tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18668785423911949672024-03-13T10:27:55.329-07:00hospital smelling handsBarryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05923495914604069661noreply@blogger.comBlogger44125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1866878542391194967.post-22513069031250980602011-03-18T07:49:00.001-07:002011-03-18T07:49:43.838-07:00Oh Girl<div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: url(http://assets.tumblr.com/images/input_bg.gif); background-origin: initial; background-position: 50% 0%; background-repeat: repeat no-repeat; color: black; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.4; margin-bottom: 8px; margin-left: 12px; margin-right: 12px; margin-top: 8px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Oh girl walking her razor scooter up the sidewalk. You're wearing zebra print pajama pants and a red hoodie. I'd say you got out of bed, but this isn't the first time I've seen you. Everyday you're on the bus wearing some pair of pajama pants with your hair up, like your protesting letting it down.<br />
<br />
Oh girl that never really woke up, I guess you can't make it up the hill so you're waiting at the bus stop. I'm sorry I thought it was funny you had a razor scooter. I had one when I was in about 2nd grade and that was a pretty big deal. I'm pretty sure it was one of those gifts that after I got it my sister just had to have (and eventually did).<br />
<br />
Oh girl that can't really seem to accomplish much, do you remember that time we talked? Yeah, I mean, I think that was you, wasn't it? It was early in my first semester, when I was dragged my computer bag everywhere, the one with all the buttons. One of the buttons from Spamalot. The button reads "I'm not dead yet." We had just hopped off the bus and you came up behind me and said something like "Hello we have something in common, we both have the Spamlot button." I said something like "Oh really, yeah it's a great show." You went on to talk about how funny it was and how impressive the adaption came through. I agreed. I suppose I didn't have much to say. For me Broadway is something I feel more like talking about when I'm around people who know what I'm talking at, when I'm not somewhere so removed from it. It kind of feels like the shows that my family and I have seen, maybe we weren't allowed, we just snuck into the city for a couple trips. I guess most likely i didn't realize this at the time. This moment we had wasn't anything special. It was pretty awkward conversation, mostly because I didn't really have anything to say. You kept walking forward, no abandonment, you just realized the moment was passed. You might be my closest NKU friend.<br />
<br />
oh girl. Like I said, I'm not positive it was you, you were wearing sunglasses. Maybe it's somebody else and I just can't remember at all. It's whatever.<br />
I can't say I've really know you. You don't have a name because I've never heard it. You don't go to any classes because I've never had one with you. All I really can say with confidence is you don't seem to make much of an effort in life. No, I could be wrong, but from what I've gathered you're just like a lot of the kids that go here. You make yourself stand out all the way down the road until it gets too far or the hill gets too high and you wait for the bus stop. Don't loose any sleep over this, really don't. I probably don't even exist to you, right?<br />
<br />
Oh girl walking her razor scooter up the sidewalk. You're wearing zebra print pajama pants and a red hoodie.<br />
<br />
Oh girl that never really woke up, I guess you can't make it up the hill so you're waiting at the bus stop.<br />
<br />
Oh girl doesn't know that someone sees her giving up and getting on the bus. Oh girl that shakes it off and stands at the stop unmoved. Oh girl that moves forward off the sidewalk and tugs her scooter so it doesn't get in my way as I walk past. Thanks for clearing the courtesy, I'm a gunna walk the rest of the way for ya.</div>Barryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05923495914604069661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1866878542391194967.post-44059344899963417362011-03-11T11:21:00.001-08:002011-03-11T11:21:49.451-08:00Love Leavehttp://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7gGObENrkYkBarryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05923495914604069661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1866878542391194967.post-57020039594110914082011-03-09T11:33:00.000-08:002011-03-09T11:33:27.164-08:00The films are personal. They going to be personal or a little while. When the personal settles down then maybe the films will get a little more public. Until then, keep watching the skies.Barryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05923495914604069661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1866878542391194967.post-54886518552603199212011-01-04T00:18:00.001-08:002011-01-04T00:18:47.914-08:00Asheville, North Carolina<style type="text/css">
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">December 31<sup>st</sup> 2004</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Beth was working in Garageband and making a song. We made a movie called Super teen about Superman as a teenager. I was Superman, she was my mom. I don't remember much. I remember the white DVD that I wrote the date on. My Uncle always wrote the dates on things so I suppose that's why I did it. We drove to Illinois. A month and a year ago you died. You weren't the first person I knew to go, but certainly the closest. Three years from December 31<sup>st</sup> 2004 everyone would go to bed, I would try to come up with some pseudo new years resolution. I scribbled something on paper about talking to a girl I liked or ridding myself of a bad habit. I took it and lit it on fire on the window sill of my room. Unsurprisingly the smoke detector went off. I slapped myself in the head trying to blow the smoke away, turning the fan on etc. Mom and Dad crept out and walked into my room. Dad led. He was furious, he knew what was up. Ella and Leslie crept up in the background. Mom was beside the situation, going with the lead, she was thinking, I think. The night settled embarrassed and the break with arift. I awoke to my Mother's voice blurted out to surprise me, scare me. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I want you to know how it feels to be woken up like that. It's scary.” These words aren't exact.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Your Dad and my Mom were going to your ex-boyfriend's apartment to pickup your stuff for you.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">My mom was livid, she set the situation out. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'm going to go help him get his screwup of a child move out today.” </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'm trying to teach you so that you don't end up like her.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“But I'm not like her.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'm doing this for your benefit, you should appreciate me doing this.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I thought you had become irresponsible too though, by that time you weren't going to college.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">We didn't talk, you were on your own and didn't come visit with your Dad as much. I remember my Mom telling me your dad had gone to visit you and your crappy boyfriend, almost like they were making amends, despite no huge falling out. Time rather than a fight. Mom showed us the picture. You looked like a small boy. I guess I'm trying to convey that if you were still alive, we probably still wouldn't be that close. You might still live in Evansville, maybe married. You might be considering adoption or considering pregnancy saving up with a good man to keep you on your toes to actually save this time.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I guess we weren't close in the end. We were kids together and you were an older sister, I think a lot of us can say that without offense to your real sister. We all loved you the same way, for the same reasons. I was writing this before I was tying this and something was in the air. I sneezed so hard it all came out and I was balling my eyes out like the day after you died. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">That happens you know, I feel like when I scratch the surface again and again it just floods, but each time I have to add another memory, and there are only so many. I miss you and it burns each time I really look at your face like I did on November 22nd, but then I think of December 31st 3004 and then I think of December 31st 2010 and I'm a good man Kim.</div>Barryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05923495914604069661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1866878542391194967.post-34605431644359535382010-12-09T11:30:00.000-08:002010-12-09T11:30:29.904-08:00On Perfume and the home movies of a 17-year marriageBarryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05923495914604069661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1866878542391194967.post-72478810268030006282010-11-29T13:05:00.000-08:002010-11-29T13:06:42.911-08:00Thanksgiving Adulthood<style type="text/css">
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">So the day after our little Thanksgiving in Monmouth I wake the girl up. </span></div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">"I think we're going to go soon, babe."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">I'm a little anxious.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">"Leslie you wanna go to?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">"Sure"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">We get in the car and roll down through Monmouth on our way to Alexis. She plugs our destination into the navigator. I realize half way down that I wanted to get flowers. Leslie and I run into County Market and we try to find something relatively cheap. She picks out the poinsettia and we check out. I get some quarters out of the change and drop them in the machines. I get two rings out and we walk back to the car. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">It's been about two years since I've seen this town. Work and School stopped me from being able to come and I often think about my priorities. The navigator is moving us onto gravel roads and she's ", Where are we going."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">This isn't right.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">I didn't grow up here, this isn't where I was born, but it is for everyone else I know. i back up and we get back on the road. The Navigator adjusts. We keep driving. The blown out speaker in my car sizzles.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">"Ahem...Let's pretend Marshall Mathers never picked up a pen, let's pretend things turned out no different" </span> <br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;"><br />
We move into town, past the fire station. This is what keeps Alexis alive, and nothing else. The population is 850. She says that we're in the town out of "The Crazies."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">I say to Leslie "That green patch of grass there is 'Sparies' where Dad used to get comic books. One time I got Grandma to come out here at sundown so I could film a night scene for The Pinklydoodle in that telephone booth."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">"I'm surprised you got Grandma to drive at night."</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MJajyfrIJnw/TPQTt1AwDVI/AAAAAAAAACM/IVbdPj7Q6jQ/s1600/IMG_2625.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MJajyfrIJnw/TPQTt1AwDVI/AAAAAAAAACM/IVbdPj7Q6jQ/s320/IMG_2625.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">"This is so sad."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">I'm looking at the shut down "My Store."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">"Tell us about 'My Store' Barry."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">"Well my store was owned by Don Mckelvie."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">"What did he sell?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">"Uhm he sold everything, he was a painter to. I saw him perform in the Galesburg Choir Concert once." </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_MJajyfrIJnw/TPQTjRc3LRI/AAAAAAAAACI/MCW9-6xwdZU/s1600/IMG_2622.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_MJajyfrIJnw/TPQTjRc3LRI/AAAAAAAAACI/MCW9-6xwdZU/s320/IMG_2622.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">We mull around some more looking at locations. I tell the stories my Grandmother has told me and her mother told her(so one day when I'm a mother...).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">"That's the Library that Mary-Alice owns, she also runs the Alexis Museum. That used to be the phone company. That's where Iola used to go to see silent movies..."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">We continue down the road and I remember a day ago Grandma telling me her high school is being torn down. She and her mother graduated this high school which was built about ninety years ago. We park at a stop sign and she gets out to take a picture. The only remaining part of the school is the entrance. It's eerie with the entrance still open holding a staircase that one would consider leads to some meaningful purgatory. </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_MJajyfrIJnw/TPQTQ4Hbm7I/AAAAAAAAACE/hqG9TUWHCjE/s1600/IMG_2635.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_MJajyfrIJnw/TPQTQ4Hbm7I/AAAAAAAAACE/hqG9TUWHCjE/s320/IMG_2635.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;"> Alas though, it is dead and gone. Speaking of death, we're going to visit MyDeadGrandFatherwhoInevermet's grave.</span></i><br />
<br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">I make a left turn which should yield the cemetery, but there is nothing in site. We turn left and right and I don't know where I'm going (and I should). We pull over to the water tower and I try to call Grandma on this dead Illinois signal.</span></span></i><br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">We go straight down main street. </span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">"And that's where Grandma grew up and Iola lived for a good fifty years."</span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">"That's it?"</span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">"Yup."</span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">I almost turn the corner as she and Leslie point out the truck bearing down on us and I stop. </span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">It's good to have loved ones. </span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">We pull in see the graves.</span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">LAUGHEAD</span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">McBride</span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Sims</span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">They're all related to us somehow. We stroll through as I point them out.</span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">"He died young."</span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">"Oh that was Grandma's brother. He was injured in Vietnam and when he came back Grandma said he just wasn't the same little brother. He was driving a truck when he shouldn't have been and was hit by another car and died."</span></span></i><br />
<br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Times,Times New Roman,serif;"><i>Barry Dwayne Rowen</i></span></i><br />
<br />
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<br />
<i><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">He died 13 days after his 47 birthday. This doesn't say anything about the man, but it's all we've got. </span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">We look around and there are some really weird graves. One woman has an enormous portrait of herself, another has a giant picture of a semi-truck on the back. Barry has a short poem he wrote. </span></span></i><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>"Creativity is the essence of civilization</i><br />
<i>This no one can deny</i><br />
<i>for it allows each individual</i><br />
<i>to make his mark or try"</i><br />
<br />
<i>I hope they remember me</i><br />
<br />
By Barry<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I didn't know you, but I feel like I have a privilege only for my name's sake.<br />
<br />
Sir I didn't know you. You were a military man all your life. You kept interest in the mechanics rather than art, film, and music. Maybe that's not so true. Barry, I've been writing letters to your brother Bill this semester. They're short recaps on how the others life is. He even sends me a check for "pizza." He tells me stories about you, encounters you had with other people and how you reacted. I suppose most everyone does that. Anyways... I'll never know you, never will feel your presence or take your words of the moment to heart, but we do share something. I've love the people you loved. I've shook the hand of the brother you shook hands with. I've worn the clothes you've warn. This hasn't been forced, this hasn't been planned out, it's simply the affect of being your grandson. I'll tell you the truth, just like a lot of things that probably would not have happened if had lived, I probably never would have been born. You can't dwell on this though (because you're dead), you can't tailor life like that either. Back to the Future wasn't real and I can't change the past or jump to the future. All I can do is think and think slow and that's how I'll change the future. You're dead and I can't have it any other way.<br />
From one Barry to another.<br />
<br />
I drive home, just the two of us in the abyss of the Midwestern fields. I've shown her my other background, the one which is mine by relation. As the sun sets and we switch drivers, she plays stick wars on my phone and my eyes move left above the trees to the navy blue sky. Three of us go to visit Barry Rowen, none of us knowing him. I put a measly $5.00 towards a plant and look at the grave. We stand for a second or two. No memories, no prayers, we stand. It's respect in Adulthood.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MJajyfrIJnw/TPQUJQUiHnI/AAAAAAAAACY/VoakxUITLDY/s1600/IMG_2620.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="392" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MJajyfrIJnw/TPQUJQUiHnI/AAAAAAAAACY/VoakxUITLDY/s640/IMG_2620.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MJajyfrIJnw/TPQT-qsyVzI/AAAAAAAAACQ/nIdI8X0Q0e0/s1600/IMG_2638.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MJajyfrIJnw/TPQT-qsyVzI/AAAAAAAAACQ/nIdI8X0Q0e0/s400/IMG_2638.JPG" width="400" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_MJajyfrIJnw/TPQUHn0XAoI/AAAAAAAAACU/xnbjQjYGNZ0/s1600/IMG_2616.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_MJajyfrIJnw/TPQUHn0XAoI/AAAAAAAAACU/xnbjQjYGNZ0/s320/IMG_2616.jpg" width="213" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_MJajyfrIJnw/TPQVH25qVeI/AAAAAAAAACk/rY2kJ7TACDE/s1600/149143_1738147933116_1221175914_1961264_6787137_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_MJajyfrIJnw/TPQUUk5x1uI/AAAAAAAAACg/oHby-oVOwXE/s1600/IMG_2633.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_MJajyfrIJnw/TPQUUk5x1uI/AAAAAAAAACg/oHby-oVOwXE/s400/IMG_2633.JPG" width="400" /></a><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_MJajyfrIJnw/TPQVH25qVeI/AAAAAAAAACk/rY2kJ7TACDE/s320/149143_1738147933116_1221175914_1961264_6787137_n.jpg" width="213" /></div>Barryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05923495914604069661noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1866878542391194967.post-66670440616237735372010-11-27T11:31:00.001-08:002010-11-27T11:31:50.523-08:00Post-Thanksgiving Meal Nap<style type="text/css">
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I had a river once</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">she was born a stream</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">but men came along and filled her up</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">and now shes the ohio</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">and that means a lot to me,</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">because I didn't get the job with that piece of info</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I worked for that illusion</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">and it carried me as long as it could</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">one final day it decided on its own</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">its time to set me free</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Cincinnati i'm not mad at you, I just wish you would have told me</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">these are things we can talk about</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">build more buildings</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">make your towers higher than any</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">don't worry about money, the money will come</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">but its going to come through truth</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">in your current state the honest dollar is running out</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">but I think I know you well enough and you</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I've been around</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">but you, you'll make your decision</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">we'll either go our separate ways or we won't</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">so think, think about the future,</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">think about the past.</div>Barryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05923495914604069661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1866878542391194967.post-60089432493337248732010-11-22T10:41:00.000-08:002010-11-22T10:41:23.701-08:00IllinoisMy resonators echos, sometimes too much; more than I can handle.Barryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05923495914604069661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1866878542391194967.post-74446273278070516182010-09-17T11:07:00.000-07:002010-09-17T11:07:00.347-07:00Cincinnati’s got me down.“I’ll be in Nashville by the morning, cause Cincinnati’s got me down.”<br />
<br />
I drive to Kroger right across the street. This is not a drive. I start to think to myself how much better this place looked last year. It’s not disappointing, it just is. This is the full extent of Highland Heights. Every now and then while I’m riding the TANK that I look over at the houses surrounding campus. They have old brick and are littered by trees and this is almost an old college town. <br />
Louisville is the same way, at least what I’ve seen. Any street along Bardstown in fall, now that will convince you, but you keep driving and you’ll wind up near 75 in no time. I don’t relish the place I grew up, but I’ve grown out. That’s hard when you have no money, nor any credit with anything to your name. <br />
<br />
I ride a riverboat everyday. We can be packed or completely empty at any given time. Yesterday it was eight. I took a picture of two and they weren’t interested. The captain forgot he had to work and we left fifteen minutes late. And as we pulled out of the dock he scrambled to button his shirt, he drank from a plastic cup and cleared his throat.<br />
Out it comes.<br />
“Well folks, let me first welcome you to Cincinnati.” <br />
He speaks of how the river was once a fourth this size, how pioneers rode flatbeds down, but weren’t able to go back up, and how in the summer you could cross between Newport and Cincinnati.<br />
I picture Ford’s “How The West Was Won” but these me were real, and how did they feel about the city.<br />
And I worry that these are side thoughts, that this is the echo of every dream within me as they dwindle down into an abyss. <br />
Are these cities living a lie? Are the Carolinas everything I dreamed they are.<br />
Utah, Maine, or wherever the travels take me, life moves farther with a girl and a car.Barryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05923495914604069661noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1866878542391194967.post-11558975810307944242010-09-03T12:50:00.000-07:002010-09-03T12:50:04.928-07:00Basic Drawing has changed my life-NO JOKE. I can draw a wine bottle in 2D forced perspective, thus I can draw Henry in 2D forced perspective.<br />
<br />
And:<br />
<br />
<br />
http://www.vimeo.com/14558733Barryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05923495914604069661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1866878542391194967.post-20603516678990565972010-08-22T10:31:00.000-07:002010-08-22T10:31:43.846-07:00Florence Y'allIt's reassuring moving into the dorm, meeting the roommate, and showing the friends. I suppose its kind of shocking once you put up all your posters and feel the comfort. I am removed from my seven-year residence where I made all my movies. Here though, I think great things may happen, maybe even Henry 2?<br />
Anyway life s smooth and expensive, but all right when you're not picking up the tab (or working on a riverboat).<br />
And maybe its just a blog to blog this month, maybe I'm phasing out of the blog. I hate that this is the lifespan of a blog, but finding purpose for these is hard and maybe even rhetorical.Barryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05923495914604069661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1866878542391194967.post-72187246729918855782010-07-25T15:33:00.000-07:002010-07-25T15:33:34.620-07:00<i>How are we to see these characters? Are they the world Barry projects himself onto? Are other people merely imperfect copies of himself? Or do they serve to represent the overwhelming self-image, the way Barry truly sees himself, and in effect set off the main character as an idealized form of Barry, one which he sees as separate and disconnected from the crowding masses bearing his likeness?</i><br />
<br />
Never gonna sleep this one off.<i> </i>Barryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05923495914604069661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1866878542391194967.post-75759746992244888782010-07-11T21:40:00.000-07:002010-07-11T21:40:54.253-07:00How I would prefer collegeIt's like the ending of Big Fish where Albert Finney is being carried into the river and sees everyone he has ever known, except in my version no one has ever been to Ryle and no one knows my name.Barryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05923495914604069661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1866878542391194967.post-73752003272665756622010-07-10T20:05:00.000-07:002010-07-10T20:05:17.517-07:00EITIt felt like I was stuck in YouTube for two hours, just with more V-necks and pants tucked into socks.Barryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05923495914604069661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1866878542391194967.post-58332180326506191522010-07-09T15:53:00.000-07:002010-07-09T16:02:45.913-07:00Walton Bike Rides Be Still Ft. Janelle Monae (Produced By Royal Flush)There is a bare lamp pole standing in the middle of this room. The fake gold skin reflects the sun's fluorescent sunlight after a summer rain. I keep looking out that window, the fences one next to the other, all manufactured the same. Everyone has a fire pit and some lawn chairs, they all love a good fire. Each fire is different though and that's dearly important. Where you get your wood, where you purchased the pit, why you're lighting the fire, the size, these are all very intricate options allowing for some originality in the mock wilderness of Brookstone. We don't have a home owners association and that's our edge.<br />
It's this rainy day that makes me sad and reminiscent. I sit on my twin mattress next to all the posters and pictures of things I love. I'll take them to college to have a piece of myself with me at all times. <br />
I met my roommate and he seems like a decent guy. By met I mean we "facebooked." We're guys there isn't any reason to get overtly chatty.<br />
I scribble some notes down for Henry Two, the act is a bit pretentious, but when I sketch out Henry's love interest on paint, she seems to be what I had envisioned and there is surely some satisfaction there. It's paint, but it is surely art. I thrust my life into this one, unlike any other story. So what, it will be viewed probably fifty times at max and probably seventy-five accidentally. Number of views will depend upon the number of people I tell in person or see on facebook. There is so much more to appreciate though, the kind of helping hands that have always been there. There's the delight my Father brings with his deep bellied chuckling laughter, which slips into discussion aloud and within his own head. He throws analysis into the subconscious meaning I must have implanted regardless of truth or not. There is the separate showing to my mother where I thrust her into my own world and she is deeply impressed whether she entirely gets it or not. There are friends some near and some far who have grown with my you tube hits and have been subjected to the grandeur I apply to the release of a "Barry Rowen Film." Regardless of whether it is deserved or not.<br />
<br />
Switch from Big Boi's new album to The Avett Brother's The Gleam.<br />
<br />
I'm going to yard sale less than a month. Maybe we'll have a Winnebago, or an old 1973 Beetle, but if nothing else we'll take a Jetta and a Kia Rio. This year's Yard Sale will probably be smaller, but it's charmingly intimate. You're with the people you generally do want to share time with and not abuse on Facebook or Formspring, remnants of high school etc. You spend the day only an hour away from your subdivision in places like Owenton or Ghent, but Northern Kentucky has this bizarre transient watch of it's own, thus it is worthy of being deemed a road trip.<br />
<br />
Union: 25 minutes one way you can see a Broadway Show, 25 minutes in the opposing direction you can be sitting in a lawn chair on the porch of the Glencoe General Store.<br />
That's road trip enough for me this summer, 2010.Barryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05923495914604069661noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1866878542391194967.post-18195069665288411332010-07-06T20:38:00.001-07:002010-07-06T20:38:44.382-07:00When I'm capable of love, when I'm full to the brim of my heart.Barryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05923495914604069661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1866878542391194967.post-46742930089043003382010-07-05T22:21:00.001-07:002010-07-05T22:21:49.649-07:00I have a style nowtime to get a different camera, slow mo slow mo to the grave it would seemBarryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05923495914604069661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1866878542391194967.post-42303047044591418902010-06-29T14:08:00.000-07:002010-06-29T14:09:11.275-07:00The QI love the Subway.<br />
It's riding the School Bus, but these are adults, thus given it's tradition I always feel that there is a tremendous amount of comradeship. We rode in this morning, about a twenty-five minute trip iinto Manhattan. Every now and then you'll get somebody crossing cars and walking into yours. You know that they're different just for the sake of moving between cars, not worried about someone stopping them or staring. Occasionally it's some homeless guy shouting in need, occasionally crazy, sometimes just desperate and embarrassed, they smell of hot dogs and body odor and they appeal to your better nature or your upscale "homeless means gross" nature (which is pretty much mine, fakers are in abundance) they reach out there hand and you toss some money into a Tropicana carton. Today it was Dancer that walked on. They warned us ahead of time, there will be dancing, we should be prepared to see some hot shit. Three of them walked on, two black, one white. The first guy started, he ran down doing flips, jumping from the pole hitting the ground with is hands. They performed back flips up and down, tied their hand together, rolled down. "Whoever said white men can't jump," one guy said about his white co-star. The guy did some flips with the other partner and hits his head on the ceiling, leaving a big red mark. White men can't jump I guess. Some people are just ignoring them and their boom box, some are staring, my family doesn't applaud, but I manage a slow and subtle clap. They hold out their flat bills for money and i wish i had broken that twenty in my pocket. It was impressive, it was impressive because they broke the ice on that subway ride, because they through themselves out there. There's a lot of power if you can manage to entertain a subway car full of strangers, full of preconceived notions, tourists trying to be New Yorkers, New Yorkers trying to tell them apart and vice versa. I think I can dig a Hardy niche for myself here, when the time comes, and it will, even if i have to break dance.Barryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05923495914604069661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1866878542391194967.post-40414153864085224812010-06-25T22:23:00.000-07:002010-06-25T22:23:58.694-07:00Seedy Seeds Sedy SedsI had a dream last night, the stereotypical party with everyone you know or knew. They were all there living or dead. My deceased Cousin Bethany was sitting on the end of a sectional telling me how wasted she got the previous night. I chuckled and my eyes wandered around looking at her family whom in real life misses her dearly, but for this moment was just another one of there kids. The couch surrounded an enormous bonfire which everyone surrounded, and by everyone, I mean everyone I have ever known. I arrived at Ryle, the Auditorium, back when Perkins was around, except this time the auditorium was large and grand, balconies like the Arnoff. We were still working on some project, there were enormous ladders so that one could travel from balcony to balcony. Culp was at the bottom practicing a song as I saw Alex in a long overcoat move down the ladder. <br />
<br />
I hope to God I'm making a film by this time next year. NKU, a young film program, promising, but not if no one has any idea what you're talking about. I'm not berating people before I meet them, just looking out for my best interest and wondering where that interest lies.<br />
<br />
Driving down 75 away from the city. Cincinnati had it's charms, but I feel like I will have exhausted them in a year or two. Poses is playing in the CD player. Louis and I, to two talented people, will we leave?<br />
<br />
<br />
It always happens, I'm not even in college yet, and already sure that I will never get out.<br />
Monday I'm flying to New York. Seeing a show everyday, my father's style. It's been a year and a half, many things have changed, including the spouse in attendance. I think this will be an eyeopening trip, but the question is which direction. Will this city seem staggeringly unapproachable, or will i knock em' dead. Hope it remembers me. I don't remember it.<br />
<br />
<u><br />
</u><br />
<u><br />
</u><br />
<u>Final thoughts:</u><br />
The Seedy Seeds would e totez cooler if they played anything live.<br />
There is some mean banjo playing as well as drum work that should be given a chance.<br />
If they do not perform everything live, i am forced to assume they are the Monkeys, and thus do not play there own instruments. END<u><br />
</u>Barryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05923495914604069661noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1866878542391194967.post-1363162993146318692010-06-17T01:11:00.001-07:002010-06-17T01:11:49.503-07:00There Is Nothing Like The Drive Back From The Pink HouseBarryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05923495914604069661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1866878542391194967.post-21060164129383008292010-06-13T16:21:00.000-07:002010-06-13T16:21:26.200-07:00The Older I Get The Smarter My Father BecomesAh if I was one of those guys. Just ask a girl out, if only for tat single date. I'm not talking one-night-stands, just a date, go out, walk around share ideas. If I could do that not cling. Here inside the abyss of my mind, there is a fear, perhaps it is too late. Reality laughs staring into the truth.<br />
"It's not true, it's not true, boy, you're in youth."<br />
Yeah, I am.<br />
Saw a sign on the side of the road today:<br />
"The Older I Get The Smarter My Father Becomes" <br />
It was a church sign, given they meant God by Father, but stripped of the religious connotation or not, I couldn't agree less.<br />
Say Yes by Elliott SmithBarryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05923495914604069661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1866878542391194967.post-63734878668813422612010-06-13T15:06:00.000-07:002010-06-21T10:03:47.239-07:00Plenty of times when I'm out on a drive and the water stares me dead in the eye<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MJajyfrIJnw/TBVWB3DL-bI/AAAAAAAAABY/sxZnInjqeP0/s1600/FH000020.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_MJajyfrIJnw/TBVWB3DL-bI/AAAAAAAAABY/sxZnInjqeP0/s320/FH000020.jpg" /></a></div>There’s a Steak ‘N Shake Sticker on my wallet in a swarm of Chiquitas. My brother gave me the Steak ‘N Shake one about two weeks ago. He wore a band-aid on his chin after he a tooth pulled and had probably convinced himself of it’s shield. I love this boy. It will be one of the true joys of my life to watch this child grow up. My Sister said the other day that she would have here first child at twenty-two, just the way our Mom did it. <br />
“And i did it just perfectly.” Mom says. DHL is Hiring and I need a job. My other brothers are in town. We made a cartoon. They went racing.<br />
“How many siblings do you have?”<br />
“Six.”<br />
“Are you the oldest?”<br />
“Yes.”<br />
<br />
I awoke this morning, 4:23, sick as a dog, vomiting for an hour, two and half hours sleep. I couldn’t lay down in my bed. There was no where to turn. We had a full house.<br />
Sick as a dog, I got in the car and took 42 into a trance. I threw on Anonanimal, best driving music ever. I was Rabbit Angstrom, a copy sitting in the passengers seat. I had been thinking for about a week, after listening to that CD I had burned of Noble Beast. It was time for another, but in the infinite trance of this morning, it was perfectly appropriate. he sickness was gone. The destination was set in my mind, the same one I took about a year ago today. Its an eve, whatever you want to call it. In sixteen days the anniversary is upon us. The divorce, shells broken, nights spent at Ryle in solace and safety, the work environment all collapsing and coming together, call it the climax to the birth of a man.<br />
<br />
I return on this day. Why.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_MJajyfrIJnw/TBVWH7kSstI/AAAAAAAAABg/uGXNbCBdL00/s1600/100613_065239.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_MJajyfrIJnw/TBVWH7kSstI/AAAAAAAAABg/uGXNbCBdL00/s320/100613_065239.jpg" /></a></div>Barryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05923495914604069661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1866878542391194967.post-53546862592850928502010-05-29T01:08:00.001-07:002010-05-29T01:08:24.904-07:00I fuckin' hate Jason MrazI awoke this morning. This is the best part of the high school years, when you awake and its already day. Despite the fact that you’re getting up at the same time it appears as though you’ve slept in. Nature is already lit up, the trees are ripe with dew and there is a comfortable humidity in the air making your cut-offs perfectly temperate.<br />
<br />
I awoke this morning. I began the search again. It was a few days before my birthday last week. I woke up and saw the morning like this again and it reminded me of a Crosby, Stills, and Nash song I was playing two years ago towards the end of my sophomore year. I had the big collection or whatever and really got into the first album, but had exhausted it by that point and was attempting to move through the eighties with acceptance but hidden weary speculation. “49 Bye Byes” There’s a long stringy guitar solo in the beginning, but its sustains and upbeat mood.<br />
She was coming over it was my sixteenth birthday, finally. I could get my permit start driving, soon enough not having to have my girlfriend drive me everywhere (there’s a burst to your ego).<br />
It’s always in slow motion. Picture a morning when you woke up, regardless of when you went to bed, or that you awoke at 6:30, you’re well rested. This day to follow is cake. Its the last week of school and as long as your grades aren’t in the toilet you’ve got a few insignificant finals to occupy yourself with.<br />
I was sitting in my kitchen. My family was still a family. She said something about arriving at seven maybe? She texted she was here.<br />
This is bittersweet.<br />
Bitter because we were to break up in less than a week or so. She had huge problem which I ignored until I watched it slap me in the face. I didn’t realize that what she was rapped up into was so deeply enveloped in her character, her being. In a flash of loss and searching she did what she thought was right, made her Father proud. What’s more important, right?<br />
<br />
Sweet because she pulled up, approached the door, there was a mutual smile, a sweet kiss, and breakfast in this unbridled summer morning. We walked to her car got in, a casual drive with a destination and arrival time assigned. Sweet because, this kid, who’s girl friend had to drive him, who made friends through business cards, and spoke with an accent reminiscent of Cagney, had felt love.<br />
<br />
“To Be Sixteen in July”<br />
<br />
Well, it was June. We were done, so to speak. I still needed a ride to the going away party, and not Mom. I sad in the passengers seat with a fury of wonder.”<br />
Do you realize what you believe in? Do you realize that you’ve let this person take complete advantage of you? This is horrific.”<br />
<br />
That night I said good bye to an old friend. My friend was as she had always been and I realized that I cared more about her than this other girl, but such are the things of man.<br />
I stood in the park with her, I kissed her, said “, This is real [a kiss] you’re letting yourself get trapped. You can’t give your life up to a stranger like this.”<br />
She went home. I sat in fury of curiosity. My Dad said that he didn’t want me staying out that late habitually. She called me in tears.<br />
“It just doesn’t feel good.”<br />
“You had to do it though. You have to end this, regardless of me or anyone other than your self, for your sake.”<br />
<br />
It ended without conclusion, and I was too young to take power and action. I realized that it was going to take me over. I may have been sixteen, but hell if I was going to let that happen.<br />
I’m not saying I ended the relationship there and then, I’m not denying the back and forth conversation, the get - back - together walks, sharing stories:<br />
“ I was folding clothes with this girl at work and she said ‘, have you ever heard of Barry Rowen?’ I said ‘why yes I have.’ She said ‘, He’s got these videos on YouTube and Emily Christman just loves them!”<br />
Some where the conversation moved her being asked about her opinion on me. Her response provoke my mind, maybe she still like me. The conversation rolled on, that summer in its thoughtful solitude, ultimately moved us farther and farther apart.<br />
I became a man, I separated myself from someone who was going to strangle the life out of me, she had already done it to herself.<br />
<br />
The story ends, the girl is still around and as far as I know trapped in a relationship with a suicidal online boy friend. No seriously. I laugh now. I laughed before in disbelief, I was horrified in the middle because I was watching him take his toll on her, I laughed afterward to become normal again, distance myself, and return to more realistic situations. Not conformity, i walked out on that plank and swam for a good while, in the end realizing the value of dry land.<br />
<br />
So I think of that morning, because I figured out the song this morning, because I’m still living in that house (part-time), and because this setting will finally be gone in nearly a month.<br />
I do not attend Ryle High School anymore. True Story.Barryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05923495914604069661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1866878542391194967.post-85012712033656466522010-05-26T20:46:00.000-07:002010-05-26T20:46:18.374-07:00Elliott Smith probably had a good day here and there.Barryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05923495914604069661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1866878542391194967.post-18509405810324310062010-05-12T20:15:00.000-07:002010-05-12T20:15:13.732-07:00FrAnkSLYDon't get me wrong, I had some good time in high school. I ran with crowds that I belonged in, I strolled with those that I didn't quite have anything in common with. I tried to be older and when that didn't work out, I acted younger. No one ever knew my real voice and I have paved a red carpet for myself. SO there is this comfort that I've lived in with my Senior Year. i can afford to hate people. If Justin Skaggs says "Fuck You Barry Rowen" to my face and I circulate a lengthy ballad of my hatred for the man I can't get punched out (friends in high places).<br />
<br />
My Day:<br />
Notes on Credit Balances<br />
Draw pictures of Typewriters and faces being hooked<br />
Watch the ending of Avatar<br />
Start Avatar(after watching Definance(in global issues, cuz WWII is totally still a problem)<br />
Watch Tim Roth and Gary Oldman tried to put Tom Shepard to Screen<br />
Finish We Were Soldiers (and occasionally anti-semites Whutt?)<br />
Login to the computers in CTA then hear ", Ya'll need to log off we have to leave." Then go to the cafeteria and read a walk to remember to the entire class (on an individual basis).<br />
Premiere on Saturday, Fuck you iMovie!Barryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05923495914604069661noreply@blogger.com0