Galaxy Net

It's a cold, dry night 
Out on the edge of town, 
Where not a breath from the wind 
Can be found, which usually whispers 
Tidings of the world's creatures 
From the high desert off to the east. 
Up in space, satellites are talking, 
Planets are plowing through the bulb, 
Radio waves are trailblazing through troposphere, 

Sending out the unbearable 
Jargon of us yammering creatures, 
So dignified in our cause that we assume 
Understanding in every word we say. 
The sky is a certain shade of dark blue 
That only comes as often as the moon 
Permits a halo 'round its alabaster drum. 
I look up at the stars to trace 
Each constellation, remembering 
The mythologies that gave them life, 
When suddenly a green plume of light 
Comes from out of Andromeda's flailing arm, 
Flashes through the atmosphere to crash 
Into the organic antennas of the forest. 
Could it be, that strange calculated signal, 
The message of some distant traveler, who, 
Intercepting the myriad broadcasts from our planet, 
Transmitted a message across the busy galaxy, 
Asking us kindly to be quiet? 

The State of Rock After Chester Bennington’s Suicide

Chester Bennington, the lead singer of Linkin Park, hanged himself yesterday.  Now he'll be known as the Chris Cornel of nu-metal.  Chester and Chris were each other's addiction buddies, meaning they supported each other's difficulties in getting over their drug addictions.  Fittingly, Chester chose Chris' birthday to kill himself on.  In a second way it's fitting because Chris had committed suicide himself only a few months ago, by hanging, the same way Chester did. 

When I was in high school, Linkin Park was one of the biggest bands in the country.  Chester's screams rang over the airwaves louder than anyone else's.  His was a tortured voice that signified a lonely, dispirited soul.  You could hear this strongly in songs like Crawling, where he laments about his wounds never healing.  Haunting doesn't begin to describe the feeling I get hearing that song now.  Suicide was on my mind a lot when that song came out.  I found a lot of solace in Chester's songs, something that music always gave me when I was feeling down.  Chester's voice was different in that it seemed to cut the soul even deeper than mere depression could.  That searing pain had a way of healing you though; it's difficult to explain how the tortured wailings of another can make you feel better.  Maybe it's simply the verification that you aren't alone in the world, that you are suffering with millions of others, like Chester.  He must have known this secret power of music as much as anyone. 

Linkin Park got a bad "rap" once nu-metal died out.  Oddly, every popular rock band from 2000 on has been absolutely ripped on by the so-called rockers who champion bands from the 60s through 90s.  Limp Bizkit, Creed, Green Day, Nickelback, and even Coldplay were all scoffed at for being too commercial to be hip or legendary.  They've been thought of as too generic to gather the respect of modern rockers.  It was a huge mistake by these people to condemn the most popular rock bands.  Rock music is just about dead now, probably because so many commercially successful bands are chastised by the hipsters that anyone looking to write catchy songs is too afraid to make a career out of it now.  The hipsters have unintentionally ruined the genre they loved, if only because they were jealous that the bands they liked weren't good enough to reach a wide audience. 

Perhaps Chester's death will help this generation of haters wake up to the fact that just because music is popular doesn't mean it's bad.  And just because a musician has issues or is a prick doesn't mean we should demonize him (which used to be cool, by the way).  I'll never understand how someone like Kanye West or Eminem can be total assholes, yet still get high ratings and so much praise, while guys like Fred Durst and Scott Stapp become laughing stocks.  What happened to rock music that let it become hijacked by more pretentious genres?  It used to be that rockers were the bad boys.  Now we're lucky if any new rocker has the balls to be outspoken and cocky. 

Lens Panorama

Snap!  The flash traps in time 
What elements dreams may bequeath, 
Etching onto the artist's landscape 
A visual seed, captured by ions of dust. 
Here at the mountaintop, 
The cool ledge of the canyon, 
The rhythmic shore of the lake, 
The warm cabin of the family reunion, 
The camera traces all segments of life 
Together, like some medieval tapestry 
Illustrating the story of a body 

In transit. 
 
Snap!  It aims for wonders aloft; 
Streaks of chemtrails, orbits of stardust, 
Embers of ash, mothers in sash, 
Pristine cascades trickling off the moss, 
Frolicking maidens in vales of goldenrod 
Watched over by flaming amber sunsets, 
Children offering flowers they found 
To the convex optician in the lens. 
 
Snap!  The shutter closes, 
Dissects the angles, captures the poses. 
The story of light filters through the aperture 
Cementing waves onto screens of permanence, 
Documenting all it knows through a sliver of glass, 
As if some neon eye had penetrated 
The refracted dimensions of time. 
Through the lens the eye sees beyond 
To that which is and that which is to come, 
Seeking troves of beauty that creation discarded, 
Desperately trying to make them its own.