Tuesday, December 25, 2007


It thinks it's a phoenix, rising from it's own ashes.
That which feels reborn every era.
It's like a sad regurgitation of itself.
That which feels reborn every era,
But in reality it's just a more sickening machine,
Bringing destruction to itself and all those who remain in it too long.

Flashy hairstyles, Brand new trends,
I feel the vomit creeping up my throat
as I heard her say "bombie."
Apparently that's the newest word to be shat out.

I can't even fathom the way these people live,
How do they manage to breathe?
The only things I ever hear about is who owns what,
Like the daughter of Sunny and Cher owning a "bombie restaurant",
With an over-paid host who used to be in a world-wide band,
But spent all his money on suing the label for telling them to change their sound.

Too much face work?
Get some more,
Pretty soon they'll have an outlet store,
Don't worry about your problems or health for that matter,
It can all be cured by the paid knife,
But you'll still be stupid the rest of your life.

I hope they're happy,
When they're pretty and a hoe,
Cuz afterall it's not about what you can do,
It's about who you can blow.

Actually Christmas

So now it's Christmas eh?
For about half an hour they say.
I kind of wish I owned a sleigh...

The snow isn't dirty anymore,
I see Santa in the wood grain of the bathroom door,
Even TODAY I was called a man-whore.

The holiday spirit is quite contageous,
The holiday antics are quite outrageous,
Neither stops the drunks from being courageous.

I'm dreaming of a Christmas so white,
The sun will beam down oh so bright,
I can't wait for tomorrow night.

So that's "Actually Christmas" Another off-the-top-of-the-head poem I wrote at... Damn near 1 am. I've sent my massive text message wishing everyone a merry christmas. Hope I didn't miss anyone. I wish everyone a merry christmas and hope all of you get a lot of cool shit.

Friday, December 21, 2007

Wrapping and Writing

Not very long til Christmas. I'm more interested in the family time and free stuff than I am about celebrating some dead mans birthday. (Can you tell I'm not christian? =P) So I decided I would write a poem off the top of my head about Christmas.

Christmas in my mind.

The lights outside guide my gaze,
The trees lit up leave my mind in a haze,
Is it time for Jesus to come see us?
Oh wait, that's San-t Claws.

Presents being dropped through chimneys,
I never had one as a child, did Santa never come?
No, his magic is much more powerful that I thought,
When in reality I guess parents are good liars.

I try to think of animated Frosty,
But all I get is Jack Frost,
Stabbing children with icicles,
I'd much rather have spiked eggnog.

Christmas music on CD makes me sick,
They have a sick desperation to their melody,
Going hand in hand with their attempts for money...
Or what they think is happiness.

Tuesday, December 18, 2007

Another final (Continued)

So, with my bordem and... Still another 2.25 hours left until I fail this philosophy final, I decided to go blog hopping. I've found that there are an immense amount of good poets/writers out there.

Because of this, I'm adding a page element called "Poet Ring" which is going to be a list of poets I support in the sense that I try to get people to read their works, since I hope they'll be doing the same for me.

If you're ever looking for a good poem, aside from all the great works here *wink*, look over at the Poets Ring, I'm sure you'll find at least one.

Another final

So I'm sitting in the library at my school right now, for lack of anything better to do... While refusing to study for a final I'll probably fail. That's beside the point. I've found there are some interesting observations to be made in this place. So I decided I'd put it into a poem. Hurray, right?

The Library

The keyboards clicking like a gaggle of geese honk,
Millions of keystrokes per minute,
How many of them are correcting errors I wonder?

The atmosphere is an abnormal tension,
Not that which can be cut by a knife,
But taut enough in which the air feels thick.

Knowledge being converted to a structured word processor,
A form of rebirth like that of a phoenix,
Though this time it comes out like a test-tube abomination.

Cold glances from the screen every once and again,
No one speaks, no one shows emotion,
A secluded prison state in which "education" takes place.

Only 3 clocks in a room the size of a house,
Are we not supposed to know the time?
Maybe they like to keep us on our toes.

Ipods and cell phones,
The only link to the outside world here,
Will we ever make it past that stolen book detector?

Intensity fluctuates like sound waves,
The silent roar of citing and research grips even me,
I hope their work pays off,
So they can be happy with the way they waste the rest of their lives,
Maybe one of them will be a librarian and realize their strife.

Sunday, December 16, 2007

A metaphor...

I had this assignment in my english 1 class at the beginning of the semester so I decided since it's a metaphor for my writing process it was worthy enough to be put up here.

Out of all the things I can say I have done in 19 years of life, writing is by far the most interesting. I’ve written poetry, attempted novel ideas, and novellas but I have never actually managed to pull one off, yet. I think this can be attributed to the metaphor which I feel strongly relates to my writing. That is: my writing is like going to a rock concert, knowing you have friends there and attempting to find them; where the rock concert is the mind putting together and imagining the literary piece and the friends/people are solid pieces/ideas of your work.
Consider this; you have just gotten into your car sitting outside your house. Anticipation thrusts your adrenalin into high gear and all you can think is “I’M GOING TO THE SHOW!” Soon after, you’re zooming down the highway too fast to take in all the scenery (where your mind is while writing) and you’re dead set on that concert hall. Anything that may have been important or pending on your mind previously has vanished and all you feel is your heart pounding out the mental note: hurry up!
Once you finally arrive, joy punches you in the chest as you watch the door man tear your ticket, you now set out to find your friends. Attempting to call them on your cell phone, yet you have no reception, which is aggravating because you’re probably less than 500 feet from their current location.
Venturing forth you set out to find them by shear force. Entering the concert hall itself, the vast arena set up in such a fashion it seems more plausible to commit suicide with a dogs chew toy than find anyone specific in here, yet you continue on. Looking around almost frantically, all the faces that seem like moving déjà vu, you check your phone for the time and signal, no signal but you’re sent into a semi-calm, because even though you don’t have any of your friends with you… Music will be playing soon!
The first band gets up on stage, and the crowd rises. Watching in a state of aw, the entire crowd looks on in a sort of trance. Snapping from your hypnosis you realize your gut is fluttering faster than a humming-bird. You want to experience the music and the show, but what good is it if you can’t do it with someone you know experiencing the same thing you are? The first chord of the first song of the first band resonates throughout the arena and you realize... No, you KNOW chaos is only moments away from being unleashed.
As the insanity released from thousands of people(or ideas) rushes towards you, you still feel alone; it’s time to find some friends. After shoving your way through the hordes of all sized people, dirty looks and attempted instigation aside, you manage to find one! Your entire body feeling revitalized and full once again. Moments after exchanging salutations you feel a hand on your shirt pulling you back. As you reach out for your friend, who has just turned around to look at the stage, you are flung into the middle of a mosh-pit.
Brutality and violence are apparent in the swarm of angsty teens and adults alike, all feeling the power of the music. Fists fly, boots are slammed, shoulder to shoulder battles raging amongst the rampant crowd. That won’t stop you, you will not let it. Pressing on, making your own path with your own brutality, you manage to push straight into another mosh. FUCK! Is all that enters your mind. Now you’re friendless again, exhausted and stuck with a bunch of people who look like unarmored Vikings.
Forcefully boosting your own physical strength up, yet again, you see the task ahead. Destroying a wall of what might as well be called 8 foot men, you manage to get out of the thick crowd. Quickly reaching for your cell phone, as you never know when you may be snatched back in, you check… RECEPTION! You quickly hit redial and wait with intense anticipation. Ring…………….. Ring…………….. The familiar “click” of the phone being picked up is heard but thereafter you only hear the same thing your other ear hears, but now is sounds like a mechanized torture chamber… Delightful.
You sigh as you feel hopelessness begin to grip your insides. Looking up towards the stage you catch a glimpse of what seems to be a friend you were unaware would be at this concert. Following the back of their head through the less-violent crows your anticipation grows more and more. “That’s got to be them!” You say just before reaching out to their shoulder. Turning around to see you, they present their visage. You can’t think of anything aside from the relief you feel, seeing the face of someone you know, even if you hasn’t thought they would listen to this kind of music(or that that idea belonged in a literary work like this one).
Then the headline band takes the stage. This is the moment almost everyone in the entire building is waiting for “Are you ready to rock?” Echoes out over the field of people. Nothing but the roar of joy is heard, and in the moment just before their first song rings out, the friends you had been looking for arrive at your sides. “We’ve been looking all over for you!” Is called out loud enough to plaster an uncontrollable smile on your face… Accomplishment.

Tuesday, December 11, 2007

Replenished and Renewed

I feel reborn today. I was having an incredibly shitty day last night to the point I wanted to die. My friend Cleigho brought me back, so much so that I feel like a new person. And earlier today, I got the best present in a while, the copy of my in-progress novel: Dotwarz!!!!

I'm soooooooo happy! I've been reading over it... I havn't written anything on it in... 2-3 years. I was alright for a 15/16 year old write, but it's utter trash. But, it's a good base to work on, since it's 14500 words. Now, when I do all the development that is needed... It will be what I hope is thought of as one of the best sci-fi/fantasy novel ever.

I don't have a poem for you today, just all the good news. ^_^ Hope your tuesday wasn't too bad.

Sunday, December 9, 2007

Life is hectic...

The title is the reason I've not posted in a while. I haven't been writing anything lately either. It's bugging me. Making me physically angry at times. I've got one poem left in the writing book to let you all see. I hopefully will have some new stuff sometime soon.

It's called Snafoo, as a play on the army acronym SNAFU which stands for: Situation Normal, All Fucked Up.

Stop telling us what to do,
Never tell us how to live,
Always think before you vomit more of your stupid at us,
Freedom is our right, who are you to say different?
Omit me from the record and life itself, for that matter,
Ostracizing me only justifies my existence.

Thursday, November 29, 2007

8:30 on a hopful thirsty thursday

Alright... It's 8:30. As you know (If you've read up to this point) I dropped my first class so I now get about an hour extra in the morning to do whatever it is I feel necessary. Sadly, since one of the roommates brothers, and his friends, stole food at the house I usually party at on Thursdays, we can no longer hold our weekly festivity of thirsty Thursday there. Which is lame and makes me sad. So my duty today is to find a new, better place to party on a Thursday!

Today I feel like free-styling a poem for everyone. In this poem, I will try to work in the work heliotropic, as per Guenette's challenge. Here it goes!

Mosaics vs. Tile-Flooring

The grout or the caulk,
Some never could tell the difference,
I find myself in the same situation sometimes,
Attempting to figure out who's where,
And where's his fake hair?

Then again there are other factors,
Which play into "Whos on first.",
And my plant being on second,
They don't realize the gum will stick,
And the man on second is heliotropic.

A grand master of his art,
Used to destroy all his pieces claiming,
They're not good enough!
Apparently he never thought of the journey,
Maybe it was that he ate too much gournay?

Some never know,
Some never think,
Some never thank,
Some never will,
Some never kill...
At least that's finally a plus, eh?

Tuesday, November 27, 2007

A taxing/tragic tuesday

Alright, so I dropped my aerobics/weight-training class... Well, mainly I just stopped going because I missed too many classes. So... Forget it? That's all dandy with me. Just hope I pass the rest of my classes.

As for Tuesday, I've got a poem that's been in the writing book #2 for... A couple weeks now. Here it is...

Midnight in a Dream

The critter laid near
No more noise out of it
Though the bushes still rustled
At least in my mind
Like a dog chasing its tail
I continued down the pier
Maybe Jesus cheated too?
The night grew long
As the clock faded out
But I was content with the screams
Insidious eyes watched me from the clouds
The moon smiled though
Contemplation was a must
If not just for sanity
Never will I remember who called to me
Then again, never will I forget their voice
Alleyways smelled like old cheese and perfume
A mingling of scents I would seldom condone
Singing in the distance, off key of course
Familiar but indiscernible
Like a death rattle from a dwarf
Lights of neon flickering, cheap bars still open
Thunderous footsteps like a human millipede
I didn't bother to look
A window broke my train of thought
Then I realized I had made it home.

Saturday, November 24, 2007

A slow saturday

So it was a crazy night last night. As usual. I went to a party near Emerald st again. Good times, new people met, people I met last week re-met, went to see my lovely girlfriend, came back, saw a buncha people I didn't know, a fight broke out downstairs, got hit in the back of the head while ushering people out... I was in peace-keeper mode so, thankfully, I decided not to do anything but bitch about it. Then partied more!

So yeah, it was great fun. Though now it's Saturday and now I'm sitting at home with nothing to do but watch movies on T.V. Or, of course, write. Which it seems I shall do.

I've got another poem for ya.

Flavor of Captivation
Dark clouds loom overhead again,
But hope shines through the hole-punched depression.

The rays of god cast shadows,
Like stones over a lake.

Who still fishes for gold on the beach?
They don't know buried treasure lies in books?

Pages of unread gold, burned before birth,
The abortion of inspiration is a true crime,

Pleasant breezes make me apathetic,
Like bananas to primates in stereotypicaland.

Tuesday, November 20, 2007

Feeling... Down?

Feeling down? Watch this crazy German kid.


As for poetry I believe I've got one for ya, it's been sitting in the writing book for a couple weeks now. So here ya go.

Keep on Talkin

Talk, talk, talk,
That's all these mother fuckers do,
Maybe they should try doing something,
That requires a mind,
Drones droning about anything but that which makes sense,
Contemplating walking out is where it leaves me.

Ramble, Ramble, Ramble,
Why won't they stop?
Is it always necessary to continue?
Apparently they think it is,
Then again, I could be wrong,
Or I could be one of them too.

Bitch, Bitch, Bitch,
I guess that's all I do,
Whoever said bitching is bad,
Obviously never had to sit here,
And listen to these "geniuses",
Since I feel my I.Q. dropping just listening.

Blah, Blah, Blah,
I wonder if they ever stop,
I'm on the brink of retardation now,
So I think it's time to leave,
A migraine is an understatement as to what they left me with...
Wait... Thank SOMEONES God...

They finally stopped.

Sunday, November 18, 2007


Well, after a nice weekend of tomfoolery and falling down/up stairs, through screen doors, it's time to get to work on life again huh? Makes me sad, but hey, maybe someone will read this poem I decided to share.

The man then the TV

"A ficus, no... Wait what do they look like again?"
A balding man once asked me
The sweat on my palms dried as he walked away
Morality sounds like a strategy now-a-days
Maybe I'm the strategist?

Someone looked like the pope today
Turned out to be a computer analyst
Was I wrong to yell at that car?
It looked like shit
But smelled like money.

The stars never showed tonight
They stood me up again
The smoke from the horizon comforted me
Like cuddling with a stranger
But it felt so right.

The pictures all had the same expressions
Overly intense to the point of bordem
Fake smiles and too many polos
This fashion statement never should have been
Like too much eyeshadow or crocs.

Super-strength in ones own mind
Doesn't make up for being old
Maybe TV makes us like that
Or maybe a lack of apathy
I doubt we'll ever know.

Friday, November 16, 2007

The no hangover friday

So I woke up today around 11 to a call from my favorite sexy minor. Maybe I'm a pervert for thinking such things? Either way, I'm wondering if I should give you one or two... Or maybe even my entire Haiku session from yesterday... Along with the poems I wrote... Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm... We'll go with the Haikus today.

-Is It True?-
Is it true? They ask,
Sometimes I wonder myself,
Then comes apathy.

-Untrue Love- (I might have to use this title again sometime)
Fleeting emotion,
Is this actually love?
None will ever know.

-Maybe someone cares?-
Sharing is caring,
Who really cares anymore?

-Deserved Sleep-
Too tired to live,
Revitalizing coma,
Rebirth tomorrow.

Walking on water,
Like he was gods one true son,
Wisdom was his lie.

-Inner Song-
The beat continues,
In sync with the melody,
It should never stop.

-Hope Vs. Will-
Hope can guide your path,
But will will drive you onward,
To achieve your goal.

So those are a few of my haikus... I actually decided I'll give you a full poem too. So many to choose from... Eh, I'll go with Who First?

Who First?
Who first decided to paint the sky?
Who first made music?
Who first said someone else wasn't as good as them?
Who first smoked a joint on the beach?
Who first spoke a coherent word?
Who first died of alcohol poisoning?
Who first planted a tree?
Who first found love? The true kind that is.
Who first wore a belt, rather than pants that fit?
Who first discovered god?
Who first claimed god wasn't real?
Who first ran a mile in someone else's shoes?
Who first betrayed their dearest friend?
Who first lied for personal gain?
Who first told someone they couldn't?
Who first... Wrote?

Thursday, November 15, 2007


Alright, so I decided to make a new blog for my anger/ranting/ire/etc... This way, those of you who enjoy my writing won't be offended & those of you who like my rantiness (yes, I made it up) won't be bored by my poetry and writing.

Fair enough?

I hope so. Have a good thirsty Thursday!

Wednesday, November 14, 2007

The anticipation of Thirsty Thursday...

The agony of waiting to be with many a friend eats at me... I sit here listening to up-beat, intense music. Daft Punks "Homework" to be exact. I wish it had Better, Harder, Faster, Strong on it... I love that song. I hate Kanye Whiniest even more for having butchered such a good piece of music.

Well, I thought I might share another recent poem with all of you. Soon I'll also be putting one of my older short stories up here, called "The Mask". If you enjoy my writing, I think you'll enjoy it.

Lady Bug
Its hue matched the liquid on my pants,
"Is that mine or his?"
I thought, but it didn't matter anymore.

Like the tears dried from an old memory,
The lady bug had gone,
But the song it sang to me that day,
Will live on as a theme to melancholy.

Another poem I've got that I feel like sharing is up now. I got my inspiration from a title in the book Actual Air, which I was lent by my english teacher Matthew Guenette (who is linked over on the left side... If you're too slow/lazy to hold up both hands to see which one makes an L, your left is <- that-a-way.) and is by David Berman. It's quite a good read. Anyway, onto the poem.

See Ex Eye
The ground shook like after-shock,
As the train passed by,
It reminded me of anger,
But I was sad inside.

I thought of Shannon,
Knowing the last time I'd seen her,
Would be exactly that.

I can't be reminded of the past,
When they live in the future,
And goals set in the now,
Are as far past as the train.

Well, that's my post for today, hope you enjoyed it... Hope anyone read it...
Cheers to my tomorrow.

Tuesday, November 13, 2007

Some of my art

I havn't done any art in a long time since my computer decided to commit suicide... The cause of death is still unknown, and unfixable... BUT! Here they are, my "Surreal Skapes":

Hope you enjoy them. I'm thinking of writing a poem about each one, maybe attempting to remember or re-write the metaphors behind them all...

Monday, November 12, 2007

Random poetry

To preface this large post, fuck poetry.com they're a bunch of scam-artist fucks.

Also, all of this is early poetry, so try not to think too lowly of it, all of it was written between 12 and 16 years of age.

All those things,
You said to me,
All the hate,
I felt set free,
Sitting here,
Snarling teeth,
Staring blankly,
With bloody jeans,
I sit and cry,
About those times,
As the tears fall,
Into the red,
I know it would happen,
The same way again.

Soon the slate will be scraped clean,
None will see the light of life,
For blind they will be,
To be able to see,
The light that is,
The Enigma,
Around the mystery,
Sitting next to the conundrum,
That blankets those who are worthy.

She brings that feeling,
That feeling of bliss,
She knows I hate to say it,
That odd word kiss,
She brings out my oddities,
And some of the rest,
She makes me feel comfortable,
Not like I'm undressed,
I feel a thing,
Down deep in my gut,
She says I have talent,
Not just a shear lust,
So I write this for her,
She knows who she is,
And I want her to know,
I can say "kiss".

Loving Another
I yearn to love you, but locked in a cage,
Is your heart, your heart so tender, sweet,
And kind, I wish for all, but none abide,
I wish to see you inside out, but all is
Held, in a box of black, my mind, your
Heart, they seem to say...
"We do not love, but will never part..."

All of the questions,
Hit me at once,
I look for the proof,
But there isn't enough.

I sleep with a tissue,
To catch my tears,
And even that memory,
Carries my fears,

The loss of the life,
I feel I've earned,
Makes me feel empty,
And I know inside . . .

Confusion will follow.

True Sadness
I thought I was tough,
I said I wouldn't cry,
It's funny about the pain,
You feel when someone dies.

I talked the same,
And stood there again,
But outside I couldn't hide,
How I really felt inside.

As the tears streamed down,
I let out no sob,
Not a whimper or a sniffle,
But still I cry.

I hate the sadness,
That certain things bring,
But I will stay strong,
For the memory of him.

The Sun Mist
The breeze that fills your elegant hair,
The glittering drops of gods tears,
The sun looks down upon your soul,
And seems to say "Hello!"

You look at the clouds, that bring the mist,
And left in the puddles,
You link the grist,
In that day, you saw a life, a life of yours,
In a forgein kind.

You run from the mist and sooth the sun,
You take the grist from all above,
The things that lasted took away,
And the you take a bath...

From the Sun's Mist.

So those are some of my early poems, hope you enjoy.

First post

I thought I ought to start this out interesting, so here's a little poem that I wrote today about my job.

Yawn, coffee, ring, ring...
"Hi my name-"

Yawn, coffee, ring, ring...
I hang up before they can,
This job hates me,
But I hate it more.
The routine is fine,
Kind of like hitting the snooze button,
But this time on life.

Yawn, coffee, ring, ring...
"Hi my name-"
"Fuck off."

I wish they'd let me start,
Maybe if I call them obscenities first?
To grab their attention at least?

Either way, I hear it buzzing again,
Oh shit...
I can't find the snooze.

So, that's "Routine" (I would underline it, but I don't feel like putting the effort into the html right now.) I write to keep out of its loop as much as possible. There will be many more poems, short stories, rants, etc up soon. I might decide to take this habit up, who knows?