay Area teen, that you already are obsessed. Do you sign on for homework help? Gossip with 5 different people at once? Do you like simultaneously talking about anarcho-primitavism, discussing the best thrift shops, complaining about your teachers, and sending emoticon hearts? Of course you do. But here’s the issue: Chat services tend to kinda suck. And when your social, romantic, and academic lives are all going on at once, nothing is worse than Facebook chat suddenly crashing.

Many people started out on AIM. I know I did, back in 4th grade. Some people have stuck with it. And those people were actually smart, not lame, despite what the suddenly mature 11 year old me thought. AIM tends to be pretty reliable. You can download the little thingadoo, so even if your internet is down, or incredibly slow, you can use it.

I use my AIM through Gtalk, which is nice if you’re afraid of downloads, or just incredibly lazy. You also get the treat of cute emoticons- a fairly large selection, too. And you can search for old chats the same way you search for emails, if your friends doubt the existence of your Canadian girlfriend.

One thing  about AIM, though, is that you need to know the screen name of everyone you want to talk to. Facebook chat is great for bonding with that one girl who sits next to you in gym. And hey, you can Facebook-stalk at the same time! But Facebook definitely has its downsides. For one thing, there’s no chat history beyond the last few minutes. Also, its growing notorious for its flakiness. On several occasions, chat has not even shown up unless I’m on a specific profile: my first cousin once removed, my brother’s ex-girlfriend, etc.

One of the newest options out there is Skype. Although its known primarily for video chat, even for those of you lacking webcams, it’s a great option. It saves your chat history and is stable, even if your connection is fairly slow. New messages not only make a little ping sound, they show up on the upper right hand side of your screen, so you won’t accidentally abandon a buddy mid-chat. It’s like AIM all grown up! On the other hand, its emoticons are cheesy, although they’re creative. You can insert a ninja into your message, but a simple =P looks grotesque.

Of course, everyone has a different opinion on what the very best one is. But why choose? If you’re as obsessed as me, you could always float back between them throughout your conversation. After all, chat isn’t really the center of the universe. It’s nice to know what you’re in for, though… and there’s nothing as sweet as a Gtalk heart.

Her smooth skin steamed like cooked rice,
And opaque gray smoke walking out of her cloak, embracing her.
The old man waited calmly. He had seen this a while ago.
A moment’s hesitation passes, then

She steps out. Keeping her midnight cloak,
Pearl bones lightly laugh, flaunting
A gleaming white skull with perfect teeth, and hands and arms of ivory. At last, from the mist,
The fair and wise crystal scythe lies in her grasp, relaxed, knowing he
Resides in her hands of time.
Ever-grinning, the Reaper hugs the man in a warm embrace.
They continue walking, and after a while, she asks again,
With the same cooled voice,
“Would you like to play again?”
Without a blink the old man responded,

“Yes.”

The Reaper smiled more intently, and answered,
“You will return much different this time around. I promise.”
She checks a golden pocket watch and remarks,
“You will be right on cue.”
She raises a petite arm. Slim fingers brush his old, folded eyelids,
But as she closes his eyes, regret slides down his jaw.

“Something wrong?”
“…Is this my last time?”
“We shall see. I will surely tell you when you return.”
“Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”
“Wait. I don’t know your name.”
A deep smile, and a whisper.
“Well, you already know, don’t you?”
Her fingers frost through his face.
“You do not need a name to remember me. Good luck.”
His eyes seal shut as a black hand blankets sight again.

And the old man remembers nothing more.
Blue eyes become brown:

A doctor hands the quiet newborn to his mother.