Newspaper

Last week I had a pretty cool assignment that we all had to do in class: We were given pages from an old book filled with items that could be used for many things aside from their original purpose. We had to copy the language of the book and turn it into a quick, little story. I don’t know if my story has a plot–do stories need plots in order to be stories?–but I like how this came out regardless.

Here’s the page for inspiration:
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I’m sure you could do this with any kind of dictionary-type book. These kinds of books are also good for erasures, which I will try to do at some point. But I plan on doing this exercise again when I’m feeling stuck.

Newspaper

What makes a newspaper a newspaper, and who gets to decide it is strictly for news? For example, Why are we allowing the government to bring us back to the dark ages, where news was mostly manufactured?–because a newspaper could be used for so much more, which includes: making balls for the playground; bedding for pets; twisting into rings and piled to support chunks of food wrapped in aluminum foil; book covers; making covers for shopping bags–the usual things that, in reality, are news for all of us, because who actually knew any of this before?

On Macro Photography

This was for an assignment where we simply had to write a “short-short story.” When writing this and the piece on prose poems, I was having so much trouble getting my thoughts together, but I do like how this one turned out. One question I have is: am I telling too much at the end?

On Macro Photography

A young man sat in his study trying to write a story about something deep and philosophical. He had Nietzsche and Marx on his mind due to the gloomy political atmosphere that he couldn’t wrap his head around, but nothing made sense on the outside and inside. The enormity of the election in regards to how many people who voted for a billionaire con artist could only be explained through philosophy, he thought, but instead, he found himself sitting on his computer looking at macro pictures of all kinds of things like coins, flowers dipped in gold, nuts and bolts, a pile of cogs, and master locks. Before, the young man felt safe with the idea that our way of living could not survive, along with the idea that none of it mattered anyways. His passion to find something with their works to explain what was going on came to a sudden halt when he realized that he was approaching things from the wrong point of view. Picture after picture on the forum were macro shots. Everyone was showing off the new worlds they discovered, which were right under our noses the entire time and the answer to our calls for escape.

International Day of Peace

The streak continues! This time I have a poem that I wrote on the International Day of Peace. Yes, the title is ironic. I got mixed reactions in my poetry workshop but I like how it sounds so I’m posting it anyways. Hope you enjoy too. I’ll have another lined up for tomorrow too.

International Day of Peace

A young man, tall and thin
sits in front of the television.
Day after day, night after night
he wonders can he do anything right?
Can he walk out his door and
get to work, get paid, put it away?
Without getting put away?

He heard them say
“He looks like a bad dude,”
but it was just a breakdown–
quick run to the store, out of food.
Next thing, they scream “Get down!”
His hands go up, he gives up,
he does what he’s told, a heart of gold,
his goal’s to grow old
and give his kids the chance
to truly live.

But they take it away with the
pull of a trigger, everything to lose
is lost, a victim of abuse
from the system that continues
to refuse their right
to live like everyone else.
A bit of wealth is all he needs,
but even then, he sees himself
on his knees as he pleads
to live another day.
He’d go to jail and make bail with
his family behind him, thankful
He’s not six feet under,
No thunder from the roar of a gun.

His work’s just begun.
Back to the streets, back where
they want us, where we’re born
and raised. Where we’ll make our stand,
where I make my stand
against the system that allows
terrorists to live, rapists to walk free.
In the land of the free–
Is there room for me?

Another

Woah, actually posting on here. Summer’s still insane, but my classes are finally over. I’m taking all writing classes in the fall so I have a feeling that I’ll actually be posting very frequently on here. Class starts the 29th so keep an eye out! 

I wrote this long, long poem a little while ago and read it at an open mic! I’ve never written anything like this before so I was nervous going up, but I read it well and received a nice applause and an awkward compliment while taking a piss afterwards. The way this copied and pasted from word is not how I wrote it. The lines themselves are long and Whitman-esque. But I like how it looks broken up. I don’t think it will change the meaning behind the poem. I’d fix it myself but I’m writing this on my phone and the app is too confusing to figure out.  Enough of me, enjoy.

Another

I wake up hung over, brain a mess, the smell of booze, slept through the third snooze, the world’s a mess, head’s pounding, never endingIt’s a cool day, a cloudy summer morning, rain last night, my eyes hang low in their sockets, another rain soon to come, another storm, another drink, another this and another that

The tv’s on and distracted by distracted people reporting on distractions, interpreting their distractions as right, even though they’re all wrong, everyone’s wrong, everything’s wrong,

everything’s wrong.

The tv’s on and people yell back and forth telling each other that everything’s wrong and nothing’s wrong, and we need change and things need to stay the same

The tv’s on and people try to please everyone but the public personifies the outrage and hatred drowning out the peace, blaming those that simply want to live, but what choice do they have?

As the day goes on, as the days go on, the same thing over and over and over and over and over and over and over. Another shooting, another cop dead, another life lost over a tail light, over a wallet, over a pack of cigars—another life lost.

Lost in the heat of the summer out in Dallas a small group of armed men, well aware of their (not) god-given right to own killing machines use them back and everyone’s shocked and no one’s shocked because everyone’s sure the world as we know it is coming to an end.

Sirens blare and guns are drawn and cops from all directions crowd the streets and the crowds protesting in the streets run for their lives while the brave run towards the trouble knowing they’re the targets, that the table’s turned

But an eye for an eye makes the world go blind, it’s easy to say online that what’s being done isn’t right and anything and everything should be done to put an end to the violence

But violence is what this country wants, emotions are what we run on, money—behind everything—the ultimate goal

The past generations in charge of creating chaos between the classes can’t come together for one second to choose the path for our country’s fate

Promoting hate to fill their wallets, two candidates no one wants have been chosen by no name delegates to represent beliefs forced upon us, tricking us into thinking our voice matters, our vote matters, our opinions matter

Black Lives Matter and Blue Lives Matter leaves us black and blue, busting skulls and breaking bones as bullets pierce both side’s flesh

And so many people think choosing a side is the only way to solve the problem, but all it does is make it worse

You see on social media, mainstream media, everyone has an opinion, and everyone thinks they’re entitled to share it, everyone thinks everyone wants to hear what they say, but every day there’s another issue that requires another stance and another tweet and another facebook post and another interview and another article and another protest and another this and another that, another mass shooting takes place, another innocent life lost, another argument, another arrest, there’s no rest to the rage building between us

Only when the tv’s off, and the computer’s shut down, can you finally drown the noise in peace.

Did you hear about—no. What’s your take on—no. Do you think he—no.

Tired of the useless, hate-filled excuses to keep hating each other, distracting us all from all the good in our lives, catering to those that can’t keep up with the changing times of acceptance of one another

No longer does it matter that you’re gay, straight, a muslim, a jew, a Christian, a man, a woman, all of the above, none of the above, because up above, who cares whether he’s watching or not, if he’s there or not, because you’ll never know, he even says so

So what should you do? Take a break, look back and reflect, treat others the way you want to be treated, think of every cliché you’ve ever seen on facebook and twitter and tumblr and apply the truths behind them

Accept the fact that you don’t know everything and you’ll never know everything,

not in Chicago, not in Cleveland, not in Baltimore, not in Florida, not in California, not in Texas, not in New Orleans, not even in New York

You can’t be anything and everything all at once, despite what mommy and daddy tell you as they hand over the keys to your brand new BMW

Anyone in a five bedroom beach house with five cars in the driveway who never had to work, who were fed with the silver spoon, who didn’t earn everything the hard and honest way, who were never laid off, who never had to worry about how they’ll pay their loans and bills, will never understand what it’s like knowing it can all be taken away in the blink of an eye, the slap of handcuffs, the pull of a trigger,

If you’ve only been to Times Square, if you’ve never been on the subway, if you can’t decide between bottomless mimosas or bottomless bloody mary’s, if you’ve ever said to yourself, “We need to make America great again,”

You’re a part of the problem, you’re missing out on the endless opportunities this beautiful country contains within our wall-less borders,

Each and every individual has something to teach us if we’re ready and willing to hear them out, so don’t drown it out, draw it in, and don’t become pray to the politicians who promote their personal agendas over the people’s

Be the change you want to see, unless you believe the cost is another man’s or woman’s peace of mind, come to peace with yourself before you force yourself down someone else’s throat

The last thing I need is you screaming at me when my head feels like it’s splitting in two,

so let me just close my eyes.