Tuesday, January 31, 2012

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?)


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.



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

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!

Monday, January 30, 2012

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!

Wednesday, January 25, 2012

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!

Wednesday, January 18, 2012

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
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
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
Like one of
Teleporting Trophies.

Monday, January 16, 2012

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. 


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.

Friday, January 13, 2012

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.

Wednesday, January 11, 2012

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.


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

Monday, January 9, 2012

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


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
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
Will ultimately join.

Perhaps such dark muses
Are but a method of coping

A contemplation
To calm my spirit as I fade away.


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.


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
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;




Beside you
Others swim through the mist
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
Of no particular
Which depicted a
Rather detestable
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
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

I hope

Was a tale of caution to any would-be reader,
Though I have no way of knowing.

Saturday, January 7, 2012

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!

Thursday, January 5, 2012

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
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
instant messaging
and A.D.D.
will create a new type of novel
(limited to 150 characters)
allowing us to burn what's left
in good confidence
just to watch the fire crackle.

 Buy Me

Buy me a
Rosy red ring
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

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
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
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
On the planet.

He hands you his card
And says:

Welcome to the Battle Corporation.

Tuesday, January 3, 2012

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!

Sunday, January 1, 2012

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
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
So they'll stop spending
So much
God Damn
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
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
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
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.