Wednesday, October 15, 2008

Envy

Jack, as an English major you definitely get an education that provides you with eloquence and cohesion with your words. I will say that I wish I had the creativity and vocabulary to write as you do. Unfortunately, engineering majors don't really provide you with classes such as yours. However, deep into last night I realized that I learn a different type of poetry. Here is a sample of engineering poetry.


#include
#define FOREVER 1

code char *welcome = "Hello Mike and Greg! Today is 10/14/08 and this is Lab 7.\n";
char *pmsg = 0;
char nullTerm = 0;
char upper;

int counter = 0;
int rate = 3;
int reload1 = 0x87;
int reload2 = 0x6F;
sbit portbit = P2^7;
sbit portbit0 = P1^0;
sbit portbit1 = P1^1;


void init(void);


main()
{
init(); /*initialize UART for serial comm mode 1 9600 baud*/
while(FOREVER); /*run forever*/
}

void init(void)
{
EA=0; /*disable interrupts*/
TMOD = 0x21; /*Mode 2 Timer 1, Mode 1 Timer 0*/
TH0 = 0x87;
TL0 = 0x6F;
TR0 = 1;
TH1 = 0xfa; /*9600 baud reload value*/
TL1 = 0xfa;
TR1 = 1; /*turn on timer 1*/
SCON = 0x50; /*mode 1 serial port TI=1*/
portbit0 = 0;
ET1 = 0;
PS = 1;
PT0 = 0;
ES = 1;
EA = 1;
pmsg = welcome;
SBUF = *pmsg;

}

void SPISR(void) interrupt 4
{
if(TI==1)
{
TI=0; /*clear interrupt flag */
if (*pmsg != 0)
{
pmsg++;
SBUF = *pmsg;
}
else if (*pmsg == 0)
ET0 = 1;
}
else
{
RI=0; /*clear receive flag */
ACC=SBUF; /*copy recieve character */

if(ACC >= 0x61 && ACC <= 0x7A)
upper = ACC - 0x20;
else
upper = ACC;

if(upper == 0x53) /* S */
portbit0 = 0; /* Enable */

else if(upper == 0x4C) /* L */
{
portbit0 = 1;
portbit1 = 1; /* Direction - CW */
}
else if(upper == 0x52) /* R */
{
portbit0 = 1;
portbit1 = 0; /* Direction - CCW */
}

if(upper == 0x30)
{
rate = 3;
reload1 = 0x87;
reload2 = 0x6F;
}
else if(upper == 0x31)
{
rate = 30;
reload1 = 0x87;
reload2 = 0x6F;
}
else if(upper == 0x32)
{
rate = 15;
reload1 = 0x87;
reload2 = 0x6F;
}
else if(upper == 0x33)
{
rate = 5;
reload1 = 0x0E;
reload2 = 0xDF;
}
else if(upper == 0x34)
{
rate = 5;
reload1 = 0x4B;
reload2 = 0x27;
}
else if(upper == 0x35)
{
rate = 6;
reload1 = 0x87;
reload2 = 0x6F;
}
else if(upper == 0x36)
{
rate = 5;
reload1 = 0x87;
reload2 = 0x6F;
}
else if(upper == 0x37)
{
rate = 5;
reload1 = 0x98;
reload2 = 0xA8;
}
else if(upper == 0x38)
{
rate = 5;
reload1 = 0xA5;
reload2 = 0x93;
}
else if(upper == 0x39)
{
rate = 5;
reload1 = 0xAF;
reload2 = 0x9F;
}


SBUF = upper; /* echo recieve character */
}
}


void TOISR(void) interrupt 1
{
counter = counter + 1;

if(counter==rate)
{
portbit = !portbit;
counter = 0;
}

TH0 = reload1;
TL0 = reload2;
}

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

Dear Mr. Poet
by Jack Escobar

I envy the fractal perfection of your well-balanced lines.
You think I don't see the effortlessness of imperfection
in casual
line-breaks,
the rigid introspection demanded by form?
If my lines are leaves
carried by breezes,
I'd see them smashed
beneath your earth-grasping feet,
the powder thus inhaled by your fat nostrils.
Nothing is nothing
next to you,
the way you pull the levers that
shake the world;
the bright gravity of your ebullient star
driving mine out of commission.

How can one man stand upright
in the furious gulf?
How can I fight back
against Bukowski's drunken fists?
"unless it comes out of
your soul like a rocket,
don't do it."
So I made up my mind.
I drowned the baby in the bath.
I knew not the sun:
so I didn't do it.
Dream On
by James Tate

Some people go their whole lives
without ever writing a single poem.
Extraordinary people who don't hesitate
to cut somebody's heart or skull open.
They go to baseball games with the greatest of ease.
and play a few rounds of golf as if it were nothing.
These same people stroll into a church
as if that were a natural part of life.
Investing money is second nature to them.
They contribute to political campaigns
that have absolutely no poetry in them
and promise none for the future.
They sit around the dinner table at night
and pretend as though nothing is missing.
Their children get caught shoplifting at the mall
and no one admits that it is poetry they are missing.
The family dog howls all night,
lonely and starving for more poetry in his life.
Why is it so difficult for them to see
that, without poetry, their lives are effluvial.
Sure, they have their banquets, their celebrations,
croquet, fox hunts, their sea shores and sunsets,
their cocktails on the balcony, dog races,
and all that kissing and hugging, and don't
forget the good deeds, the charity work,
nursing the baby squirrels all through the night,
filling the birdfeeders all winter,
helping the stranger change her tire.
Still, there's that disagreeable exhalation
from decaying matter, subtle but everpresent.
They walk around erect like champions.
They are smooth-spoken and witty.
When alone, rare occasion, they stare
into the mirror for hours, bewildered.
There was something they meant to say, but didn't:
"And if we put the statue of the rhinoceros
next to the tweezers, and walk around the room three times,
learn to yodel, shave our heads, call
our ancestors back from the dead--"
poetrywise it's still a bust, bankrupt.
You haven't scribbled a syllable of it.
You're a nowhere man misfiring
the very essence of your life, flustering
nothing from nothing and back again.
The hereafter may not last all that long.
Radiant childhood sweetheart,
secret code of everlasting joy and sorrow,
fanciful pen strokes beneath the eyelids:
all day, all night meditation, knot of hope,
kernel of desire, pure ordinariness of life
seeking, through poetry, a benediction
or a bed to lie down on, to connect, reveal,
explore, to imbue meaning on the day's extravagant labor.
And yet it's cruel to expect too much.
It's a rare species of bird
that refuses to be categorized.
Its song is barely audible.
It is like a dragonfly in a dream--
here, then there, then here again,
low-flying amber-wing darting upward
then out of sight.
And the dream has a pain in its heart
the wonders of which are manifold,
or so the story is told.

Wednesday, October 1, 2008

I kissed a man.

I didn't really do that but I thought my first post should have something eye catching.

Anyway, I'm sitting in Aerodynamics I and I just thought I should give Jack the gratification of knowing that his friends kind of somewhat pay attention to this shit. Jack I love you.

Side note: If Jack weren't a man, I'd propose to him ten years ago.

To the main point. While sitting here in my thrice-weekly aero-coma I have been contemplating what makes people happy and how to achieve said happiness. Now, I am not sad or depressed in any fashion and in fact I have quite a wonderful life. But I'm curious as to what people think make people happy. What do you guys think?

According to the late great Mark Twain:

"Sanity and happiness are an impossible combination."