Collage may be on the growing unrest and violence in Syria. The government gave a 72-hour warning for protestors to stop in the city of Homs...if they don't, they may face a masscre:
http://edition.cnn.com/2011/12/12/world/meast/syria-unrest/
I want to do research on Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold, the perpetrators of the Columbine massacre.
Monday, December 12, 2011
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
yesterday, i almost killed a dove
yesterday, i almost killed a dove. it was a scant few inches from making the transition from avian symbol of tranquility to grotesque sack of bones plastered to my windshield. i made no effort to swerve or brake my vehicle upon the appearence of my winged friend- i kept a steady trajectory and left the bird's life to fate. i was bored and tired, but sober-worn out from sitting in my car at the local 7-11, sharing ciggarrettes with erik as he continuously "invested" in low-price, low reward scratch tickets.
there's something thoroughly tiring about a boring span of hours spent in my chrysler. after dropping erik off, i turned onto a darkening forest street, heading towards route 1. this oft-used street was not without its demons-ma came home with a busted leg and a crumpled minivan once, and pointed out the tree on forest street that caused all the trouble. that's not to say i don't have fond memories on that street- memories of loud music setting the rhythmn for even louder conversations between the band, or back when my driving plastic was still relatively fresh and i would push my speed far beyond the limit, my friends and I searching for-and recieving-the typical teenage thrill.
the dove, at first, was simply a flutter of the purest white in my peripheral vision, tumbling awkwardly out of the flanking forestry into the airspace above the left lane. it gained speed, still trying to balance its wings, and crossed my lane somewhere above my headlights milliseconds before i sped by, doing a modest 30-in-a-35. only when I sped past the animal was I forced to acknowledge its presence- the way that pure white contrasted so greatly with the wet, glistening darkness of the forest. the dove seemed to glow, even, illuminating a small portion of the surrounding darkness with its radiance, and at that very moment i guess my life changed a little more for the better. i became more like the dove and less like the dark. and i was saved.
there's something thoroughly tiring about a boring span of hours spent in my chrysler. after dropping erik off, i turned onto a darkening forest street, heading towards route 1. this oft-used street was not without its demons-ma came home with a busted leg and a crumpled minivan once, and pointed out the tree on forest street that caused all the trouble. that's not to say i don't have fond memories on that street- memories of loud music setting the rhythmn for even louder conversations between the band, or back when my driving plastic was still relatively fresh and i would push my speed far beyond the limit, my friends and I searching for-and recieving-the typical teenage thrill.
the dove, at first, was simply a flutter of the purest white in my peripheral vision, tumbling awkwardly out of the flanking forestry into the airspace above the left lane. it gained speed, still trying to balance its wings, and crossed my lane somewhere above my headlights milliseconds before i sped by, doing a modest 30-in-a-35. only when I sped past the animal was I forced to acknowledge its presence- the way that pure white contrasted so greatly with the wet, glistening darkness of the forest. the dove seemed to glow, even, illuminating a small portion of the surrounding darkness with its radiance, and at that very moment i guess my life changed a little more for the better. i became more like the dove and less like the dark. and i was saved.
Monday, November 21, 2011
how not to be a pizza delivery guy: an essay
"that'll be twenty-three thrity-sex, ma'm," i chirp to the saggy bitch standing in her doorway before me. i offer the stack of pizza-and-boxed-salad to her and she accepts, placing it out of sight. when she brandishes a fifty from her pocket, my heart drops.
"i want 23 dollars back please, the rest is for you," grumbles she, knowing perfectly well the only way she could break my balls any further is by opening her large 'roni and complaining about the individual size of each of the pieces of her sliced meat, or maybe studying her caesar salad and lamenting dramatically the ratio of rye croutons to white. come on, a fifty?!
i know, as a fact, that there is no way i have more than five or six crumpled ones in my wallet, hastily borrowed from the register back at hq before i left. to make the customer's paying experience as fluid and painless as possible. yeah, right.
nevertheless, i put on a show for my new friend by opening my wallet and flipping through the small reserve of ones, as if perhaps the money mated in secrecy and produced a darling baby twenty, coming in at 10.3 pounds. relatives would comment on the baby's chunkiness, and note the possession of its father's nose. soon enough it got mixed up with the wrong crowd and landed itself in the slammer. figures.
i break the news to her in a hushed and mournful tone, like i just delivered a pizza to a funeral. hey, not a bad idea.
at first all i'm met with is this ominous blank stare, and her eyes were honestly unreadable over the fleshy puffiness under her eyes. but i'm not that dumb, and i know what will follow will not be favorable towards me. at all.
she starts. she yammers on about a fifty is all she had, she's having a horrible day, she's been getting pizzas from supino's for x years and this has never happened to her, etc. i want to tell her, hey lady, i'm 17, i have a crappy car, i pay for gas in increments of five dollars, and probably bum more ciggarrettes than i buy. how much damn money do you expect in my wallet?! but, i don't.
instead, i take the lashing with dignity. head down, i imagine opening her pizza box and slamming the cheesy, meaty delicacy into her face. she'd be picking pepperoni out of her hair for weeks.
i zone back in, and i can hear her complaints start to die down. i expend my full repetoire of apologies and offer to return to supino's and head all the way back to her small mansion in middleton with her change. she declines. so, i left with my 27 dollar tip.
"i want 23 dollars back please, the rest is for you," grumbles she, knowing perfectly well the only way she could break my balls any further is by opening her large 'roni and complaining about the individual size of each of the pieces of her sliced meat, or maybe studying her caesar salad and lamenting dramatically the ratio of rye croutons to white. come on, a fifty?!
i know, as a fact, that there is no way i have more than five or six crumpled ones in my wallet, hastily borrowed from the register back at hq before i left. to make the customer's paying experience as fluid and painless as possible. yeah, right.
nevertheless, i put on a show for my new friend by opening my wallet and flipping through the small reserve of ones, as if perhaps the money mated in secrecy and produced a darling baby twenty, coming in at 10.3 pounds. relatives would comment on the baby's chunkiness, and note the possession of its father's nose. soon enough it got mixed up with the wrong crowd and landed itself in the slammer. figures.
i break the news to her in a hushed and mournful tone, like i just delivered a pizza to a funeral. hey, not a bad idea.
at first all i'm met with is this ominous blank stare, and her eyes were honestly unreadable over the fleshy puffiness under her eyes. but i'm not that dumb, and i know what will follow will not be favorable towards me. at all.
she starts. she yammers on about a fifty is all she had, she's having a horrible day, she's been getting pizzas from supino's for x years and this has never happened to her, etc. i want to tell her, hey lady, i'm 17, i have a crappy car, i pay for gas in increments of five dollars, and probably bum more ciggarrettes than i buy. how much damn money do you expect in my wallet?! but, i don't.
instead, i take the lashing with dignity. head down, i imagine opening her pizza box and slamming the cheesy, meaty delicacy into her face. she'd be picking pepperoni out of her hair for weeks.
i zone back in, and i can hear her complaints start to die down. i expend my full repetoire of apologies and offer to return to supino's and head all the way back to her small mansion in middleton with her change. she declines. so, i left with my 27 dollar tip.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
the conundrum of memory
the words shrivel and fall away like a
season's batch of bug-ridden fruit;
and a mistake like that can prove fatal.
sentences burn in the purest fires
and half scream, half laugh thier
final vocalizations to ears that
can hear but don't listen.
memories, laughter, mistakes,
all carefully grown and nurtured,
with the fledgling belief that perhaps these
ideas will take tangible root, that they may matter even slightly,
to anyone, someday.
now, as i can do nothing but expend my last,
i still hold that belief dear to me;
it is my sacred armor, my soft-skinned goddess,
my everything.
season's batch of bug-ridden fruit;
and a mistake like that can prove fatal.
sentences burn in the purest fires
and half scream, half laugh thier
final vocalizations to ears that
can hear but don't listen.
memories, laughter, mistakes,
all carefully grown and nurtured,
with the fledgling belief that perhaps these
ideas will take tangible root, that they may matter even slightly,
to anyone, someday.
now, as i can do nothing but expend my last,
i still hold that belief dear to me;
it is my sacred armor, my soft-skinned goddess,
my everything.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
the sun is looking quite lovely today
the sun is looking quite lovely today
peaking a curious eye over the crest of our town
i hop down and out of my perch
and regard today's paper with a bucket of salt
it speaks of foreign battles and new weapons
and an even fresher sense of hope
but nope, that don't affect me
so i hop in my car, and i'm off
now i'm sitting on my back porch
and note with tranquility the way
autumn sends a beautiful wave of
systematic immolation through my yard
soon the trees would be bare, and
that's just more work for Papa and I
then, a bright flash of light;
like the lovely sun,
and my flesh ignites and
falls cleanly off the bone
what's left of me collapses into a
small pile, flesh singing, as the bone itself is
burned pure
my dwelling behind me is blown away
by the wind, falling like simple jenga blocks,
and the trees immediately catch fire and fall too;
the air itself is burning with alacrity, everything is red;
but at least i won't have to rake leaves ever again
peaking a curious eye over the crest of our town
i hop down and out of my perch
and regard today's paper with a bucket of salt
it speaks of foreign battles and new weapons
and an even fresher sense of hope
but nope, that don't affect me
so i hop in my car, and i'm off
now i'm sitting on my back porch
and note with tranquility the way
autumn sends a beautiful wave of
systematic immolation through my yard
soon the trees would be bare, and
that's just more work for Papa and I
then, a bright flash of light;
like the lovely sun,
and my flesh ignites and
falls cleanly off the bone
what's left of me collapses into a
small pile, flesh singing, as the bone itself is
burned pure
my dwelling behind me is blown away
by the wind, falling like simple jenga blocks,
and the trees immediately catch fire and fall too;
the air itself is burning with alacrity, everything is red;
but at least i won't have to rake leaves ever again
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
a limerick
the sky is looking quite fragile today
some people say it's extrordinarily far away
but that is not true
i can say with some proof
when it fell on me where i lay
some people say it's extrordinarily far away
but that is not true
i can say with some proof
when it fell on me where i lay
Friday, October 28, 2011
i hated going there
I hated going there because they simply didn’t care. I hated going there because I now realize it’s better to have a pencil in your hand than a cigarette. I hated going there because of the trackmarks and long sleeve secrets. In the end, I guess, it was something that required itself to be beat out of me, forcefully. Something that had to be knocked out of that naïve, thick head of mine. And it came out.
Some said these are your typical teenage problems, Mr. and Mrs. Pellegrini, he’s having a hard time but many kids go through this, and he’s not alone. Some painted me the village freak, and here take these pills they’ll get rid of the anger, the hopelessness, the happiness, the Drew. In the end I’m not sure which approach I preferred, but I guess it really didn’t matter.
Summer wasn’t that bad at first. Close buddies, beer, girls, the rope swing, the late night drives. Anyone’s ideal summer, but the thoughts were still there. They grew on me, which facilitated a lifestyle change. Or did the lifestyle bring on the thoughts? Fuck it, we’ll never know, but things grew dark. Like, wicked dark.
I hated going there because soon enough I felt like I should upgrade to the next best thing. I hated going there because sometimes money isn’t that hard to make.
Like I said, beat out of me. And it was, too. Loss after loss after loss and Dad starting staying in when he could and Mom started buying packs again. That’s what killed me, the lines on her face, the way her voice would plummet down down down after yet another bit of bad news, those late night phone calls. Dad’s optimism about the situation drove the stake deeper.
Dark, dark days. My room became a smoked-out prison ruled by aimlessness with a healthy dose of pleaseletthisendplease pumping through the vents. Countless, countless times. Like it was part of me.
But then, just like that, I guess I learned to control myself a little better. To say no dude, fuck that. I learned alot myself and the people around me. I learned how to make the decision I really know is right, at least some of the time. ‘Cause something is better than nothing. And nothing was what I had.
Some said these are your typical teenage problems, Mr. and Mrs. Pellegrini, he’s having a hard time but many kids go through this, and he’s not alone. Some painted me the village freak, and here take these pills they’ll get rid of the anger, the hopelessness, the happiness, the Drew. In the end I’m not sure which approach I preferred, but I guess it really didn’t matter.
Summer wasn’t that bad at first. Close buddies, beer, girls, the rope swing, the late night drives. Anyone’s ideal summer, but the thoughts were still there. They grew on me, which facilitated a lifestyle change. Or did the lifestyle bring on the thoughts? Fuck it, we’ll never know, but things grew dark. Like, wicked dark.
I hated going there because soon enough I felt like I should upgrade to the next best thing. I hated going there because sometimes money isn’t that hard to make.
Like I said, beat out of me. And it was, too. Loss after loss after loss and Dad starting staying in when he could and Mom started buying packs again. That’s what killed me, the lines on her face, the way her voice would plummet down down down after yet another bit of bad news, those late night phone calls. Dad’s optimism about the situation drove the stake deeper.
Dark, dark days. My room became a smoked-out prison ruled by aimlessness with a healthy dose of pleaseletthisendplease pumping through the vents. Countless, countless times. Like it was part of me.
But then, just like that, I guess I learned to control myself a little better. To say no dude, fuck that. I learned alot myself and the people around me. I learned how to make the decision I really know is right, at least some of the time. ‘Cause something is better than nothing. And nothing was what I had.
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
blu
blu is the color you get when you mix 2 parts confidence and 1 part blissful ignorance.
blu is what comes out of 4 hours bent over a LCD screen looking up adverbs on theasaurus.com.
it's the warm feeling of future success, like if you keep at this you're goin places kid you have a gift.
blu are the 4 sides that sheltered me and put my mind into places that were much more benificial
for that soul of mine.
it's also the color of the walls in the prison where i lay in total, obliterating agony.
blu was the sky on the day that i stepped outside and lit a butt and listened to the birds and
truly saw the color of the grass and suddenly knew what i had to do.
it was the purest blu.
blu is what comes out of 4 hours bent over a LCD screen looking up adverbs on theasaurus.com.
it's the warm feeling of future success, like if you keep at this you're goin places kid you have a gift.
blu are the 4 sides that sheltered me and put my mind into places that were much more benificial
for that soul of mine.
it's also the color of the walls in the prison where i lay in total, obliterating agony.
blu was the sky on the day that i stepped outside and lit a butt and listened to the birds and
truly saw the color of the grass and suddenly knew what i had to do.
it was the purest blu.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
the things they stole
a gaping window exhales hard whispers into the room that they stole
they stole the four loyal sides of azul, the smeared hand-me-down mirror, the
families of coping-beads arrayed upon various natural outcroppings like vultures
waiting for a meal to perish. they stole too many used-butts in the ashtray,
and a great many more lost dreams in the closet.
they stole the four loyal sides of azul, the smeared hand-me-down mirror, the
families of coping-beads arrayed upon various natural outcroppings like vultures
waiting for a meal to perish. they stole too many used-butts in the ashtray,
and a great many more lost dreams in the closet.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
freebee- a narrative poem
the lines of life I could not see
i persisted most carelessly
and consequences that could not be-
build up
acid drops; a cigarette
getting high off cough syrup
and when I felt I could not get up-
go on
end of summer growing near
great example of a bad year
parents rent with repeated fear-
the break
small pink pills devoid of thrills
help me cope when misery mills
and now few thoughts rip and kill-
new hope
things are back to relative normality
life goes on with renewed tenacity
and as the sun supports with fierce alacrity,
i wonder my path, taking this new hope on with me
i persisted most carelessly
and consequences that could not be-
build up
acid drops; a cigarette
getting high off cough syrup
and when I felt I could not get up-
go on
end of summer growing near
great example of a bad year
parents rent with repeated fear-
the break
small pink pills devoid of thrills
help me cope when misery mills
and now few thoughts rip and kill-
new hope
things are back to relative normality
life goes on with renewed tenacity
and as the sun supports with fierce alacrity,
i wonder my path, taking this new hope on with me
Friday, September 30, 2011
yeah.
sup bro?
hey man
you good?
man, i feel amazing
yeah, i can see that. you listening?
nope, and i never will
set an example. you do everyday what we're all trying to stop
so?
yeah. whatever
hey man
you good?
man, i feel amazing
yeah, i can see that. you listening?
nope, and i never will
set an example. you do everyday what we're all trying to stop
so?
yeah. whatever
word safari
reach
around the hope of
facilitating a passion
fiction
next to syllabus
you do the things that need to be done
quick information
lasting change
upsets you
take a stand
caution
equal responsiblity
positive
furthering education
lights
envision the world
place ourselves
special thanks
bounce light
knowing who you are and what you can do
control of your destiny
around the hope of
facilitating a passion
fiction
next to syllabus
you do the things that need to be done
quick information
lasting change
upsets you
take a stand
caution
equal responsiblity
positive
furthering education
lights
envision the world
place ourselves
special thanks
bounce light
knowing who you are and what you can do
control of your destiny
Thursday, September 29, 2011
10 narrative ideas
events from history:
vietnam war
hippy era
9/11
columbine/virginia tech shootings
the rise of punk rock in the 90's
personal events:
my horrible summer
discovering how to attain happiness
losing innocence
losing friends
knowing your real friends
vietnam war
hippy era
9/11
columbine/virginia tech shootings
the rise of punk rock in the 90's
personal events:
my horrible summer
discovering how to attain happiness
losing innocence
losing friends
knowing your real friends
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
untitled
my breath escapes in ragged bursts
the skin ripples and shines
and I; i battle steel
clink clink clink as i pump my burden up
and down
up and
down
i defeat it; i beat it down
it pleads for mercy; i show
no quarter
foreseeing its demise: devious lowblows attempted
devious lowblows parried, and i strike back; hard
a finishing blow
the end of a battle, but the signal of a war
i let the barbell fall to the rug,
remove my armor.
i stroll outside, letting a ciggarette calm me
my battle fervor ebbs
i grin
the skin ripples and shines
and I; i battle steel
clink clink clink as i pump my burden up
and down
up and
down
i defeat it; i beat it down
it pleads for mercy; i show
no quarter
foreseeing its demise: devious lowblows attempted
devious lowblows parried, and i strike back; hard
a finishing blow
the end of a battle, but the signal of a war
i let the barbell fall to the rug,
remove my armor.
i stroll outside, letting a ciggarette calm me
my battle fervor ebbs
i grin
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
let's don our google goggles
google;
giving useless insight
otherwise uneeded
obliges us with knowledge and filth
grants the wisdom of pure numbers
lays bare the secrets of life
enable your cookies!
giving useless insight
otherwise uneeded
obliges us with knowledge and filth
grants the wisdom of pure numbers
lays bare the secrets of life
enable your cookies!
descent
falling;
ma's eyes balling;
rest.
a summer spent falling deeper and deeper
into blackness that would do nothing
but devour the lives of angels and men
as god watched helplessly and wept.
i stagger about the room,
flailing limbs searching for the loving reprieve
of the lamp switch, but the only thing to be seen
is the swaying red cherry of a cigarrette
i swing my arms crazily, my screams escalate,
fury awakens
i am a trapped rat, but my disease-ridden paw
lands itself on the doorknob, miraculously
the cigarrette falls to the floor
ma's eyes balling;
rest.
a summer spent falling deeper and deeper
into blackness that would do nothing
but devour the lives of angels and men
as god watched helplessly and wept.
i stagger about the room,
flailing limbs searching for the loving reprieve
of the lamp switch, but the only thing to be seen
is the swaying red cherry of a cigarrette
i swing my arms crazily, my screams escalate,
fury awakens
i am a trapped rat, but my disease-ridden paw
lands itself on the doorknob, miraculously
the cigarrette falls to the floor
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
mantra
what makes me feel wierd about being wierd? nothing. i am my own odd, abnormal 17-year old teenage boy. everything i do is performed with unwavering purpose and a deep, deep love for humor and making others uncomfortable. long live wierdness.
Monday, September 19, 2011
the gap
i once met a heroine addict. i know a few, actually, all in varying degrees of addiction or rehabilitation. addicts truly are not uncommon; one must simply peel away the rotting layers of the suburbs, digging deeper into the heart of society, as more horrors are unearthed and the putrid stench of shit and could've rear thier mottled head. everyone is inherently selfish, content to take and take and take, and things'll never get better. like a used needle, society has begun to oxidate, sitting in a murky puddle of it's own tossed-out ideals and fantasies, rotting away even as it feels the warm, comforting wave seep into its very veins. innocence is stripped from children as a junky would relieve an elder of her purse; quickly, unstoppable, and leaving that gaping hole in one's stomach that often accompanies the whims of fate.
Friday, September 16, 2011
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
(cheating).
this is a black and white photograph of a plump, unknown figure in a wheelchair with a silly mask and hat. it was taken by diana arbus and has no relevance to my life.
Monday, September 12, 2011
a 15 minute college essay
To me, the biggest failure in this life is to live a passive, accepting existence. What is success without determined action and hard work? What is achievement without first breaking norms, escaping the crowd, being different? You don’t know me. You don’t know my story, and you don’t know what happened in the past for me to get where I am at this moment (sitting shirtless with a fan 6 inches from my face, typing this paper and sipping orange soda). Sweetened carbonated beverages aside, why should some shmuck like me be allowed to attend one of our country’s fine centers for higher academic learning? Well, because I belong there.
Learning is my love. Nothing slates my thirst for knowledge better than a superbly answered question that has been gnawing at my strong sense of curiosity for the better half of an Anatomy lesson. I ravage through literature like a masked figure in a girls-only summer camp, eating up pages and chapters, and a well-executed literary trick or a clever bit of irony gives me a satisfying sense of fulfillment like no other. Any subject tickles my fancy: from learning of the tactical formations of the ancient Athenian armies to the kick-ass feeling of nailing an especially quarrelsome algebra equation.
I want my name to be remembered by at least one person as someone who greatly impacted their life for the better, and I believe the experience of college will get me on the right track. I have seen enough people who are merely content to passively float on by, wallowing in drug use or sports or their social lives, but I do not want to spend my life that way. I want to rise above, to prove myself, to brighten people’s lives. I am an academic. I am a goon. I am a friend, a comedian, and a musician. I am the kid who sits at the front of every class, one moment contributing to class and the next proclaiming racy jokes. Take it or leave it.
stranger danger
the stranger twists the knife in the gut of the first victim, a small smile twisting the mouth inside the mask while a small knife twists and tears the gastrointestinal system of the poor man. upon removal of the blade from stomach, a torrent of blood frees itself from his innards as the two-bit security officer slumps to the ground. keys are slipped from his belt as three other strangers slip from shadows and other places unknown. all wear similar garb: a delapitated hodgepodge of ripped sheets, aprons, tabards, and robes. all wear the same headgear: a rumpled brown bag, with eye and nose holes sliced into the front. one mask is bloodied. curt nods of greeting are shared between the siblings, the most emotion expressed amongst them all day. the stranger opens the door.
the crowd's laughter can be heard clearly now, and it slowly expires like a dying wolf in the winter. the strangers compose themselves and walk forward, through the maintence hallway, and the side-door at the end of the hallway is open a mite. the leading stranger opens the door, and the entire stage can be seen now, but from a side perspective. the strangers remain unseen.
the court jester on stage continues immature antics while the king comtemplates uninterestingly and the peasents beg for his favor. they wore drab collections of ripped sheets, robes, and aprons. they donned wrinkled paper bag masks. the scene shortly transitions to the musical's central piece, its stimulating swan song. the peasents prance about the stage. the strangers file onto the stage and remain motionless at the shady back of the stage.
pace quickens as the piece rapidly nears a crescendo of hollywood proportions. the strangers ready thier tools, and paint the town red.
the crowd's laughter can be heard clearly now, and it slowly expires like a dying wolf in the winter. the strangers compose themselves and walk forward, through the maintence hallway, and the side-door at the end of the hallway is open a mite. the leading stranger opens the door, and the entire stage can be seen now, but from a side perspective. the strangers remain unseen.
the court jester on stage continues immature antics while the king comtemplates uninterestingly and the peasents beg for his favor. they wore drab collections of ripped sheets, robes, and aprons. they donned wrinkled paper bag masks. the scene shortly transitions to the musical's central piece, its stimulating swan song. the peasents prance about the stage. the strangers file onto the stage and remain motionless at the shady back of the stage.
pace quickens as the piece rapidly nears a crescendo of hollywood proportions. the strangers ready thier tools, and paint the town red.
Friday, September 9, 2011
there's a storm a-brewin'
list of interesting prose/poem/lyrical topics:
lost innocence
fighting the "dark side" of one's personality
teenage angst
drug use
alcohol use
teenage drama
horror/gore stories
rape stories
war stories
anecdotes from a crime-ridden, ethnic neighborhood
crime and consequence
becoming a man
beating the system
achieving something in life
living up to expectations
disapointing expectations
how my dog has the most influence in my family
lots and lots and lots of pot
how to roll a good joint
depression
anxiety
hope
curiosity/learning
the freedoms of driving
why driving sucks
fake and real friends
belonging
finding, and attaining, happiness
responsibility
how to steal things
how to pull off any crime
the power of politeness
perception
surrealism
the effectiveness of a well-executed handshake
how a first impression makes all the difference
why should we help starving african children? help the jobless and the addicts
connection through music
the undeniable sexiness of someone who knows how to play a mean acoustic guitar
tattos/piercings
fistfighting
telling if someone is genuinely a good person or not
fuck politics
seeing a friend fall all the way down
watching a friend pull himself up
happiness through a friend's achievement
drug overdose
suicide
emotions
punk rock bands
making rap beats
video games
bb guns
world war 2 action movies
drug use in vietnam
motorcycles (harleys...obvs)
hell's angels
gangs
violence
girlfriends
love
crushes
teenage romance
texting
hitting on girls
helplessness
empowerment
having a job as a teenager
how to hustle money
exactly how to handle the police
the innumerable amount of loopholes and cut-thru's in the american legal system
chubby, polish lawyers
seeing an event from someone else's perspective
lost innocence
fighting the "dark side" of one's personality
teenage angst
drug use
alcohol use
teenage drama
horror/gore stories
rape stories
war stories
anecdotes from a crime-ridden, ethnic neighborhood
crime and consequence
becoming a man
beating the system
achieving something in life
living up to expectations
disapointing expectations
how my dog has the most influence in my family
lots and lots and lots of pot
how to roll a good joint
depression
anxiety
hope
curiosity/learning
the freedoms of driving
why driving sucks
fake and real friends
belonging
finding, and attaining, happiness
responsibility
how to steal things
how to pull off any crime
the power of politeness
perception
surrealism
the effectiveness of a well-executed handshake
how a first impression makes all the difference
why should we help starving african children? help the jobless and the addicts
connection through music
the undeniable sexiness of someone who knows how to play a mean acoustic guitar
tattos/piercings
fistfighting
telling if someone is genuinely a good person or not
fuck politics
seeing a friend fall all the way down
watching a friend pull himself up
happiness through a friend's achievement
drug overdose
suicide
emotions
punk rock bands
making rap beats
video games
bb guns
world war 2 action movies
drug use in vietnam
motorcycles (harleys...obvs)
hell's angels
gangs
violence
girlfriends
love
crushes
teenage romance
texting
hitting on girls
helplessness
empowerment
having a job as a teenager
how to hustle money
exactly how to handle the police
the innumerable amount of loopholes and cut-thru's in the american legal system
chubby, polish lawyers
seeing an event from someone else's perspective
Thursday, September 8, 2011
the innocence time bomb
a goofy face
no time spent trying to erase iffy deeds and regretful throws
an easy mind;
where the only time that mattered was nap time and
sleeping with a girl meant 28 other children in the room; and
playtimes the only time
kickball? dont whine
four square- watch the line
and freeze tag? all the time
planes are soaring into buildings and the only thing
you will to do is go back home to mommy and
your plastic platoons.
innocence is a precious lense: cherish it
remember when you'd send a handpicked squad of only the finest warriors
into that dreaded room-next-door, that realm of terror,
and getting out with even one bare-skinned barbiedoll was considered
mission success? sisters protest
yet, grenade primed; your happiness timed
it won't be like this forever
no time spent trying to erase iffy deeds and regretful throws
an easy mind;
where the only time that mattered was nap time and
sleeping with a girl meant 28 other children in the room; and
playtimes the only time
kickball? dont whine
four square- watch the line
and freeze tag? all the time
planes are soaring into buildings and the only thing
you will to do is go back home to mommy and
your plastic platoons.
innocence is a precious lense: cherish it
remember when you'd send a handpicked squad of only the finest warriors
into that dreaded room-next-door, that realm of terror,
and getting out with even one bare-skinned barbiedoll was considered
mission success? sisters protest
yet, grenade primed; your happiness timed
it won't be like this forever
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
To Pharmize
Pharmize- (v)- to degrade something to lower value; to give someone or something less credit than what is due
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