Of Miles Rausch

Two men, both seriously ill, occupied the same hospital room. One man was allowed to sit up in his bed for an hour each afternoon to help drain the fluid from his lungs. His bed was next to the room’s only window. The other man had to spend all his time flat on his back.

The men talked for hours on end. They spoke of their wives and families, their homes, their jobs, their involvement in the military service, where they had been on vacation. And every afternoon when the man in the bed by the window could sit up, he would pass the time by describing to his roomate all the things he could see outside the window. The man in the other bed began to live for those one-hour periods where his wold would be broadened and enlivened by all the activit;y and color of the world outside.

The window overlooked a park with a lovely lake. Ducks and swans played on the water while children sailed their model boats. Young lovers walked arm in arm amidst flowers of every color of the rainbow. Grand old trees graced the landscape, and a fine wiew of the city skyline could be seen in the distance. As the man by the window described all this in exquisite detail, the man on the other side of the roomm would close his eyes and imagine the picturesque scene.

One warm afternoon the man by the window described a parade passing by. Although the other man couldn’t hear the band – he could see it in his mind’s eye as the gentleman by the window portrayed it with desriptive words. Day and weeks passed.

One morning, the day nurse arrived to bring water for their baths only to find the lifeless body of the man by the window, who had died peacefully in his sleep. She was saddened and called the hospital atnedants to take the body away.

As soon as it seemed appropriate, the other man asked if he could be moved next to the window. The nurse was happy to make the switch, and after making sure he was comfotable, she left him alon.

Slowly, painfully, he propped himself up on one elbow to take his first look at the world out side. Finally, he would have the joy of seeing it for himself. He strained to slowly turn to look out the window beside the bed. It faced a brick wall.

The man called the day nurse back to his room. “Why,” he asked, “would my roommate describe such wonderful scenes for me? Why not just tell me that all there is here is a brick wall?”

The nurse smiled. “The reason he didn’t describe the brick wall is because he couldn’t even see that. He was completely blind when they brought him in.”

I had quite the weekend. There was much on my planning plate for Saturday. I had it all laid out: Zoo, Museum, Dinner, Movie. Then my family arrived. The plan became: Zoo, Arcade at Movie Theatre, Dance Dance Revolution, Movie, Dinner. No problem; I’m a flexible guy.

It was a good day, but one thing truly stuck out in my mind. There was really only one thing that was worth writing a comedic commentary on, and that was “The Passion of the Christ”. Whoa – what a funny movie! It was like a return to slapstick Charlie Chaplin movies. It was even entirely in German and French, which is unusual.

Aside from that, though, the funniest thing was the Great Plains Zoo (GPZ), in Sioux Falls. There is nothing more trashy looking then a South Dakotan Zoo in the winter. Most people don’t think we have running water up here, let alone wild animals kept in cages. GPZ seems to help reinforce that idea by giving Zoo Walkers very little to hold up their expectations.

You start by walking through a museum. A museum is a lot like a zoo except that everything is already dead. That and you “learn” things at a museum, supposedly. I learned is that their messed-up version of pangea is way wrong and misshapen. There is no way to get that thing into one land mass. I also learned what color carpet one can expect to find in the Rocky Mountains, the Amazon Rain Forest, and the Sahara Desert.

Off to the zoo. First thing you see out the doors is the rhino. Rhinos are scary by virtue of their large size, quick temper, and poor eyesight. You know that TRex on Jurassic Park? You remember when he rams the side of the jeep as it drives away? That was modeled after rhino behavior. Yeah – TRex, boys. TRex.

The TRex, I mean rhino, was pacing back and forth. He wasn’t just walking back and forth; he was doing figure-eights. Like a bad figure skater trapped in hell, he just went around and around, panting quietly. I, noticing his ethnicity (he was African), asked him if his being African American made him feel oppressed by his white slave drivers.

In response, he slipped and, in trying to regain his balance, kicked a fine spray of dirt and feces onto my coat. I guess he can take care of himself.

The next cage featured these birds that we all mistakenly dubbed Emus, but who were really stupid whatsits from another country. Bryce began taunting one of them. Minutes later, after wrenching his shaking body from the out of their reach, we surmised that these Emu-wannabes didn’t care for taunting and name calling, as such. We decided, however, made a decision to piss off each type of animal there was at the zoo.

This promise extended into the penguin area. Penguins, you would think, would be one of the most interesting creatures to see at a zoo in the winter. They’re used to winter, you know, so they’d feel at home and relaxed. We got to the tank and realized that penguins are always uninteresting. They stood there, silent and unmoving, facing all different directions like RISK armies. They just stared off into whatever random direction they happened to have been placed. Despite the appealing pool designed for the utmost in penguin leisure, very few of the tuxedo wearing birdish creatures were enjoying a swim or a bathe. The only excitement came when one of the penguins began moving forward. We all cheered it on. Everyone, follow Billy’s lead! Then it bent over and shot some crap out of its butt.

Next were the bears. They weren’t as interesting. When I got to that pen, one of the bears was on a rock about 20 feet below us. My parents had apparently coaxed him over to talk fish prices, but, after my arrival, he declined to stay there much longer. He began a slow, boring walk back to his cave. I turn to Megan to admire the way the sunlight gently frosts its golden beams around her, and I hear a ruckus. The bears were having a fight, but, as soon as I turned their way, they stopped. The bears, sensing an inability to get along, walked to seperate corners of the pen.

A short distance from the bear pit is the tiger track. I love tigers. Tigers are nature’s Fonzi. Cool and strong and covered in fur, though. If you don’t believe me, try putting a tiger next to a jukebox. He’ll tear it to shreds if you hang meat around it – just like Fonzi used to do. No wonder Ron Howard turned to directing! The funny thing about the tiger was that he was doing figure eights, too. The not-so-funny thing about the tiger was that he was limping. :( Pobre tigres.

Then there was the falcon/eagle cage. Most of these birds had been removed due to the violent, horrible nature of a South Dakotan winter. The ones that remained stared at us with a cool demeaner. They seemed to say, we may have one side of the cage that we launch our poop through, but we can launch it at you just as easily. Seconds later, Bryce, Lindsey, and Tony found a dead squirrel which they buried next to the road.

RIP, Mr. SnappyPants, Esquire.

The highlight of the zoo, however, was definitely the monkey arena. We went inside first. Inside there was a mommy monkey and a baby monkey. The mommy just stared at us through the glass. The little one kept climbing around and playing and being happy. He’d come up to his mother and gently pull her hair a couple times, swing around some more, and then the momma would smack him, grab him, and bite him. What a sweet mother.

Then, suddenly, she began moving. She climbed the ropes and ledges and came as close as she could to the window. Hanging there on her fingers, she stared at Tony, stared at him. Maybe it was love, but what happened next, I can’t tell you here : e-mail tonysfreakymonkeylove@awayken.com.

Then we went outdoors. I was standing there, waiting for some of the other people to walk out, and I had taken time to look at a monkey. As more people filed out the doors, we all turned to look at the monkey. He had been lying on his back, slightly turned away from us. Then he stood up. Right there was the biggest, pinkest monkey boner I have ever seen. Everyone’s eyes got huge, and we tried our best to turn away. It was horrifying.

We couldn’t stay any longer. The girls were scarred. The rest were skerrd. My parents were angry, seeking legislation to calm our woes. As we stood in the parking lot, Brenna just shook, her eyes fixated on a primate penis that was no longer there. My parents went to present me with a cake, but no one was hungry. In fact, no one was anything. We just stood there – dead in our hearts – and lamented this day, the day we lost our monkey penis innocence.

Walking with Miles� guitar strumming away wearing away his cheap guitar strings hoping they wear so thin he can finally replace them with his Martin strings he plays for just us.

Walking Dan and I try to keep a tune but Dan soon gives up and pats his stomach and legs for a drum affect that will soon turn his belly and legs bright red making him stop and ending the beat in which we stepped.

Walking I sing into the night, nearly screaming concerned for the people living in the houses we walk on past in the late night but don�t care cause I�m sure I could outrun them.

Walking, Miles quits playing and with each story the words are frozen in the air as the temperature nears 40 degrees and we regret wearing our shorts, it was warm when we left.

Walking Dan starts, �I can�t even� Miles and I complete �begin to start thinking of knowing how to answer that question� and we laugh, not because of the oddness of the phrase we�ve become so fond of but because we all remembered it and recited it as if it were a prayer at church we had been saying since we were old enough to have to stay away throughout the entire mass.

Walking I start singing a familiar tune I haven�t thought of in months and Miles racks his brain trying to remember the chords as Dan finds the beat on his legs and we sing about a boy and his love for his butterfly as the moon shines on us as if it were a sun.

Walking we discuss everything we can think of for this is our chance, away from parents, away from school mates, away from girlfriends, attention is only on us without acting a certain way for anyone�s approval.

Walking we unleash the terrors trembling just under our skin that have been waiting to be set free for so long.

Walking with Dan and Miles and I, I feel like I could cry, run away, jump for joy, sleep, jump, tackle, slide, scream and any number of other emotions I could possibly be feeling because I love this moment but I know the moment is gone almost as soon as I realize it.

Walking we get to the swings which we finally rest on without realizing the swings are a symbol of so much more than we realize at that moment, swings bring up back and forth, you always start at the present and go to the past then the future, much like life, much like our conversations, we always start talking about what we�re doing now, memories of old, then where we�re going in this playground of life, and much like a swing we end the night by jumping off going forward, into the future.

We walk home.

Guess what? I’m in another play!

But, in an effort to keep some of my fans, I’m going to try to make this a post.

This musical is a riot. Here’s a basic synopsis of the plot. We meet the Smith Family. There is Mr. and Mrs., Agnes and Tootie (the token little kids), Esther, Rose, and Lon (the goody-two-shoes older children), Grandpa (whose fez fetish caused Grandma to leave him), and Katie (the irish white slave).

We watch the inane inner household of this 1904, typical upper class St. Louis suburban family for about three scenes. The girls only think about marriage. The boy only thinks about food. The dad only thinks about his bath. And the major conflict is what time supper is.

They are all a titter over the World’s Fair, coming soon to St. Louis. Who in God’s name chose St. Louis for the WORLD’S Fair? Was it that arch? Was that it? They could have held it in Washington, D.C., our nation’s capitol. They could have held it in New York, the most populous city in America. Instead, they chose to have such an outstanding fair in St. Louis, city of Nelly.

So, we watch them for a while. A LONG while. Then, randomly, a bright orange trolly with a little kid as conductor shows up on stage and all these random chorus people begin to sing “The Trolley Song”. Wait, that’s not a little kid. It’s Miles! But his outfit is a little big, so he looks 12 or 13, which is just the look he wants. Gracious.

Lon has a going away party, but he never goes away. There’s a ballroom dance, where I personally dance for just short of an hour, which also has little reason but to bore the audience and give me cramps in my calves. There is all this drama because Mr. Smith gets a job New York and they have to move, before the fair! Oh, Gosh!

In the end, Mr. Smith doesn’t have to move and nothing really happens at all in the musical. The girls get boyfriends, Lon (who goes nowhere) gets a girlfriend, Tootie and Agnes get to see lights out of doors, and Katie is free of her servitude. No, not really.

In this play, I play three characters – Lance and Sidney Purvis who are twin brothers and their uncle (the motorman), Ed Purvis. This means four costumes, two changes of which are in the same scene and minutes within each other. Lance is “normal Miles”. Sidney is “afraid of girls and bad dancer Miles”. Ed is “happy super anime fun Miles”. All-in-all, it’s a lot of sweat.

You should show up. If you’re good, I’ll let you wear my motorman hat.

Maybe.

DJ Danger Mouse, what an intimidating name, is a hip hop disc jockey who has not been paying attention to news. He took two musical Gods and mixed them together, unfortunately, he didn�t tell either of the artists. He mixed the rapper Jay-Z�s �The Black Album� and The Beatles� �The White Album.� You don�t have to be an Art major to figure out that black and white makes grey, hence the name of his little album.

He claims it was all in fun and he just wanted to give it to friends and family, �Merry Christmas �Nana�, but he also sold some copies to a record store to get his name out. After that, because of Al Gore inventing that darned internet the music got everywhere.

Guess who wasn�t pleased: Jay-Z and the Beatles. Lennon reportedly rolled over in his grave and Jay-Z was so upset he bought another gun.

Logically, if you didn�t want anymore trouble you�d apologize and get those CD�s you�ve made for �Nana and Booby and plead forgiveness, right? Wrong. Once the Grey Album his the news and EMI records, The Beatles music�s babysitter, and letters from lawyers were released DJ�s pals started up website and made Tuesday February 24 �Grey Tuesday�. There were a plethora of websites posting the album for free download, just to antagonize the RIAA and EMI.

You have to love that. There were over 150 websites posting these illegal tracks!

I am not a fan of the RIAA bullying kids on computers. They push people around, slap enormous fines on them and all in the name of the law. I may have been able to buy that poor Britney Spears and the band Metallica were starving to death for a while, but then I watched �Cribs� on MTV. Their garages are the size of our entire university and they have more vehicles then we have in our parking lot.

Though Jay-Z and EMI may not be happy about this new album, I�m sure they�ll sue until they feel better.

We both lie on our backs, facing the golden disc in the sky. The long, green grass is soft and cool against our warm, summer-kissed skin.

We stare up at the sky. Thousands of white, cotton-fluffed clouds skirt across a deep blue field. The shapes join and divide into a menagerie of animals, blobs, and household items.

Three butterflies play upon the delicate breath of the wind. When I squint, their colors stretch into a column that reaches above them and dives below them.

I turn my head to look at you, but all I see is your notebook. The wind blows back the cover, and I see something written in sky blue ink.

love me until the sky falls down…

I look, but you’re gone. I squint at the words in your notebook, and they stretch into columns. I pick up the notebook with your command safely nestled within its pages. I vow to keep those words for as long as I live.

I will love you until the sky falls down…

Download it at deviantART.

This is a wallpaper Megan made for me.

The text says, “Love me until the sky falls down…” and it has three butterflies on it.

She made this in MS Paint on my tablet.

Download it at deviantART.

When I turned 18 I had no clue what I was in for. I knew I would get addicted to something but had no clue it would be gambling. Actually, I wouldn’t say I’m completely addicted I just have to gamble all the time and if I don’t I kick
ducklings until I feel better. Not that I don’t like ducklings, but we all have to relieve stress somehow, right?

I am writing about gambling because lots and lots of college students are willing to sacrifice their $3 tip from delivering a Papa John’s pizza in a blizzard to drunk
college kids on a single hand of black jack at the $3 minimum tables.

Easy come, easy go right?

Right!

I will be the voice for college students against their parents who say, “You have wasted away $20,000 this semester on Texas Hold ‘Em, but we’re still proud.” Well,at least you didn’t buy crack or a wife with that 20 grand, right?

As the Fresh Prince said, “parent’s just don’t understand.” Sing it, Willie.

When we’re standing behind a stack of chips taller than the stack of our unfinished homework we really have no choice but to double down or at least split them aces.

College students live in a place with few things to do besides go to the bar and earn a degree, so unless we want to do our homework or get destroyed we have no other option but to leave town and go to a place where we can help earn our tuition money a thousand times faster than a job. So thank you casinos of our area for so warmly welcoming us to your establishments. Thank you for taking my money so graciously. At least your pop is free.

I was in psych class last week. I attend sometimes, but not as often as I should. I know pretty much everything we go over, so class is fairly boring.

If I do attend, I sit and write or draw. It seems like I’ve been drawing forever. It really is a passion of mine, to sit and pour my soul out through ink onto paper. I always start with a clear mind. I just let my hand go and then refine what develops out of my rambling sketches. It’s refreshing to see something come out of nothingness.

So, I was sketching in psych class last week when the professor holds up a sketch. “This,” he says, “is a drawing my darling son did of two trees when he was 5. Notice that only the greatest details are shown. He drew the family in. Look at how the heads are larger and the hands and feet don’t even seem to have ends to them. This is an unconscious statement of the idea that he and his family and the trees are all that his world represents. There is nothing else out there.”

He held up another sheet of paper. “This,” he went on, “is a drawing my same son did when he was 10, twice as old. It is, again, of the same two trees and it has him and his dog instead of the whole family. The features are more defined. There are leaves and bark lines, and the dog wears a collar. This represents all that makes him happy. He is happiest out of doors with his favorite canine companion.”

He held up a third sheet. “This,” he stated, “is a drawing my son did when he was 15. Same two trees, but this time there is only himself. There is clear, adult detailing in this one. He used different shading techniques to give it a real look. Perspective is cleaner, as are the proportions. In this one, though, there is only himself. This represents his feelings of alienation at that age. His dog has died, his family ‘hates’ him, and all he has left are the trees.”

All throughout his lecture, I felt my hands moving, but I didn’t see what they were doing. They raced across the paper. When I looked down, I had drawn two trees. There was no person, but there was a cemetery. It represented my discovery of death, mortality, and finality. Even when we all die, there will still be the trees, waiting for the next little boy to draw them.

I signed my drawing and placed it carefully in my bag. I felt the professor looking at me as I left. “Did you enjoy the lecture?” he asked me. I smiled and nodded but said nothing. I had learned a lot today. Who knew that my dad’s psych class could be so educational?

Download it at deviantART.

I have a good post waiting, guys. I just need to get my scanner humming, and then the laughter can begin. It’s a waiting game from here – that’s all. So, while I was thinking of what I could write to hold you over, Megan informed me that I could tell you, my readers, a little story about this weekend.

This weekend was none too big. We tried to go to the Zoo on Saturday only to find it had closed four hours previously. We ate at an Arby’s (where I didn’t realize that all their meals are kid’s meals), and then went home.

Sunday, however, was a different story. We met at China Moon, me with Cribbage in hand, to eat lunch. There is always a good selection of food at the Moon on Sundays, and, despite the slightly more inflated prices on that day, is well worth the trip.

After enjoying the first bites of our meal, we get the board out and start shuffling. Playing Cribbage at China Moon has become a tradition of ours. As a result, Megan has gotten quite good at the game. After I refresh her on what numbers together make 15 (“It’s 9 and 8, right? No. 9 and 6. What goes with 8? 7?”), we deal and the game begins.

Several good hands later, she is about 30 points ahead of me. She does her best to sound supporting but not overly condescending. It doesn’t work. “You’ll get some good hands, sweetie. Don’t worry.”

Then I get a decent hand. I count up, whoa, six points. Then, as I go to put my hand down, I realize that I didn’t use the 4 that was cut. I tell her that, explaining that my hand was perfect for a four – I would probably double my points. She says, “Too bad. It’s against the rules.”

What?

“You wouldn’t let me do this, and you know it.”

That is not true. Of course I would. You always get a chance to recount your cards.

“No way. You lost your chance. You put your cards down.”

No, this isn’t the same thing. YOU wanted to take back the cards you put in the crib because you saw what was dealt. That’s not the same thing.

“Sorry. Don’t cry about it.”

How many times did I recount your cards, or let you count them again? How many times?

“Fine, move. How many points would you have had?”

I don’t know. You took my cards.

“Just move.”

No. You said it was against the rules. I wouldn’t want to break any rules of the game that I taught you.

“Ugh! Move 4 or I will move back 4.”

No.

She goes to move.

Fine.

I move my page four points forward.

“Is that the number you would have had?”

Sure.

“No it’s not. How many? Just move some.”

No. That is cheating.

“I will start crying right here, I am serious.”

So, with that drama behind us, and 6 points added to my side, the game continues, and Lady Luck does not smile in my favor. In fact, the point spread gets worse. She continues to give me words of encouragement while my best hands are about 10 points short of her average hands.

I despondently eat my chicken teriyaki. I just play the hands and pay little attention to what may happen during them. That is why it snuck up on me. She easily pushes her peg into the finish spot and looks at me triumphantly.

Good job, baby. You won.

I try to sound cheery for her. Then I hear her say, so softly I can barely hear it, and so gently that it hardly befalls my ears, something I never thought I’d hear.

“What does that ‘s’ mean?”

It means skunk. If the other player isn’t past that mark, then they are skunked.

“Oh. So that means I skunked you.”

The realization was slow in setting in, but once it hit, it hit hard. She had skunked me. I have to tell her before every game that eight and seven make fifteen, and she skunked me. They say that all teachers hope that their students will outsmart them, but I never wanted this.

I never wanted this.

Hey folks. I’ve been experimenting with stylesheets lately. This is a nostalgic look back at “comedown”, the version before this vistan.

I’m working on making each stylesheet totally compatible with the others. This way, I can change the entire look of the site (within certain limits) without changing the code.

Look forward to stylesheets for different holidays and special days of my choosing.

What do you think? I will probably only do main, comment, archive, and individual entry pages. Wallpaper, poetry, prose, images will not be ‘skinned’ like this.

And now, the quizzes!!

Lonliness dominates you. You can hide it well, but its there, and your friends can see it. You constantly feel alone, and need to do things to fill your time. Your afraid to tell people this, but sooner or later it gets out in a bad way, and you think you screwed up everything. And when you are in love is when you are sad the most.

What Emotion Dominates you?
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Ghost or spirit: You are a lost soul. Very calm and sweet, you are often the one who asks: What if? With a clever mind, you want to explore the world on a different level. Without the answers, you aren’t ready to move on. You are most likely very creative and find yourself thinking things through on a different level.

**Where will you go when you die?**(now with pics)
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You are Form 0, Phoenix: The Eternal.

“And The Phoenix’s cycle had reached zenith, so he consumed himself in fire. He emerged from his own ashes, to be forever immortal.”

Some examples of the Phoenix Form are Quetzalcoatl (Aztec), Shiva (Indian), and Ra-Atum (Egyptian). The Phoenix is associated with the concept of life, the number 0, and the element of fire. His sign is the eclipsed sun.

As a member of Form 0, you are a determined individual. You tend to keep your sense of optomism, even through tough times and have a positive outlook on most situations. You have a way of looking at going through life as a journey that you can constantly learn from. Phoenixes are the best friends to have because they cheer people up easily.

Which Mythological Form Are You?
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What Finding Nemo Character are You?
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You’re a natural born trouble-maker. You hate authority and do everything you can to get around the law, or in some cases, break it. Naturally stubborn, you hardly ever sway once a decision is made. Your nature is fiery and courageous, and always out-going. You love attention and usually have kinky fetishes you’re not afraid to explore. People either love you or hate you.

What Type of Soul Do You Have ?
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Aphrodite/Eros

?? Which Of The Greek Gods Are You ??
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you are the “you suck, and that’s sad” happy bunny. your truthful, but can be a bit brutal.

which happy bunny are you?
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Aryan Bear

Which Dysfunctional Care Bear Are You?
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My inner dragon is to dragons what the Ranger is to humans. I possess considerable intelligence and self-confidence. I live by my own code of ethics and I stick to it at all times. Click the image to try the Inner Dragon Online Quiz for yourself.

You’re The Guns of August by Barbara Tuchman.

Though you’re interested in war, what you really want to know is what causes war. You’re out to expose imperialism, militarism, and nationalism for what they really are. Nevertheless, you’re always living in the past and have a hard time dealing with what’s going on today. You’re also far more focused on Europe than anywhere else in the world. A fitting motto for you might be "Guns do kill, but so can diplomats."

Take the Book Quiz at the Blue Pyramid.

You’re Italy.

You pretty much feel like you are the most long-standing bastion of civilized humanity on the face of the earth. While this is probably not true, you do have a noted history of living the good life and spreading culture to those around you. More recently, however, things have started to slide and you’re having a hard time staying together and not getting beaten up. People still like to ask you how it was to be the center of high culture, but your days at the top are long past you. Avoid volcanoes, flooding, and unstable buildings wherever possible.

Take the Country Quiz at the Blue Pyramid

I have just added four works by Bryce in the poetry section.

It’s well worth your time to read. Check out his other poetry. Check out any else’s poetry for that matter.