you look a little heavy on the j side

according to the myers-briggs personality test, i am an ENTJ

ENTJ:

"frank, decisive, assume leadership readily. quickly see illogical and inefficient procedures and policies, develop and implement comprehensive systems to solve organizational problems. enjoy long term planning and goal setting. usually well informed, well read, enjoy expanding their knowledge and passing it on to others. forceful in presenting their ideas."

the top ten popular occupations by ENTJ personalities include:

anesthesiologist
management consultant
top executive, legal
top executive, architecture and engineering
top executive, life, physical and social sciences
urban/regional planer
internist
top executive, sales
top executive, arts, design, entertainment, sports and media

and according to the analyst, most of the leaders in the country are ENTJ

so here i am, i'm going to rule the world, now accepting donations

family

as a little girl, all curls and questions
he was a god, a giant in my eyes
as invincible, as he was powerful

i was athena, born from the father
my armour was his religion
my mother, nonexistent to her own child
eclipsed by a false idol

as a little girl, i plucked out my own eyes
to mold myself in the image of the father
tremored in his anger, beamed in his praise

born from the father, the armour his religion

a woman now, heart broken by men
armour pawned when bankrupt by love
i grew gray in a summer

the gleam of god is gone
buried deep beneath his wander, lust
while mother drips in sadness
tracking grief into the family temple

a woman now, i rage (a silent war)
against this man, no longer the father
daddy is dead, replaced by a disease

while mother drips in sadness

reporter for starbucks!

starbucks should pay former NYT reporter judith miller for her unintentional promotion/advert for the company. perhaps knock a zero off for covering the logo with the sleeve, but hell, I bet it was an americano and those suckers burn.

source: reporter testifies in c.i.a. leak trial

the second coming/yeats

turning and turning in the widening gyre
the falcon cannot hear the falconer;

things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;

mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,

the blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
the ceremony of innocence is drowned;
the best lack all conviction, while the worst
are full of passionate intensity.

exlax

my fingers itch with words, but are too constipated to form a satisfactory sentence.

eavesdropping

listen to: gonna make you love me/ryan adams, "gold" album

sit with your back towards the room
in a busy cafe, headphones on

wait for someone(s) to sit nearby
waiting to share their story
just not to you

keep the headphones on
a sly click of to mute
and listen

he's 30 and came to this country when he was 5
when his mother was killed

...this could get interesting

sort of like raw meat

i've noticed that friendships are marked for expiration sooner these days, not made for durability and, instead, quickly become sour.

hercules! hercules!

kevin sorbo on the OC?

122706 - 010107

i feel like i went to hell and back.

but i learned some valuable lessons:

(1) you can't save the world, but you can make a difference
(2) there is no shame in generosity
(3) age doesn't matter
(4) we all have our demons
(5) never underestimate the virtue in asking for help
(6) remember the small things, they lead you to the bigger ones
(7) desperate times call for desperate measures
(8) everyone has a limit, recognize and abide by it
(9) there is possibility in an impossible situation
(10) never say never

i was thrown a curveball, but i think i might have batted this one out of the park. i guess time will tell.

measured emotions

recently, a friend told me that i was too rational for romance.

i immediatly conjured up an image of large mason jars labeled with different emotions--anger, happiness, love, whathaveyou--locked down in a cool cellar and kept in the company of shadows.

hung on a crooked nail, somehow wedged into the stone wall, are a set of measuring spoons.

and with each event, adventure and misadventure, episode and experience, the thick doors to the cellar are heaved open with considerable effort. i imagine a breath of stale air escaping from the deep and dark expanse of the cellar mouth as i descend down the steps.

perhaps with a shrug, most likely with a look of concerned concentration, i take the spoons down from that crooked nail and carefully measure out the proper amount of emotions from the applicable jars into a beaker--i'm a mad scientist now, but a rational one.

i swirl the solution, double check the proportions and deposit the product into a barrel labeled "reaction" that is stuffed into a corner, replace the spoons and lock the doors.

yeah, i suppose i am too rational for romance.