The Meaning of Life Explored, The End

So what does all this mean?
How must one discover life?
Through pain? Cleanliness?
A general unification of humanity because of rebellion against the beans who control us?

I think not.

The Meaning of Life is kind of an abstract concept,
so I think you should ask your local Picasso.

The King of Noodles

Today, whilst enjoying some ice cream with some friends, I discovered yet another of my seemingly endless identites. I am the King of Noodles. Beyond any doubt, I have been found after much deliberation. And there was much rejoicing. However, due to some contradicting responsibilities and abilities associated with some of my aliases, I may have to embark on a deep, epic, soul searching journey to Beantown, USA, and I may find that I may not be who I thought I was.

Either way, I would like to take this oppourtunity to explain my duties and privileges as the King of Noodles. Tonight I will post the final installment of my acclaimed series The Meaning of Life Explored, and will begin a new series documenting my adventures as the King of Noodles.

The following poem is a very detailed explanation of my daily noodletasks. It may be too intense for some beans.

The noodles enter the cavern of fears and saliva,
with some hesitance and in a tangled conglomeration.
Their silent cries tickle my nose and make a dying lunge
at conformity.

At this point, the noodles lose their hopes
and they are alot like knotted ropes,
except in an ironic protest.

The noodles are attacked by calculus,
weighed, poked, prodded, yet left totally and
completely unharmed.

Some things push them,
organizing them in no particular order,
that is,
if by no particular order you mean perfectly arranged
in every impossible way.

The noodles are stacked sideways,
and then stacked in the traditional sense of the word,
in the style of Merriam-Webster.

Then they slide down my throat, unharmed,
except really scared.
But scarred?
Of course not, KOM.

The Meaning of Life Explored, Part 10

I wonder what my life would be like
if my parents had named me Tim.

I would have enjoyed Slim Jims more.
I wonder.
I would have been able to catch rim according to some generous carpets.
I wonder.
I would have felt differently about the Sims.
I wonder.
I would have been left alone by unrealistic whims.
I wonder.
The beans claim that I probably would have led a life much more dim than my life now.
I wonder.
All this I shared with some firmly rooted nomads.
"Why are they here?", I wandered.

The Meaning of Life Explored, Part 9

Music doesn't belong here.

Music defies the laws of physics.

Music can move large objects with ease.

Music is clean and rejects the evil beans.

Music is immune to the tragedy of entropy.

Unless you are playing free jazz.

Music assasinated the king of beans.

Music makes a better door than a win.

Music is capable of solving advanced calculus equations.

Music caused the fall of Napoleon Bonaparte.

The Meaning of Life Explored, Part 8

Everyone knows we are here
for a reason.

No one knows for absolute certainty
why we are here.

I'd like to suggest a theory as
to why we are here.

Perhaps we are here because
it's not like we had anything better to do.

The Meaning of Life Explored, Part 7

I'm just sitting here,
writing a poem.
Oh crap,
nothing rhymes with poem.

The Meaning of Life Explored, Part 6

Food is here
for the life
sustenance of everyone
in the world.

Some food tends
to taste bad
while some food
often tastes good.

Water is also
important for people
who have a
desire to live.

Shelter is the
most underappreciated of
the many things
all humans require.

What if everyone
just wandered around
and never knew
a home unit?

That would really suck.

The Meaning of Life Explored, Part 5

Freedom.
Freedom.
Freedom is not an abstract concept.
Don't be ridiculous.

I don't think you appreciate the gravity
of this situation.
Or this sitting room.

I am free.
I am free.
I am Free.
I am fred.

Trees aren't.
Bees aren't.
Knees aren't.
Kneecaps, however, are.

The Meaning of Life Explored, Part 4

I examine language.
I determine language.
I decipher language.

Language.
Really, a common ground
for expression
and exclamate.
Ion.

For example,
without language,
how could you tell the poog
sitting on your couch to leave?
Oh wait.

The Meaning of Life Explored, Part 3

Memories are important.
If you don't have memories,
you will have nothing but the beans
to comfort you.

Being responsible is important.
If you participate in irresponsible activities,
such as taking your pigs to work,
or working while slooping,
you will have nothing but the beans
to comfort you.

Friends are important.
If you have none,
you will have nothing but the beans
to comfort you.

Exploration is important.
If you don't explore,
you will not find friends,
or a sense of responsibility,
or memories.
You will have nothing but the beans
to comfort you.

Beans are important,
while they grow up,
you must also grow up.
If you don't,
you will have nothing but yourself
to comfort you.

If the beans ever leave you,
be sure to find some friends,
or a sense of responsibility,
or make some memories,
or you will find yourself in danger
of ceasing to exist.

The Meaning of Life Explored, Part 2

I noticed once while walking
that disorder is tragic.
Tragedies are a part of nature.

Trees are random.
Pigs dreaming of slop.
Beans wishing for recognition
as an independent nation.

There is no control we possess.
We may not alter nature.
We can only prolong the inevitable.

We can only prolong the niveitblae.

Ew can only prolong the ieivnblate.

Ew nac only prolong het ieivnblate.

Ew nac only ropnglo het ieivnblate.

Only beans.

The Meaning of Life Explored, Part 1

Dirt is. Dirt was.
Life is made of dirt.

I look at all the things that have yet to be tarnished by dirt.

My new socks.
The Boston Red Sox.

The windows at my house.
Windex factories.

Drinking water.
Waterfalls.

My homework.
Deprived pigs.

My green tea.
My green tee.

All these things make me sad,
for I know one day the winds will shift,
and they will get dirty.

The Art of Solitude

I am alone.
But yet, perhaps not.
I am alone only if that
is my desire. My dream.

My silent companion studies me.
It knows me.
My strengths, my hopes,
my weaknesses.

Reassuring, yet dark,
this ominous stranger.
Welcome, yet imposing.
Imposter stalking the night.

In fear I reject my foe,
pushing it back from where it came.
Yet I know that it will return,
by accident, by chance, but not by will.

A cold, soothing terror grips my stomach.
I am comfortably in pain.
The melancholy welcomes me like
a bed welcomes the sick.

This I bear, on and on,
until my silent companion returns,
like a cat in a darkened room,
sitting, watching, waiting.

Eternal Dreamathon

Running for fun.
Running for some conversation.
Running in hope and praying
for the freedoms of the African Savannah.

Jogging for head injuries,
not concussions,
but mental isolation.

Trotting along a dirt road,
I saw some cacti.
They were alone together.

Dreaming of moving swiftly through
the cranberry fields.

In memory of Rybeca Connor

Hey guys,
A good friend of mine, Rybeca Connor, recently passed away in a house fire. Rybeca was a very happy, kind and friendly person. She was a sophomore at Richland High. She was a great person to be around and had a positive attitude towards everything. She will be missed. Please keep her and her family in your thoughts and prayers at this difficult time.

When the Beans Arrived, Part 2

The beans I glared at
were soft hearted
and suggested their apologies.

Quickly removing themselves from the action,
the beans reclined on my couch,
and watched the Food Channel.

I took the beans into my kitchen
and grilled them.

The answers I recieved after my intense interrogation
were of a reasonable nature.
The beans admitted that they had indeed been chased
by depressed students carrying leafs of paper.

We walked out to the street
and there stood,
silently observing the occasion.

The beans propsed to me an idea
of a ridiculous nature
and in so doing I discovered
their organization and nomenclature.

Soon I found myself submerged in their plot,
which was sinister in a bean there done that
kind of way.

The beans were wearing pointed hats
and eating cake and dancing.
They also hit a pinata
shaped like a sloppily built staircase.

However, as the beans carried out their celebration
I sat in a nearby chair and noticed that none of them had said a word,
but that I could feel their emotions as clearly as if
they had shared their feelings while enjoying some nachos.

Fire.
Free.
Fred.
Frodo.
Sodo.
Rodeo.
Rode.
Ride.
Nachos.
Beans.

Ritchie Valens.

When the Beans Arrived, Part 1

One day, I was.
Then suddenly, nothing.
But, something.
In fact, an opinion.

The unorderly beans marched in,
destroying my fallen Jenga blocks
and sharing their withdrawals.

I felt the beans successful frustration,
their party was so stale it smelled of
freshly baked bread.

Soon the beans began to chant,
"We must disband! We must disband!"
and I knew something off hand
was afoot.

I showed them my birthmarks,
one upon my forehead,
the other my entire left arm,
from the wrist on up.

When the hesitant pods saw this,
they screamed and ran,
into my bedroom,
where I kept my equilibriums.

The beans entered this maniacal system
and shared their energy.
My helium disappeared,
and I cried "He too!"


Come back tomorrow for Part 2!

Para bailar La Bamba...

So today is Friday! I had a great but long week. In fact, I think this has been the only day all week where I didn't have some sort of event after school.

Today is Ritchie Valen's birthday. For those of you who don't know who Ritchie Valens is, he popularized the Mexican folk song La Bamba in the United States in the 50's. Anyway, Ritchie's recording of La Bamba is not very good. In fact, it's pretty terrible, made worse by an absolutely brutal guitar solo. Being an avid guitarist, I can't stand it. So I observe this event with a very inspired poem.

This one's called Burning Nachos.

Party time!
Oh wait, dear friends,
it's just a bad pantomime.

Hear the music,
3 chords strong,
and a voice that summons forest ticks.

Really hopeful trees
wait with bated breath
for the cries of freed violet oranges
but are left without them
and are blue.

Sad notetakers run through the woods
abandoning forsaken salts and wheats
and instead pursue some beans.

When this happens,
try to see and wait
for the arrival of the beans.



Enjoy your weekend!

Dormice

Hello all (I'm hoping theres at least 1 person who has discovered my blog so far),
I'd like to post a poem inspired by dormice (at the urging of my friend Emery):

Come, see through my window,
Quite ironically, I might suggest,
See the tiny dormice,
eating at the table.

I know they are weary,
but they fight the war of eternal monotony,
as the turkey sandwiches grow some lovely mold.

Refugees of dreaming teeth,
here they is,
Drubs.

So how do dormice
find their ironic conformity?
It's quite simply, truly,
sand free.

Goals

So mostly this blog is just to kinda hang out here. I might post some sweet poems from time to time. Either way. Little about myself. I go to Richland High School and basically do all the music possible there. Marching Band, Wind Ensemble, Jazz Band, the works. I'm also in some groovy groups around town, like my own rock bands and a super awesome steel drum group Bram Brata. I play tuba, guitar, steel drums, piano, and a couple more, but those are the big ones. I played football this past year, and that was fun. I started for the better part of the season, but decided marching band was way cooler. I'll post more later, but that's me in a nutshell.

Hey there

So my friends asked me to start a blog here for some cool stuff. So I did. I'm Denin. I lead a great life. 'Nuff said.