Friday, October 8, 2010

A Fury for all seasons

A short poem to commemorate this special day of Fall. Please forgive the dramatic sentiment.

The days, shorter suddenly, seem small
When spent in the company of all.
And yet, fire fed my forthrightness.

The decision made, I spoke.
I heard a proclamation like an echo
And still, fire fed my fastidiousness.

The stakes at their highest, I chose to leave
Without knowing how you see me,
And still, fire fed my fortitude.

The chaos around us raged along.
I knew all i couldn't say without staying long.
And now, fire feeds my fear.

The fact you're leaving after this
Not having spoken of our bliss,
And knowing I may have missed
A chance. But I digress,

I insist:
A fire feeds my need for righteousness.
And a fire fed the choice that led to this.

Thanks for listening and reading. As always....

Be well. Be strong.

Be Furious.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:King St,New York,United States

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

Burnout: Stage 3


I used to watch, without wavering week-after-week, the trials and tribulations of the tumultuous Star Ship Enterprise (NCC-1701D...not the original); in other words, I ogled actors whose names slide off the slick, celebrity-stricken ears of most Americans: Wil Wheaton, Patrick Stewart, Brent Spiner, Marina Siritis. And as I tuned-in, these characters, caught in catastrophe-upon-catastrophe, played out their lives for years. I came to them for solace. I came to know them. And they were, of course, eventually cancelled.

I learned something from them as I learned my craft from my mentors: each episode is new, but one's arc is well-defined. And I have been through many arcs, my faithful Furious. Gaylen taught me best to recognize them, although Richard had put me through them once already unwittingly. In the end, I have learned to recognize the draconian dramas, the faux-ferocities, and un-needed necessities of annihilation of both STNG and Burnout. This is not a game, and this is not an experiment. Take heed, all those who embark on such Herculean tasks.


Stage I: This is the longest, most protracted stage in which perseverance is little more than parlance. You can last here longest. Each subsequent stage is a half-life with perils a-plenty, but this is the place in which one can "dig-in" and diligently execute one's duties. Your focus will be sharp, unwavering, and formidable. Days turn into nights and into days, but you will remain stalwart in your stewardship. This is Zen. This is the zenith of your work. Enjoy it. You'll need it later.

At the end of Stage I, you'll feel confident and capable, coherent and still compassionate. You'll have perspective and pay-off, the best combination of time and effort. Here, one should rest. Beyond this point, one's ability to be stable and sane will be called into question. This is a bold statement, but one I intend to describe in the most-sincere of terms. If you pass Stage I, you will enter the next stage.

Stage II: Unless you are Sisphus, this stage is the hardest; it is the least dangerous but most selfishly-beneficial. In "Stage II", you are the most important thing that is happening. Not just at work, but in your sphere of influence at large. You're the best coder, the best designer, the best lover, the best partner, the best friend. You're wrong, of course. No, really. You are wrong. But you won't know that until "Stage III". You can accomplish incredible things. You think across functional lines, and reason, at one moment, in the technical world, and then in the business world without the (perceived, self- or otherwise) "lag" of context-switching. You see problems without time. You see solutions without resource-constraint. And you begin the process of seeing possibilities that have no connection to reality.

And you begin to learn your limitations. For many, this process is sped-up through exams in college and university. Coffee (or the fashionable drug of the day) becomes one's ally. And we are told that each high has its low; each fantasy has its reality. And Stage II begins to become a reality.

Until Stage III, you can burn the candle at both ends, in the middle, and then just light the fucker with a blowtorch because you're bored and you're so much better than those around you. (Those who know The Fury best can recognize this behaviour, and those with whom He has discussed Burn Out know the effects.) The problem is not Stage II's immediate effects. The problem lies between Stage II and Stage III.

At the end of Stage II, you're left with a sense of hard-work and capability. It's a very real sensation, and it can be backed-up with months (or years) of work. But I caution you, my Furious, against the causality that is Stage III. Every sense of well-being will emigrate, and every sense of self-sufficiency will be sent a-sunder.

Stage III: You are at peace. You know your place. You are competent beyond comprehension, even your own. Words flow from your mouth like a hot well in Spring. And you are, in many ways, lost. (Now this is my personal experience. And The Fury has been wrong, but perhaps you have experienced this before.)

Your work is easy, and those around you seem incompetent. Your friends become bland and unintelligent. Your purpose is clear but misunderstood. But still you work. And for "the good" of . You can see the path laid before you, and it is fraught with error. You are the cure for such a place, but you are only one person. You can only do so much. And you put in more time. And more. And more.

The end of this stage is change.

And rarely for the better, my Furious. This stage yields nothing but experience. The experience will only show its fruits when one has recovered to Stage I or Stage II. You are blind from work and you will not see progress or hope. "It is forsake in these Lands," to quote the LOTR trilogy.

Having been there, I can only offer this:

Be Well. Be Strong.

Be Furious.

And be aware.

Saturday, July 10, 2010

Cover of Taio Cruz : "Break Your Heart"

Today, I found this song listening to a Lada Gaga Pandora station (don't ask). Interesting, I think.

Here's the original:

"Break Your Heart"

Now listen to me baby
Before I love and leave you
They call me heart breaker
I don't wanna deceive you

If you fall for me
I'm not easy to please
I might tear you apart
Told you from the start, baby from the start

I'm only gonna break break your, break break your heart [x4]
Whoa, whoa

There's no point trying to hide it
No point trying to evade it
I know I got a problem
Problem with misbehaving

If you fall for me
I'm not easy to please
I might tear you apart
Told you from the start, baby from the start

I'm only gonna break break your, break break your heart [x4]

Break Your Heart by jhampton

Sunday, May 16, 2010


I suppose I'm a preposterously-prolific peddler of musicality this evening. This one just happened by accident, truly. I had lit my celebratory cigarette, smoked for a second, and started to pay the (panned-right) guitar line. Lo and behold, the left side appeared, and lyrics spilled out like so many sequins.

I hope you can dig it. If you say I sound like Iron & Wine-meets-Postal Service-meets-James Taylor, I'll take it all in stride.


Rose by jhampton

She never made it on the train
I guess it'll be another day.
When all the signs point East into
The rising sub it's easy
Just to lay here in her bed.

The light crept slowly up the wall
Just like it wasn't there at all.
If I can lie my through
The rose I didn't get from you,
Maybe you won't have to call and

Say you love me still,
And you always will

A younger couple just walked by;
Wearning new joy in their eyes.
I stopped to state a minute
Pretendeing we're still in
The place where I looked deep inside.

We walked into the windy night,
Union Square dressed in all lights.
I had to ignore
All the things I had said beforel
You turned and asked me, 'please, just one more time...'

Say you love me still,
And you always will

Kinda sappy, if I do say so myself, but even the Fury shed a tear when it was done.

Be Well. Be Strong.

Be Furious.

"I'm Not the Only One"

Here's another much-need, late-night diddy for my faithful Furious. It's inspired by a song I did a few years back that I was never really happy with. I heard this in my head and just the line 'I'm not the only one...' and voila! 4 hours later, this little package arrived by digital stork. Usual suspects here: keys played on my iPad, tracks in Garageband (using the built-in mic, which is incredible), a few effects, NO pitch correction and you can tell :)

Enjoy. Hopefully.

"I'm Not the Only One"

Not the Only One by jhampton

Seven weeks have marked their time
Carved on my face and in my mind...
And so, and so it goes.

Long the days, longer the nights
Free of struggle, full of fright.
And no-, nobody knows.

Looking back I see the tears
Have found their way through streets of years
But gently they arrive.

Staring up I know the fears
Of all my falsley-fated years,
But knowing I'm alright.

If only time can tell of heaven or of hell,
We'll learn our lessons well.

They say I was a treacherous son and
My time here is almost done but
I'm not the only one.

Seven years of plenty cam
Despite the long, cold winters and the pouring rain.
And so, I had to go.

To wander with the harvest moon,
Maybe it was just too soon.
And no, nobody knows.

If only time can tell of heaven or of hell,
We'll learn our lessons well.

They say I was a treacherous son and
My time here is almost done but
I'm not the only one.

Thanks for listening, and as always...
Be Well. Be strong.

Be Furious.

Tuesday, May 11, 2010


In talking with the gents tonight after work, I realized there is NO reason NOT to post a creative work born quickly. This is a work in progress, people. And it's completely recorded, mixed, and mastered on the iPad using the built-in microphone.

Enjoy (but beware - the volume is a little high). Lyrics to follow...

Interloper by jhampton

"Interloper" (started 3/17/2010)
The sun came out today and slowly
Everything had changed.
A frozen moment hung below below me
And you were still the same.

Photographs and phone calls
Can't capture it all,
Still hanging on the walls.

Quiet morning wakes me up and you have...
You've been up for hours
We'll make up, make our plans and (maybe)
I'll bring home some flowers.

Photographs and phone calls
Can't capture it all,
Still hanging on the walls.
Photographs and phone calls
Can't capture it all,
Still hanging on (the walls).

An empty letter sits before me
Filling me with hope.
If you were here to help me write it...
Big words like 'interloper'.

Sunday, May 9, 2010

Semantics, Social, and Personal

Dear Faithful Furious,

Many moons have passed, many suns have shone, but still the Fury lives on. My last post, though laden with lauds and latent understanding (let alone a myriad of lonely and mawkish murmurings), was heavy for this beleaguered but burgeoning blog. This will not follow suit nor suit those stuck in 'samey', saccharine situations.

I post instead a Furious Verse...some random poem from deep within. But first, a story:

Late in 2004, I posited (amongst many) that our droll, daily lives might yield an Acqua Santa sought by so many marketers. Lo and behold: Facebook v Google and FourSquare v GoWalla. Now, these nepotistic (check their heritages), neophytes in New Media might seem cutting-edge, but we've long-laboured to share our (pardon me) 'private pieces' with those for whom we care most. We now have the wherewithal and means to post our private lives and share special moments with our sacrosanct circles. But at what cost?

Fortunately, Facebook found a 'solution' to the problem: forego privacy for publicity, and create a semantic surplus of seemingly 'free' information to advertisers. That basically sums up F8's outcome. Granted, I'm a cynic and I've stood by social networking since the early days of BBS, then Yahoo!, then MySpace, then .

This is NEWS. Facebook has created the incentive and means by which all information on the web is searchable, indexed, and linked to one's account. Your search results for a dynamite dildo could be influenced by a friend's un-redacted diatribe. Do you really want to know?

I digress. I need to share a short (I promise) bit of poetry started earlier today.

"Friend, where are you?"

Walking, walking all the day, I found myself approaching you,
And while the premise slowly played, my choices became far and few:
Run and hide in guise of work, or play it out to find the end?
But, as always, fortune found an afternoon with faithful friends.

Walking back I found anew a sense of sacred solitude,
And to my place of daily grind, mind and body thus renewed.
What transpired, some devine, was made from many months of grind,
So from my quiet quarters soon to merry with a liker kind.

What I found was surface still. I traveled home to get some rest;
The city bright, but blacker will, at times, proffer and suggest
That we who live among the lost may count among our many costs
A certain interval of pain, and, on this ocean, tangled, tossed,
Just a moment to regain a sense of our own ending: friends.

Thank you for listening.

Be well. Be strong.

And for Fuck's sake...


Be Furious.