For sure! Wide area network! Kinda like a LAN, but more spread out! I'm not making this up! 000713
Grievance 1.Unnaturally pale, as from physical or emotional distress.
2.Suggestive or indicative of weariness, illness, or unhappiness; melancholy: a wan expression.

At least that's what it's always meant to me, ever since Emily Bronte poetry book fell through my hands. only the callouses on my fingers can grasp it. though, it's been awhile...
User24 Obi's middle name 020612
werewolf i had the privilege of learning
young that things don't end neatly,
without human architecture:

the church filled and emptied
people with wan faces,
both denying and somehow celebrating,
with posed poise,
the uncooperative rhythms of life
that brought them together
and give strange tension to their solemnity.

bag pipes notes held and fell as communal exaggerations
of human breath.

everyone went home, and time seemed to pass
with an unpredictable jaggedness.

in high school and college I learned the corrolary,
that most people start with as the premise -
life is engaging, intense, capable,
and often graciously rewards our best efforts.

i wrestled and learned to love the feeling of exertion in the blinding middle,
and the exhaustion of torturous cooldown and remembering,
in the end, as those who shared it laughed or leaned or sat silently
in the cold waiting for their rides.

the joy of feeling my abilities and body vivisected by struggle,
as i showered and the hot water and salt from sweat
lit up the raw skin on my face,
as i stared blankly, catching my breath,
where it had scraped or stuck past the headgear of a teammate,
an opponent, or the mat.

a lesson i learned in those matrooms, already tempered by a grey day in childhood,
later was refined when i started
to appreciate love:

sometimes you win.

but if you get it, if you really understand -
it doesn't matter, you don't get to be neatly done.
you're not the end all be all, our coach used to say.

you get up tomorrow and do it again.
there's more pleasure in that blank stare,
catching your breath
as your face fills with fire
than in the somehow absurd memorilization
of what was already in your heart everday,
the wan face of life.
what's it to you?
who go