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.
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