Post 56- Progress has been made! I-WORLD IS COMING.

These are some new poems I've written, everyone. There were more, but they were too experimental in structure to even type up. SO. Enjoy these! And I'm terribly sorry it took so long. Sometimes you have to just wait for the inspiration to start writing.

Once I finally decided to sit down and actually 

write something 

I was confused at the new list of 

priorities 

my life had established to far remove the pleasure of creativity and instead 

convert

 its entirety to a sort of 'dish-washing' chore, 

but moreso it was that that idea itself was merely a fabrication, 

because all I wanted was to sit inside and dream. 

Why do we torment ourselves?

Where

                    I

                                                                                                    Am over there

                                                                                                    Perched neatly above

            Flower Petals

                                  and

         Cherry Blossoms.

                                                                                                                 Because I want to be.

There isn't much to actually starting a journey

Seeing as how we're all one existential example

But are we supposed to love life along the way?

"All about the journey" but scared little girls

And bullied teens won't agree

The definitional phrasing seems to be independent

Of subject or context and more akin to

A sublimation of perception.

C'est La Vie.

So it goes.

Every student that walks by keeps 

OgGlinG

At my pages as if I'm

(hiding something)

Or about to REVEAL who they are.

I wish they were more concerned about the

Sustainibility-y-y-y-y-y-y

Of noiseless shoes

That keep interrupting my simple scrawls

By thwomping or scuffling over the stairs.

But next they'll be complaining about how

I rap my knuckles when in thought

And we can't have that, or society will surely buckle.

I

Must write more poetry

Who is I?

Why do we make him write more

God-Forsaken

poetry...

                              There's plenty

                                                                                                POETRY

 P                               Of Poetry

oe                                                                         Poetry                     look here! more poetry!

try                                                                          poetry

But perhaps it's just

He who has to do it.

I think it's funny how words themselves paint

a picture in that clouded

vestigial

membrane

called the MIND

that's neither here, nor there.

To think that little spark of neurons going on

Right now

Popping off one by one

Is literally just a brain-gasm

As you connect bits and pieces together like

So many jigsaws gnarling oaken branches.

And when something doesn't make sense it clutters

And sp-p-p-utterrssss

For a second

Before some little thought

Fixes it, changes the oil, 

And sends it on its way.

Carting the mail of afterthought.

Some thoughts.

Rukeyser's Roads...

What sort of country do the 'roads' in

'Well Then There Now' represent or portray?

A                    twisting, winding, boldly defining but carefully depicted and fragmented visionary piece of our             emotionally charged and altogether explanatory everyday.

Or that's how it seemed to me.

A                    sensory experiment in combination of syntactical revelation and their dictionated counterparts all in lieu with one another, one driving the van

the other tossing the money next to the spare.

In truth the precise nature of an entire country

(through her work)

seems more related to the individual's flavoring,

their hypersensitive tuning to the smallest of details

in every place they've gone. What we get is that the

system is overly complex.

                                                                   

post 55-What am I doing...

I'm so lost atm, everyone.

I say I'm going to post and go on my way worrying about my Club, my recently failed relationship, etc etc and I'm incredibly sorry that you guys, who have given me support for my writing and shown me that there's still positive feedback for poetry and writing, have been left behind in the chaos.

I swear, by the end of the weekend, something big will be on here. The saddest part is this isn't a new thing; I always go through dry periods because of my life/events that happen.

I hope you are all doing well!

Post 54- Cohabitate and I-World

Enjoy! I got these ideas from my poetry class today (and environmental Lit...we got into some very meta discussions on what it is to 'be' and how poets attempt to toss a thread out to define the things in our world that are undefinable..crazy yea?)


Cohabitate

Populate that natural world
With a sensual ravishment of
Humanitarianism and leave the thinking
To the butterflies who flock to dead antlers
On a creek shore.

Just
Let
It
Be
And
Cohabitate.

I-world

We live in an
eye world full of visionaries who gave us dev
ices to power our too quickly distracted m
inds but what the
I-world is isn't qu
ite so simple...

I think in our own heads is an exc
iting realm of displacement, a n
icely gray area between reality and fixation that can get lost to the t
ides of t
ime if we don't watch where we're going. Dredge up that old pair of
i-glasses and sit down and read a book every once in a wh
ile, before they go extinct and the whole
idea of slowly and organically gathering information is lost to us ent
irely.

That's it for today! Expect more soon, as I work on I-world, my next manuscript. This one isn't limited by titles, but rather construction. It's an entire manuscript based around the idea of visual and tonal changes in poetry!

Take care everyone!

Post 53- It's been 5 days!

I thought I'd let you guys know I'm not dead haha.

Expect some more poems tomorrow and the official start of my next manuscript!

Take care!

Post 52- Take a vote!

Hey there everyone!
It's been one hell of a few days, so here's the gist.

I'd like to know what YOU folks want to read.

Are you content with my poetry? Or would you rather have short stories? Or even news?

This is your chance! Also feel free to suggest a topic that you've wanted to see done, such as a fantasy story or a poem centered on the sun, for example. And you can be more specific than that :P

Hope everyone had a good January!

Post 51- News about me! (And other stuff)

So today for the most part i sat inside waiting to post something because i knew that it was the blackout day. I'm incredibly proud of the blogs that I follow that decided to do it themselves. More power to them, but i'm just too excited!

I am now officially the Club President of the English Club on my campus. In related news, for the third time in its entire history, my school is having a snow day tomorrow. How exciting that I was here for it!

Additionally I've volunteered at the Writing Center here as a tutor, with the prospect of working for the university to help students with papers and to teach group sessions.

I've also got a few new poems for you that I wrote in my Advanced Poetry course, so enjoy!

1 Thing to Find Out More About

Could just be
What I should remember
Because I always seem to forget
Exactly what I shouldn't.

If I knew what to cherish
I might make everything easier,
Make more money,
Bed more women
Or just live a better life
But since such an
Aloof mentality
Condemns me
I'm left with naught
But the
Nonsensical
Ramblings
Of my own head
Which can't recall the reason
For starting a poem
Based on stream of consciousness.

Nostalgia Box

You turn to something
In order to look back
And see
A name
A face
Some sort of cue
To let yourself know about
Important memories
Associated
With a scarf
Or a toy fox
But it really only goes so far
As to make you smile and
Feel the weight
Of an object that can
Transport you
Back
Like one of
Harry's
Teleporting Trophies.

Post 50- Almost a year of blogging!

Although not nonstop. My bad on that one.

I have three things for you today: 2 poems, and a short story/creative essay. I hope you folks enjoy these pieces from last semester ^^

The Greatest Song Ever Written

Would have to reel you in, slowly at first, with rhythms that touch your heart, making it palpitate, bumping into the mind, leaving your skin crawling. It would be personally catered to you, telling a tale of a girl or a boy that remind you of the one that got away, before drifting into guitar and drum solos that touch at the very soul of youth. Certainly, the lack of any and all details in the song would brighten the very foundation of its subject, and all its intricacies, to a point that you forget the tragedies of your past. The singer would be simple in words but complex in reason, with an ensemble from your youth that takes you back in time to a simpler, childlike place filled with nothing but pure happiness and simplicity before the world robbed you of innocence in a way you could never forget. Indeed, it wouldn't be a song so much as a tale or every right, every wrong you had ever done composed into musical notation. It might feature copious amounts of lute play, synthesizer, black metal and bass, but at its root it will always be about YOU. It would never be played on the radio, and you would be the only person that knows about how wonderful it sounds, because it was written by that girl or guy that got away just for you, and as you listen tears might well up in your eyes. Without knowing it, you will be driven to action, to contact them, to ask them if this time it will work, or to forget them and carry on oblivious to the world, a bastion of indignation and a soloist exemplifying the very nature of the music to which you are currently listening. No one will like it as you do, no one will understand it in the same way, and you will be quite alright with that as you walk to class, drive to work, or continue living in the world forever lied to, a child told of all the great things they could have become, and you will contemplate your choices in the same way an old man cries, sad, and alone, for the song isn't a happy one; it is a tragedy of youth and of love, of original hopes and dreams lost but new ones made up, and its beauty will lie in its personal tragedy, tailored, again, to you, the most important audience of all. It will include no pity, no remorse, as it lays down with epic waves of sound-scapes that life will go on, that you will be alright, and that it isn't so much what you have done but what you will do that in the end, will satisfy your tastes, and you'll start up the track again, titled after some obscure thing that you love, and it will again get you beating, living, walking, thinking your way into the world's early morning as the sun crosses the horizon and the dew smiles happily at the dawn. 

Fear

Isn't just a word but a feeling of remorse

Or apprehension as something wicked this way

Comes and you can't quite place a feeling like that,

Real fear,

Because when you try you only remember images or things

That caused you real fear.

It's funny, that generally speaking,

We don't feel it when we know something is coming,

But startle, or surprise us and more often than not we'll exclaim

'Oh you scared me' while you stand there in your scream mask and laugh

At taking advantage of our primal emotions.

And isn't it the scariest when there's a fear you can't escape

And are forced to ride through,

Like a bad dream or a nightmare where the cold dead hands of an ex wife

Come to pry you away from your peaceful life even if you never had one,

Or a shadowy figure asks you for change when you have none,

And sometimes even your pet dog souffle chases you through a maze and you have to run,

Have to,

Because he's frothing at the mouth and rabid from disease.

Or maybe just happy to see you.

And it's this unknown sense of what will happen interspersed with

The moment to moment present terror

In nightmares that really scares me,

Because that can happen at any time and you can't run,

Can't fight,

Can only hope to wake up and realize you shouldn't eat pizza before bed

Or let yourself think dark thoughts like that,

And instead just sit down and write a poem about

The thing that scares you long after breakfast.

Yea, just write a poem about it.

Poles of the Brain

It's a geometric piece I had commissioned

By a local artist so I could show

How sophisticated I am.

She called it 'Poles of the Brain'

And asked me questions beforehand,

So I can only imagine that the curious title

Means I have very opposite Personalities,

Or Thoughts, or Types.

But looking at the Black and White

Triangles on a sea of Blue, under a

Purple and Red sunset with no sun

I feel it is more at peace with me

Than I thought at first.

She really is a good artist,

I think.

Post 49 - Almost to 50!

Expect a fun update this weekend. Here's a short story to wet your appetites!

The Marble Stairs

It was the cleanest building Steven had ever seen.

When his mother held his hand he could feel the sticky sweat clinging in between her fingers and on her palm; even his Grandmother seemed downcast, and she was always the positive person in the family. But it wasn't them that Steven paid the most attention to. The courthouse was decorated with giant pillars at its front, and bestrode 2 white marble staircases that curved sleekly toward the parking lot. Where the dark and dirty asphalt ended, law began.

For six months his family had anxiously waited for the day when Steven would be taken before a judge and questioned on where he wanted, or rather who he wanted, to live with. And while he had had no real opinion, something in his mother's eyes had told him that although she loved him dearly, she could not take care of him. For what it was worth Steven understood why, he knew that the small trailer amongst over mobile homes was sodden and decrepit; he knew that the kids he played with weren't nice kids; and he knew what money was, and that they had little of it.

So, six months later, Steven was holding his mother's hand gingerly, listening to their footfalls as they crossed the threshold onto the marble stairs, and up into the vast, clean building. Marble gave way to granite and brick decor, columns to offices. The lady at the front desk seemed to know exactly who they were and why they were there, and glanced down at Steven pityingly. The sheen in her eyes scared him.

It was the sheen of sadness his mother shared when they ate well, having Stouffer's lasagna instead of ramen for once, the knowledge of the next poor meal at the forefront of her worries. A sheen shared by the swinging metal door on their trailer, and the knife in the neighbor boy's hand as he chased him home.

She told them quietly, almost inaudibly where to sit and allowed Steven's mother to stay to finish some last minute paperwork. There was a long wait, and after a group of people walked out sobbing, they were told to come inside. Steven felt his mother's hand on his back as they funneled into the room, this time made of oak and carpet. It was air conditioned, unlike the room outside, and Steven felt a chill that gave him goosebumps.

This wasn't the first time Steven had been in a courtroom; his mother had taken custody years earlier, when he was just a babe, from his father. The man had not even shown up, instead deciding the battle was already lost when she took him across country to live with her near the family. So he had stayed. His mother showed more courage now, perhaps because this wasn't a fight, but a change of hands. A sort of giving up of her son.

So Steven, knowing what it meant, sat there and listened to these big people talk. He listened for his name and nodded when he ought to, and looked down when he felt the need to.

And when the judge, sitting high up on his seat with a big hammer at his side, looked down at him and asked "Would you like to live with your Grandmother, Steven?" he said what was expected in that long moment when everyone held their breath.

He held his mother's hand all the way to the edge of the lobby before he let go and walked down the white marble stairs alone.

Post 48 - A sad time

It is a sad day indeed when we are forced to consider the SOPA and PROTECT IP Act as a means to combat piracy.

You've probably heard/seen the stuff all over the web about the issues they raise over free speech on the web, content generation, and creativity. But I urge everyone that follows my blog to take action and send an email to their state senator. It's really easy to do! Just go to the link below, and you can fill out a form to email your state's senators to oppose the bill. We all need to be heard.

https://action.eff.org/o/9042/p/dia/action/public/?action_KEY=8173

More information can be found here as well: https://www.eff.org/

Post 47- The Final Piece!

Sorry for the late post everyone, had a busy first day of classes (and an unhealthy addiction to my new 3DS and Pokemon White). I certainly hope you enjoy the following poems, as they bring -B-ook of The End to a close.

Coming soon: A new manuscript. Which letter, I have yet to decide. Enjoy!

Break - Sec 3
Bourgeoisie - Sec 3
Behind - Sec 3
Beyond the Veil - Sec 3
-B-ook of The End - Sec 4/Conclusion

Break

There's a break before the plunge

A sort of washing off of sin

I think it has to do

With knowing that

This is it.

I won't make it out alive

What I've known

Is all I will ever know.

My life

Will

Break

Like any stone

To be remade

Grown anew.

Although eternity does not frighten me

I am still scared for the others

Whose tears will mark my passage

To another place that they

Too

Will ultimately join.

Perhaps such dark muses

Are but a method of coping

A contemplation

To calm my spirit as I fade away.

Bourgeoisie

The purpose of consumerism

Is to devour those who are smaller.

All the gold watches

And decor's of mountainous mansions

Are just the pets

Of an ideal

To eat

To succeed

Like so much else in the world.

And civilization is but

A means to compete

With one another

In a more convoluted measure.

For us

Withholding basic need is an everyday affair

We make love to it for profit

Without a thought to the contrary.

Our stagnation is coming

And with it

The feeling of hunger.

Behind

Something to get

to want

a lustful thought

a denim's grudge

Lose it all if you fall into it

kick it when it's down

We all need to realize a leader

is just someone who has yet to be shaken by it

Truthfully it isn't so bad

We just put labels on everything.

Beyond the Veil

Out here

Your

Senses

Like to mix

You smell touch

Taste sound

And your limbs

Refuse to bend properly

Instead choosing to disembark your body

To float away on their own dreams

This mauve sensation is too removed

To be found familiar

Time is simply a hurdle to be jumped over,

Run past,

Skipped by,

And once done

You are paid the dividends

One would expect;

Immorality,

Vulnerability,

Conscience.

Beside you

Others swim through the mist

Searching

For their own answers to who they are

And where they came from

It is always the same:

There is no memory here.

Beyond the veil

You are left to your own desires

It is where all questions remain unanswered and curious

-B-ook of The End

I once grew a stench to see what the seeds looked like

I feared the end of my hobby seeking activities

When a woman of no minor importance

Deemed me worthy to read a particular

Book

Of no particular

Author

Which depicted a

Rather detestable

Notation

About the reasoning of all mankind.

It claimed

We harbored a sickness that had no cure

And that in its reality

Circular thought was simply the norm.

Chickens and eggs were revered for their

Resourcefulness

And the labor of a thousand men

Only produced two thousand more of them.

While I at once wished

For such a simple existence

The woman saw the glint

Of my eye and took it back

Before I had a chance to read the last few pages

Which

I hope

Was a tale of caution to any would-be reader,

Though I have no way of knowing.

Post 46- Part 3 coming soon!

Unfortunately, I'm heading back to my College as my vacation is coming to an end. BUT expect part 3 somtime tomorrow or on Monday!

Have a good weekend everyone!

Post 45- Part 2 of -B-ook of The End

Sorry for the late post, everyone. These ones are just a little bit longer. Really hope you enjoy these as much as I enjoyed writing them! :D

Better Not - sec 1
Buy Me - sec 1
Battle Corporation - sec 1

Better Not

We are all

keenly aware

of that simple phrase

'you'd better not'

and its implications.

That it is better

to not do this

than it is

to do that

is too difficult

to say

and as we digress

even more surreptitiously

into shortened phrases

and abbrev wrds

we may find

we lose pt of wht mks Eng

such a pwrfl lang.

It will become

gender neutral

unbiased

with twice as much of a learning curve

and may God help us

when that happens

because you'll be seeing the older generations

completely ostracized from the younger ones

who learn more quickly.

So as we all capitulate

that downward spiral of

-fuck-

-all-

-spelling-

texting

instant messaging

and A.D.D.

will create a new type of novel

(limited to 150 characters)

allowing us to burn what's left

of

Tolstoy

and

Angelou

in good confidence

just to watch the fire crackle.

 Buy Me

Buy me a

Rosy red ring

With

Ruby studded feelings

And maybe

I'll consider lying next to you.

Buy me a

New generation

Of peaceful peoples

Who work together to save our planet

And maybe

I'll lead them myself.

Buy me

More of the same

And a typewriter to empty my thoughts onto

And maybe

I'll write something

You will cry over.

But buy ME

Buy me

And maybe

You'll feel

That little bit

Of buyer's remorse

Because I've done nothing of note

And people don't seem inherently valuable.

Hopefully the added effort

Of buying my typewriter

Will prevent anyone

From ever bidding on me at auction.

I'd much rather sit

In the bid house

And play with all the unwanted rarities

Than be the willing pet of some

Corporation or

Nationality or

Military or

Pimp.

They're all too similar to one another

Get that straight,

And first sign of a profit

You're back at that auction house

Playing with that unsold typewriter.

Battle Corporation

There's a man in a suit

Looking through your credentials

And all he can manage to say is

'Interesting'

Before throwing you back out on the street

And continuing on his merry way.

You weren't ready to work for him

You tell yourself

The job would have been too difficult.

But you miss that

Slowly shining sun

After pulling night shifts

At The Gap

And you wanted something more usual

Something to write mom about.

Perhaps you walking back in

Was just

What he was waiting for

The indomitable will

Of someone desperate for success.

So he lets you on

Introduces you

To a world in confidence

With all its darknesses.

He changes your understanding of Wall Street forever

Where the companies aren't just businesses

They're Nationalities

And every little clink on the sidewalk

Is a scrap

For the war torn street

Rat

Living around you

In the alleyways.

Climbing stocks

Are just rocket plumes

Money trading

Is the black market

And your suit of armor

Is just a windsor

Or ediety

If you're feeling fancy.

Your best weapon

Is your tongue

And your only goal

Is to pull ahead.

All this he tells you and you smell

The sterility

Of the linoleum underneath your feet

Before deciding that all you'd ever wanted

Was to be involved in the fastest

War

On the planet.

He hands you his card

And says:

Welcome to the Battle Corporation.

Post 44 - Man...

I just woke up. And i am thoroughly hungover. A 40 of Malt will do that to you i suppose.

Expect more poetry, aka the second section of -B-ook of The End, soon. Likely tomorrow or later today. ^^

Hope everyone's New Year's Resolutions are working out!

Post 43 - Broken Society Special

-B-ook of the End is making some interesting turns. As such, here's the new section 1 titles, and the theme poem, Broken Society. EDIT: Included is also the sadly missing The Book of W poem from my last manuscript...for some reason it's not shown on the older post. I didn't notice until now. Be sure to go back and check out Post 37, Another Big Project!

Section Poem 1: Broken Society

Better Not - sec 1
Buy Me - sec 1
Battle Corporation - sec 1

Broken Society

What we've got here is just another

Broken Society

Full of loser lovers who

Can't

Approach a dame

And free fuckers

Who'd stick it in egg salad if

The thought popped in their head.

The problem with these folks

Is that their general consensus

Of personal interest

Is in the investiture of nothing.

Were we really so young ourselves

Blinded too

When we led the riots into the streets

And called out the pope?

Now it isn't about us,

But rather them,

And how they try to ducktape those

Consumerist

Chauvinists

So they'll stop spending

So much

God Damn

Money

On useless crap like ATVs

Or ABC Family

Or the web.

What's the point of it all anyway

If they don't have a woman

To keep them warm.

That screen isn't going to smile back, you loser lover.

It's all just a slowly capitulating,

Blowing down and

Busting out

Broken

Fucking

Society

That will one day

Come to dominate the world

And piss off any

Interstellar travelers

Unlucky enough to fly through the radio waves of an episode of

The Real World.

And we're sitting here,

At the center of it all,

Trying to find our match online

When they're sitting out there somewhere

Suffering

From our Broken Society.

The Book Of -W-

The Book of -W-

Features only the most exclusive ideas

Of what and who we wish to be.

It is personal and unique

To every individual

Who braves the dusty tome's pages.

Inside the gold-leaf is a kinder ritual of

Self-impotence

Where you're all turned into gods

And told to run the universe.

Only thing is,

The Book of -W- pretends we're capable enough

Willing enough

To try,

When we'd all rather

Just look out for ourselves

In a universe

Consisting of singular perspective.

And the goal:

It's yours to decide.

Whether man stay beast or banish their gods of fate.