After saying goodnight to Max as he went to his room, and got ready for bed his head was full of thoughts he always had when ever Max stayed at his house, not the sexual thought that most guys would have but ones of trying like mad to figure out what it was that he felt towards Max, he was having almost as hard a time figuring out his feelings as he was trying to figure out Max. He was thinking all of this when he finally went to sleep. He awoke in his living room, at least it looked mostly like his room, He was himself, "what the heck, what's going on." Logan thought to himself, it was then that he heard himself say
Once upon a Seattle night rainy, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten computer lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my front door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my front door-
Only this, and nothing more."
/What the hell it, I don't talk like that, and what's with the old style clothing. Okay this most be a dream, but where is Max, I always dream of her./
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;- vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow- sorrow for the lost Max-
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Max-
never to be named here for ever more.
/What the hell Max died, what's this all about why does the words sound so familiarly. What the heck it sounds like The Raven, by Edger Allan Poe. That would explain the clothing and setting./
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of curtains
Thrilled me- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my front door-
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my front door;-
This it is, and nothing more."
/Let's see how does the rest of the story go. When do I see the raven, it should be soon. Oh well, it's only a dream , might as well enjoy myself wig out./
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Ma'am, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my front door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"- here I opened wide the front door;-
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Max!"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Max!"-
Meekly this, and nothing more.
Back into the room turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my patio door:
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore-
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;-
'Tis the wind and nothing more."
Open here I flung the patio door, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of old;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
/Bout time I was wondering when the raven would make his appearance. Time for 'me' to start wiggin out./
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my front door-
Perched upon a picture of journalist Nathan Hereto just above my front door-
Perched, and sat, and nothing more
/Hey where did that picture come from, I didn't know it was that strong. That's a big raven./
Then this big black bird beguiling my sad face into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
/Man talk about weird language./
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore-
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Seattle shore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
Much I marveled this ungainly raven to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning- little relevancy bore;
For I cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his front door-
Bird or beast upon the picture above my front door,
With such name as "Nevermore."
/Only in my dreams would a bird talk, and say only say the strangest things. Damn I wish Max was here./
But the raven, sitting alone on the picture, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered- not a feather then he flutter-
Till I scarcely more than uttered, "other friends have flown before-
/Ain't that the truth, Only have a small hand full of friends. But at least I can count on them, though thick and thin./
On the morrow he will leave me, as many have flown before."
Then the bird said, "Nevermore."
Startled at the silence broken by a reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy owner whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore-
Till the death of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never- nevermore'."
But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
I wheeled my cushioned wheelchair seat in front of bird, and picture and door;
Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to thinking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore-
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."
/Well unlike my other dreams I am in my wheelchair, and I don't know I could use so many G words in one sentence./
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no words had their been expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my chest's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the wheelchair's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated over,
But whose velvet black lining with the lamplight gloating over,
She shall push, Ah, nevermore!
Then me thought the air grew thicker, scented from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose footsteps padded on the wooden floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee- by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite- respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Max!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Max!"
Quoth the Zach, "She'll never be yours."
/Well that's a new element I have never had a dream with the all mighty Zach. Now he's telling me in my dreams that I am not good enough for her./
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!- prophet still, if bird or devil!-
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here on shore,
Alone yet undaunted, on this desert land enchanted-
On this home by horror haunted- tell me truly, I implore-
Is there- is there life in Manicore?- tell me- tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Eyes only, "She's to good for you."
/Now that's a new element, a TV with eyes only on it, and her older 'brother' both telling me I'm not good enough for her, who next, Valerie telling me I'm to old for her./
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil- prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us- by that God we both adore-
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Max-
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Max."
Quoth the Zach, "She'll never be yours."
/This is getting old very fast, Zach can shove his line up his brass. Trying very hard not to cuss, not very polite./
"With that word is our sign for parting, bird or fiend," I screamed, upstarting-
"Get thee back into the dark and the Night's Seattle shore!
Leave no black feather as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my sorrow unbroken!- leave now the picture above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take your form from off my door!"
Quoth the eyes only, "You well never be good enough for her, forever more."
/Thank god this story is almost over I hope I don't know how much more of this I can stand, well sit. Sorry I know it's a bad joke./
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, forever sitting
On the picture of journalist Nathan Hereto just above my front door;
And his eyes have all the fire of a demon that is dreaming,
And the lamp over him a light throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted- nevermore!
/Damn I have the strangest dreams. But it does not help me sort out my feelings, I pretty sure I love her, but if I do can she, well she ever love me back, hey black bird why don't you tell me that instead of nevermore./