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/u:bæ∫Ik/[n] The greatest, most superlative of its kind;[n] Elegant and stylist;[n] amalgation of German-Franco lexicon, describing hypercool translinguistic supracultural phenomenon.

Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Last Thursday, I was walking along Waterman St., heading towards my last class of the week. As I waved to a casual acquaintance spotted amidst the undergraduate ebb, my left foot stubbed itself against the summer-warmed sidewalk slab. A tiny silver of flesh on my big toe was ripped off, along with the abrasion of a large portion of skin.

The pain never did subside for an hour, after which the injured area became numb. All throughout the 80 minute class, and the hobble back to my apartment to attend to it, no-one noticed that my entire left slipper was soaking with warm blood. Neither did any of the people I managed to greet along the way after class notice my slight limp.

So many people have a gaping wound on their left big toe. It's been there as long as they can remember, but no-one but themselves ever see the slow loss of lifeblood. Everyday they try to dress it up with bandage, and they've learned how to walk so that their limp doesn't show. They have gotten used to the slick moistness in their shoes. Most of all, they have become accustomed to the pain. Every step they take hurts.

Everyone walks with a limp. You don't even have to look in the mirror for an example. Just wriggle your left big toe.

And go ahead; it's O.K. to let a friend dress up the wound for you.

Sunday, September 23, 2007
Possibly one of the best songs ever recorded. By a man who has now fallen from grace.

Sunday, September 09, 2007
So we've had quite a number of people store their stuff in our apartment. There's been a couple of random items that have been left unclaimed. Among them is this velvety scarlet red blanket with a snow tiger glaring out.

Now you're jealous, no?

Monday, September 03, 2007
It's been a very long week, one of those that takes her time to move the sun across the sky, her hours lingering in the cool summer night a little too long, one that makes you itching for friends & family, while I'm drinking deep of a pleasurable solitude.

I always love meeting freshmen, juggling names, faces and smiles in my head. But this year, I find myself bogged down with a new orientation schedule that's crammed in with the first 2 days of class, long nights bearing another's burdens. There's also an unwritten proposal for a partly-unwanted unwritten thesis, delivery due in 2 weeks.

And the lack of internet access, a blessing in disguise, the nakedness and procrastination not a problem for the past 7 days. But the absence of any unsecured wireless network means my laptop stays powered off, meaning Over the Rhine's new album hasn't intoxicated me fully yet.

But this new album's not hard to get into at all. Their title track takes Isaiah from Heaven, and rescues John from exile on Patmos, sits them down in a cabaret bar somewhere in the South, chatting about eschatology while jamming with the best horn players the church has never known.

This might be their best song yet.

the Trumpet Child
The trumpet child will blow his horn
Will blast the sky till it’s reborn
With Gabriel’s power and Satchmo’s grace
He will surprise the human race

The trumpet he will use to blow
Is being fashioned out of fire
The mouthpiece is a glowing coal
The bell a burst of wild desire

The trumpet child will riff on love
Thelonious notes from up above
He’ll improvise a kingdom come
Accompanied by a different drum

The trumpet child will banquet here
Until the lost are truly found
A thousand days, a thousand years
Nobody knows for sure how long

The rich forget about their gold
The meek and mild are strangely bold
A lion lies beside a lamb
And licks a murderer’s outstretched hand

The trumpet child will lift a glass
His bride now leaning in at last
His final aim to fill with joy
The earth that man all but destroyed