Pirates and such.

I love pirates, I even have several pirate friends, so I decided to write a poem about pirates and the beauty of having a poignant conversation.

Pirate-Literati.

We are Pirates.
Our exotic plumage addressing the wind head on.
The culmination of the worlds conversations
billows inside our sails.

We unsheathe our rapiers and give a pirate shout.
Quick slices and penetrating jabs are our weapons
as we dissect until the smallest dichotomy remains.

Each word comprised of simple characters
willing their meaning into our mind.

Where they possess us and become our beloved loot.
What can any man prize more?
Nothing but one more word....just one more.

We are Pirates
Seize ourselves on currents of conversation.

A phone and rice dinner

My phone is broke...
It fell in some water (long story short)

so the lady at Verizon said I should try putting it in a bag of rice because that would draw away all of the water.

I am still skeptical.

Well, here is a poem.

Six cans of Poetry, opened on You.


A good poem can make you go
Oh.....
A good poem can make you stop and notice.
Notice, the crazy froth that flows
from betwixt your teeth.

A good poem is like and Angry principle
Detention for a week! And don't ever let me catch you doing it again!

It can rip open your chest like a kung fu, Bruce Lee, flying crane master.

It can hold out your guts.
Hold them out for you to see
just how FAT you have become.

It can show you
Just how much that THEFT hurt someone
Just how fast love goes to RAGE
Just how vile RAPE is

Stop yourself, scoundrel, or the poem police will come

and

slam

your

ass for living in the grocery store tabloid world.
Happy as can be.

No more RAPING!
No more VIOLENCE!
No more DRUGS! (except pot)
No more CRYING!
young man....rest your weary eyes.

A good poem loves you
and, at the same time, hates you
drops a nuke on you
destroys you

Original Sin, says the poem
and no thorns to be found.

Redneck Troubles and a Sad Separation

I think if I was a redneck the phrase to describe this would be "Well, Hell."


I forgot to finish the poem, I wrote it....then I got mad at it.

So I put it aside and forgot it.

but instead I have this piece of prose I wrote recently.

I call it ( I am making this name up right now)

Letter Writing 101

What is the best way to start a letter? There are several options, I guess. You could use Dear or Hey or if you were feeling a bit adventurous you could even just leave off the introduction entirely. But I think for a letter of quality an introduction is a must have. But then that brings about the question of quality, what kind of letter is it. Is it a letter to the city about how you can’t pay the bill for your new water heater? Or is it perhaps a sincere letter to your grandmother addressing her recent surgery. Or is it a gut wrenching letter that conveys your deepest feelings of love and remorse; which is undoubtedly the hardest thing you have ever had to write in your entire stint of time on this earth?

“My Dearest (CENSORED),” that is the introduction I picked, in the end. I hope it isn’t too old-timey. No, it is perfect, it expresses…something good, I don’t know what though. But it doesn’t matter that I don’t know, it just feels right and as soon as that phrase leaves my pen more phrases are in line to escape from the confusing mess that is my brain. I write pages and pages. In the end I write 28 eloquent pages to (CENSORED) about how much I love her yet, at the same time, hate her. It is terrible, to love someone and to hate that same person. Your mind is torn apart, constantly you are getting mad at the person but then forgiving them as soon as you remember the way they laughed.

Peals of laughter were my food of choice back then. I waited patiently each day for the time I got to see (CENSORED), be it gym class or lunch; my dreams or my nightmares. But regardless of the context there was always laughter. Oh, how I miss that laughter. A joyful chuckle, a harmonious giggle, a delighted squeal, picture if you can, a chorus of one thousand angels all garbed in shining white, with their wings unfurled, basking in the glow of the sun and then simultaneously they open their mouths and out flows music in the form of laughter: Crescendo, Vibrato, Legato, beauty incarnate. (CENSORED)’s laughter sounded nothing like that. I can think of no words that describe her laughter.

Actually, I don’t recall much detail about (CENSORED), at all, it has been so long sense I have seen her. Although I do remember that every time I saw her I lost my breath. She was perfect, and that is all I will say because prefect is…just perfect.

I wrote all of those pages telling her how much I love her, but then scolding her for not loving me back. She always told me she loved me but I know she didn’t. I know she didn’t, she loved me not loved me. You see, there is a fine line between love and love. It is the negative space occupied by an e and an l. “I LOVE YOU” is another whole book compared to “Love you too” or even worse, “And I you.”

So I wrote her this letter, and I told her my feelings.

I told her despite how she completes my life, every day I don’t see her I die. I told her I can’t do well in school because she is the answer to every equation. 2x+ |a+87^1/2|= (CENSORED). I told her my thoughts are a museum to the relics of our friendship. I told her every time I call or every time I text and she doesn’t respond a layer of my being is stripped away and exposed to a harsh reality. I told her I am not a stalker; I told her it is painful to write this letter. I told her I love you. I scrawled it across the last page, all alone, just out in the open. I told her…never to talk to me again.

Love is all I am.

Ladies and Gents,
Hello and Hi, Salutations and /w(s). How are you all doing? I really am quite concerned, because if you are reading my blog you are awesome++++.

I am rather sad about my lack of poetry but I do realize it is because I have a lack of free time. I have school, work, friends, recreational drugs (and by that I mean the occasional drink).
But I am rather happy about the poem I plan to write very soon, one of love. Not one of my emo sad poems ( which I hate ever-so much) but rather a poem of true finding.

In other news though I have noticed some interesting things lately.

1. Youtube has become a very...musical website. A good majority of the post are now music, which is a bit limiting. (http://youtube.com/categories_portal?c=10&e=1)

2. If you are as immature as I and you follow lots of childish cartoons October/November has been great for you. I.E. Stweie shot and killed Louis on Family Guy, but she is somehow back (http://youtube.com/watch?v=uZGL8x66qwQ). AND Cartman has finally got Kyle to "Suck his Balls" (http://allsp.com/l.php?id=e165)

WATCH THEM QUICK BEFORE COPYRIGHT KICKS IN


Poem to come later.

Apologies

I want to apologize to Lindsay Clark

I did not know she read my blog and I didn't put here in the acknowledgments last go round.

THIS IS ME SAYING SORRY.

SORRY

=)

A Tribute To A Singer pt. 1

1. I recently realized that my poetry isn't as good as I think it is :) ( there is my ego) So this is a thank you to my two readers. ( Ellen and Christine)

2. This section will be the first in a multi part series, in which I will feature a musician. The wonderful singer's name is Saya Novinger.

I actually don't know how to put audio in my blog so if anyone knows please tell me so you can hear the subtle tones of her voice. So instead I have a poem I wrote for her about a month ago that was inspired by her singing. ( The next section will have her music)


The Pipes of Lady Novinger

"Ok" said I.
"Sing until we all know you deserve this job"

And she sung, out
out from her radiant core rang the notes
each one laden with the skill of their crafter
Each note a pure testament to deliberate skill

A page of brilliant music
that glowed with a light of genius
blinding red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet.

All of the colors make white, divine, perfect.

Crescendo, Legato, Vibrato
Fortísimo, Cadenza, Contralto,

Expresivo, Nocturne, Decrescendos

Hang those musicologists for trying to name this.
It is everything.
Tree, Fish, Fast, Slow, Paint, Moon,
Binder, Continent, Glass, King
Galaxy, All.

and all of the sounds made me cry
they blended together to form material soft as the sun.
is it even possible to get close to the sun
and not burn?

EXPLODE
from the presence of it.
Feel the perfect unison of hydrogen, and oxygen, and every other gas

being fused together to make perfect
perfect
perfect
perfect
measures sung with resonance of peace

I wiped the ash from my shirt. My eyebrows had been burnt away.

I wrote her a note of a piece of paper.

“Darling, never speak to me again.

I want not to hear anything new; the sounds of my foot steps are like cacophonous drums banging away,

a birds song is like a screeching storm of tweaks and twerps.

Only your voice can ever be beautiful to me.

I have removed my ears so that I can live in the moment of your song forever.“

“You got the job.”

Philosophize about Philosophy

Today I was reading "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance" and I was at a particularly good part. The book was discussing all types of revolutionary philosophy and it made me think...I want to be a revolutionary philosophizer. So I was walking to my next class and questioning everything. Why is this that and such and such. Mostly just picking nits.

Then I stumbled across some more remarkable thoughts (at least by my standards) and if not remarkable thoughts then I would say universal truths.

So...here it goes.



Consider a window. It is made with a single purpose in mind, to provide a portal to the outside world: a place to see through or allow air to pass through. But then consider a bricked up window. Why would someone make a window and brick it up?

The frame of the window can still be pleasing to see, even if it is bricked up. But the window is no longer a window, yet it is still called a window. What would you call it otherwise? And what Purpose would the window serve?

The function of the window is irrelevant. Because it is still defined as a window. By coming to that conclusion we can determine that function is irrelevant. Rather it is function that defines usage.

Consider now the bricked window. It is a window, it functions as a window, albeit poorly; as such, its usage, which has been determined by some outside force, is minimal and primarily aesthetic.

Now consider a pine bush. It expends valuable energy to create a vibrant, beautiful berry. At one time that berry may have contained nutrients but now it is a poisonous shell for a seed, useless to all hosts of creatures. Does it not seem frivolous of nature to create a berry that serves little purpose?

The usage of the berry exceeds little more than that of the window, as an aesthetic piece, and as such is defined as a object of useless beauty. Its existence serves no greater purpose, it is purely frivolous. Through these deductions we can determine that usage indeed defines existence.

As an example: Many philosophers state that humans serve no greater purpose than that of reproduction. But what of those humans, who number a substantial percentage, that engage in no reproduction in their life. Would you qualify them as useless? Does not their existence on this earth correlate to their usage. They are not used as machines as reproductions but rather as vessels for other pursuits: arts, sciences, mathematics, philosophy. Their usage is determined thus, they serve for the betterment of mankind. They are used by the qualities of their mind, be it a sex drive or something more academic. Is it not human nature to question or are we to lie in the complacency of our lying.

We can further state that if we go as far to define something we limit its possibilities of boundless existence. Consider a Car. If we go as far to identify a car as a means of transportation, that is al it is. Can not the car exist for other purposes? Can it not serve as an assembly of parts to generate energy? Or as a residency?




whoah.....that sounded better in my head. I had trouble tying together my hierarchy of existence...but you get it yeah?