REPORT A PROBLEM
pure eyes. i love them. they know nothing of war, famine, death...nothing. he wakes up and smiles at me. every morning. albeit at 8 in the morning, but a pot of coffee can't beat a simple, pure smile. all he knows is what we teach him. all he knows, is that if he nods his head at me, i'll always nod back. all he knows, is that if he cries, just a little, i'll pick him up an comfort him. sure, eventually he'll learn of drugs and hate, but for now, it's just pure eyes... and i love them.
weddings...are...a...trip. basically, you're there to celebrate the 'conscious union of two hearts', but usually, most are there for the open bar! maybe i'm being a little sarcastic, but what does your cousin's best friend's sister need to be there for? she doesn't. and what's up with the dj? does he realize it's not 1988 anymore? and if two people really don't need anyone else for the rest of their lives, why does the groom have all of his buddies gawk at a naked, low self-esteem 'dancer' for two hours the week before?yes, weddings...are...a...trip.
find the right situation. if you do, you'll get your jersey retired along with the 3 other seniors, because you were in the right place at the right time. sure, you were on the team when they won thirty games last year, but you averaged 6 points a game. and now your jersey number hangs from the hallowed rafters. just smile and take your plaque, and act the part. when the crowd cheers, graciously wave your hand, then stand off to the side. no, i'm not laughing or hating on your situation, because you found the right one for you.
'damn reporters, all trying to win an emmy'...has anyone else seen this? how many times do we need to see a comet of human flesh and metallic parts flash thru the sky? how many times do people need to re-live this? to see a tragedy? to see death? as many times as they keep coming back. that's it. point blank. you see, it's a ratings war, and war will spike the ratings. why else would a calm, thoughtful person place him or herself in the path of a trident missle? a ratings war, and war will spike the ratings...
i like the knicks...a lot. yeah, so we need a bunch of things, cap room, a solid point guard, an inside presence, we basically need a shake-up. as much as i understand latrell sprewell's importance to the knicks' better teams the last few years, i also understand new york's constant yearning for stars. a healthy mcdyess? that'll help. look, we're stuck with allan houston for as long as that horrible contract lasts. i'm looking forward to that 'perfect season'. it'll come. all the way to the finals. (and lose) signed, scott. (long suffering knickerbockers fan) ---bring back van gundy---
yeah, so we're going to war. it says so on the television, and the television doesn't lie, does it??? a little rhyme... it's crazy. even when blessed, freedom of the press/ only opens up your mind so you believe in the rest/ it's seedy at best. the government's hand is leading the press/ because the bottom line goal is to deceive and oppress/ that's it. that's what it comes down to. fragile frail minds believe what they're told. that'll NEVER be me. EVER. smoking gun? ummmm. mass destruction? ummmm. president bush? ummmm. (i wouldn't be surprised if this gets censored)
let's talk about war. yes, another day, another war entry. here's my first question...who's more dangerous to us? osama or saddam? think about it. second, why does the media take the time every day to tell us this ISN'T about oil? it isn't? i would be shocked if within a week of invading iraq, we haven't 'secured' all of their oil fields. look, i got no problems with paying less at the pump, but respect me enough to call it what it is. don't mention the words 'fourth reich', because our leaders sure believe our culture should rule all.
hip hop. the mere words bring scowls and dismissals. well, it isn't the cars that drive by at one in the morning with speakers louder than thunder. it isn't the fourteen year olds with their pants around their ankles. it isn't gangster. or killing. it's about self expression. it's poetry in motion. it's words forming images. and images forming concepts. it's a state of mind, not a way to dress.but somehow, the bad is always lumped with the good.rock gets a free pass and pop gets a free pass, where's ours? well? fuck you, we don't need one.
another little ditty...i am a creative fuck, and if you've been reading, you probably believe... The new woman. Clothes of a slut, you can get the lips sewn shut/ But she wont ever talk back, you just gotta "blow her up"/ Bonus cuts? No whining, no dining, and no shining cars/ "deflate" her ego instantly, simply by buying darts/ she inspires art, I drew a big "beach ball" mural/ "breaths of air" ignite her world and swirled inside of her girdle/ latex? Heck. No reason un-rolling one of them/ with my inflatable friend, named Jenn, fiendin to blow again/
do NOT hit a girl. for real. that makes a big man? nope. look, i know it ain't my bizz what goes on behind your doors. and i also know that even though i've seen the bruises, she's a grown woman, smart enough to know when to leave. but, if for some reason you're feeling like a big enough man to challenge me, you might find that i'm a little stronger than a one hundred and ten pound female. i hit a little harder. i can defend myself. next thing you know, you're her. cowering and defenseless. big man, huh?
frustration. frustration is having a job with a 'hands on' boss who calls you every time you blink. *blink* frustration is liking your job only because by keeping it, you don't have to go job hunting. and the thing about frustration, is that it never goes away. it only grows with each passing day. shit, this morning my boss calls and said that another employee stopped into her office to say that i 'kept asking when this meeting will be done'. oh, the horror. or whore as the case may dictate. i put on smiling faces, but inside, i'm frustrated.
nuclear weapons...a little imagery for the weak of heart... do yall know that you can be dozens of miles from 'ground zero' of a medium sized bomb, not die from the blast itself, OR the shockwave, OR the fallout, OR radiation poisoning, your fate would be a little worse...your eyeballs would melt from the intense light. yes, light burning your eyeballs out. from there, you bleed out of every crevice of your body for about 2 hours. all the while waiting for the ambulance and medics that just evaporated. all while not knowing what the fuck just happened.
winter wind whipping across the parking lot. snow piled higher than your car. sidewalks not easily traversed. negative eighteen wind chill. leather coats and ski masks. that black ice and snow mix that clings to your wheel wells. for 5 months you have a sniffle. the 6 minutes it takes for your car's heater to start working. the snow plows. the snow clouds. the scraping of windshields at seven in the morning. the boots and double socks. the pain in your lungs from taking a deep breath. heading to the store, opening the door, and turning around. i hate winter.
hearts. pink and red. ripped up hallmark cards lying on the rug.... i say BAH...HUMBUG. such a fake, made up to save the economy holiday. the only thing worse than february fourteenth is sweetest day. did i buy my valentine anything? nope. not even a card. but you see, i'm not dumb. i let her know that ahead of time, sort of like a weekly warning, so not to get her hopes up. dunno, call me a skeptic. call it the 'male' coming out of me. we went to dinner, and had a few drinks afterwards, that's all though.
so tonight i found out that my ex is pregnant. bartender told me. i guess she's huge. how do i feel? kinda hard to explain i guess. you see, i'm happy now. happier probably than i've ever been. wasn't there a song about being hard to say goodbye to yesterday? look, i KNOW that it's no longer my business what she does. and, all things considered, it doesn't really bother me. guess i just wish someone would have told me. especially since my parents have known for a month. as much as she's hurt me, i still say good luck.
birds chirping. newly sprouting leaves. that smell's in the air. driving downtown with windows down so EVERYONE can hear your sound. green grass, skies blue...the sun's smiling. matterafact, everyone is smiling. it's a fun time. a rebirth of the earth and everything on it. stomping in puddles and basketball huddles, and walking to the store instead of driving. everything's alive and breathing. father winter's dying and wheezing. i can actually wash my car! refresh and renew the paint after months and months of salt and snow. i THOUGHT it was time to grow, then i woke up...still winter.
got a new job today. ambulance dispatch. when added to my 15 hour a week part time college job, that makes two. so, i'm raising a son, have a girlfriend, go to school part time (almost done!), and have two jobs. seems i'm slowly turning, as always expected, into my father. yuck. but, i'm quick to remind people that it's not that, i just like money. and i like to SPEND money even more.people have told me that i'm not even gonna have time to spend all this new money.true, but i'd rather be making it than spending it.
baseball's coming soon. it is. the newspaper says so. the weather doesn't, but that will come around. soon, the smell of freshly cut grass, and newly oiled leather will eminate around the parks. the *tink* of the ball hitting the bat, the yelps of the younger onlookers, they are no better sounds or smells. i love baseball because it's the only time a grown man looks better with 3 pounds of dirt caked onto his sweaty shirt. i feel like if don't come home dirty, i didn't play. dive. slide. break up that double play.that's how you SHOULD play...
think. deep thoughts. let nothing rattle the process. decide. feel the various vibes, just think. shut off the lights, and envision what things should be like, how they were when you were seven. meditate. breath slowly, and clear your mind of everything that's on the television. there's no hate. no war. no famine. nothing. just you and your thoughts. your quiet thoughts.look inward. the answers are always there. always lurkin just below the surface. the world's too loud to find them most of the time. but in the quiet darkness, you can FIND your soul. it's there, just listen.
a lake. an ocean of love situated on a single blade of grass. nature's own baths. morning mist, air's crisp. you can smell the upcoming day. several dandelions sprout. a smile forms in the clouds. the sun peeks out. a leaf flutters to the ground. picnic baskets are opened. then closed. the ants align in rows. a breeze kicks up. barey even noticeable. like nature's loving hug. birds dive and swoop, nature cutting rugs. you can hear the tranquility, it nibbles at your soul. taking chunks out of your cares. you've been there. use the whole day to just stare.
dear matthew: i realize it's been a minute. i feel like i owe an explanation. first, you've written me two letters, and i've got both of them. but yet, this is the first time i'm even trying to attempt to at least type out what i've been thinking. we grew up together. 15 days apart. 3 blocks at the most. there probably hasn't been a day gone by that i haven't 'thought' about writing you back. what i would say. and ask.in 100 words...i really do miss you. but i really don't know what to say. how to...
two jobs. hectic hours. part time student about a year from being done. who likes to drink a few beers. and think about his son. aiming for the clouds, but getting caught in the gravity. must...rise...up. higher than the clouds and birds and constellations. higher than my hometown. can't let other people decide my fate. ever felt that weight? gorillas on my shoulders and a frog in my throat, this my be the realest thing i've ever wrote. if only because you probably understand every last one of these here one hundred words. every last one of them.
finding your place in life. most definitely one of the hardest things you can ever do. finding where you fit in. with WHO you fit in WITH. think about it, if it were that easy, everyone would like everyone. they would be no best friends. no enemies. no 'hating your job'. everyone would be all about helping you realize your dreams. but it ain't like that. rely on yourself. no one else. cuz who else gives one fuck about your mental health? the postman? your neighbor? classmates? parents? nope. nobody. nobody but you. just grasp your visions and ride them.
rose petals with a single drop of dew dangling. a crinkled up piece of paper. a bluebird dive bombing. a recently emptied cup of coffee. a straw with a small hole in it. a picture of a baby, a dirty diaper. a broken windshield wiper that doesn't clean the grime. a corporate executive obsessed with time. a local hoodlum obsessed with crime. a teenage virgin with sex in mind. a priest. a chapel. the cross on the top. the devil smiling big whenever the ball drops. visions. imagery. pictures of life. vivid, colorful, bright. can you SEE what i'm saying?
today. tomorrow. next week. last year. all blending together to form memories. thing about memories is, when do they cease to be helpful? why do we look back on things and remember them better than they were? why lie to yourself? there are many, many reasons to lie to OTHER people, but when you lie to yourself, you gotta ask, what are you trying to hide? shouldn't you have your own thoughts and feelings mastered enough to be able to be truthful to yourself? in the end, yesterday doesn't matter. neither do skewed memories. but today matters, as do i.
you can't run from me. i'll catch you. can't hide from me, someone will let you know that i'm there. i'm everywhere. i'm in the back of your mind, i've got a knack for tracking time, i'm a fact of life. you'll never control me, until you behold me. tick, tick, tick, never stop. at least not until YOU do. just ask the past generations that i blew thru. lemme break it down to you, i transcend life. transcend light, even it's speed relates to me to a great degree. i am life itself, who am i? i am time...
eternal flames. the beginning of humans. heat. warmth. life. bright orange flavors. sounds of crackling enter my mind. bonfires with a keg of beer and twenty friends. or maybe just three. it can support entire villages. or destroy them. harness the power. use it. to cook hot dogs or 'smores. or to keep the family warm. stare at it for too long and your sanity's torn. all the random dancing will leave you glancing at more. basically, fire is life. and death. it cooks food and it kills it. and it always will. dinosaurs burned. cavemen burned. someday, we'll learn,
all praise to one hundred words...it's made me focus on my creative side. i've always taken time out of my busy day to write something, anything down, but because of this website, i feel like i hone my (ummm) talents more often now. if anyone out there in the great void of cyberspace actually took the time to read these posts, you've had a look into my slightly twisted life. topics have ranged from fire to my son to war to just plain looking out my window and longing for spring. anyway, here's to march and becoming even more creative.
The Tip Jar