ran from the [d]ome.

Bubbly.

2009-12-26T04:16:00.002-05:00

I just like that word, "bubbly". It has nothing to do with anything, but I was thinking about it.

I can never get my thoughts together. They never seem to connect. They never seem to make sense and THAT I am truly aware of. I really have no explanation for some of the things I write…most of the things I write. So…don’t expect this one to be any different. I’d describe my mind like a film – stills in motion flashing on screen, leaving on cue, lingering in your mind because you don’t understand what just happened in front of you. Did that even make sense? I don’t know, but it’s like that. I don’t know why, but it is. I always thought I had some sort of a chemical imbalance in my brain because of the things I thought of and the way they would be painted. Who knows? The things I see with my third eye are always distorted. I can imagine, but my imaginings are always sketches, scribbles of rough notes. I can only see myself clearly there. I wonder why I can’t see myself clearly here, outside of myself. When I look in the mirror, I haven’t a clue of who I should be or what I should do. I don’t make sense, really. I can’t understand myself, but I know myself. Maybe I just know everything I’m not and not everything I am. Hmm. Let’s dive…
I think I like to write things, things that I sense with my body, things that I create with my mind. I love the idea of words coming together to tell a story in the most uncanny ways. I love how the little things can create big things. I’m not one for technique or form, but I can dig a sense of honesty any day of my life. That’s what I love about writing. That’s what I love about music – how thoughts and feelings can be expressed through wordless sounds. I love how people can say so much by saying so little. In four minutes, a time can be told, a story can be heard. I love music. I love writing. Jazz is a music form that I adore dearly because of its freedom yet complicated technique. Complex simplicity is my delight I guess. Sound is key. For things to come together they have to sound right; not in the literal sense, but in the sense that there’s some kind of flow. That explains my need to constantly look up words and expand my losing vocabulary so that I make things sound right. But maybe I’m being too complicated? Maybe I’m trying to make something come to life that simply isn’t. I mean, I’m trying to fit this mould of a writer, because that’s what I think I’m good at. But I don’t know. Am I really good? Who’s to say? No fishing, I hate that. Fool’s gold only sits in that ocean. But what do I do with this thought? I want to make sense of it all, but I don’t know how. I’m lost at sea, trying to be a person other than me, and what I just can’t see, is me being me. I like being me, I love being me, so why am I always trying to run free? Why can’t I simply be? Live for today and tomorrow will come hopefully? I just can’t see this light in front of me. Simply believe? We’ll see. I try to keep my own pace, let others do as they please, but I can’t seem to shake this question at sea.

CHASER.

2009-12-26T02:57:00.005-05:00

I chased the sunset
Down the narrow road alone
Following the distant glow of light
Glimmer of tranquillity
Leaving the past behind me
I chased my love with eager to escape for good
Smiling with the gentle wind
Flying so high in my blissful mind
Above time’s anxious hands
I chased the sunset
Colliding with the shadow of the sky
It casted darkness over my eyes
Coldness through my body
The sunset, my sunset of calm
Descending into the horizon
Slowly departing from my gloomy eyes
But I still chase the sunset with a wish
With a need to be near
To escape
In love.

A Sugary Memory

2009-12-25T03:35:00.003-05:00

I thought about you today. I was sitting in my room with my feet up, staring at the thorny looking white wall above me.
Wonder was running miles in my mind for a while…
We used to be friends. We were cool for a minute, walking through the same hallways and meeting the same people. Sometimes I’d pass you in one of those hallways while you were passing me, slowing down my pace as you inched closer to my being. You forever made me nervous. I couldn’t look into your eyes for a long time. My hands were always clammy when I saw you, even from afar. Whatever were to happen, I just hoped you wouldn’t shake my hand. When I did see you, we always exchanged those smiles, those elusive smiles, you and me. But the hugs were always obvious story-tellers. I thought you were unlike the people surrounding me or you. You were different, mysterious, and had the eyes to match. So…I never knew how to read you.
I remember how we always used to go the same way from school, east towards another sunrise. You’d tell me things, I’d tell you things – sweet things, funny things, weird things, cool things. We didn’t say much to each other outside of those things, though. I was quiet and you were lively. But we still kind of matched.
Later in the year though, I found something out. I became apprehensive about even talking to you because of this something. It wasn’t a bad thing. It wasn’t a cruel thing. It was just one of those complication things. It changed things between us, you and I. I knew what it was, but you didn’t. I wanted to say something. I wanted to tell you how I felt. I wanted to let you know. But I didn’t. We drifted apart from there. I went right and you went left. Those smiles became straight faces and quick sharp glances. I looked down to avoid you. You looked over me. It was like amnesia slowly came to town. I lost sight of who you were, and that was my fault.
I forgot about you for a while, but I’d see you again. I’d see you again very often. No words were exchanged, only glimpses. I wanted to start over in a way, but I didn’t know how. It had been years since the last time I saw you. What do I say? I don’t know. Not too long ago I was looking for a room somewhere on the second floor, and you were right there, walking in front of me with someone else. I didn’t notice until I turned around on instinct. My hands weren’t clammy.
So I thought about you today. I thought about what could’ve been. I’m that kind of person. I wondered what we would be like if we still talked, if we were still friends. I don’t know, but I’ll wonder sometimes, like I did today.

Into Everything.

2009-12-23T03:51:00.003-05:00

Fly beyond the sky

Into loving with no lights

Just stars, you and I...

No Shoes.

2009-12-23T03:29:00.001-05:00

I walk many miles through fire and stone, barefooted and drained. I have no shoes to walk in. Now, my feet simply drag on behind me. As the sand falls, life leaks through my body, through the holes in my soul. I carry the weight of what seems like the world on my back since it cannot see my face; it hates it and so I hide it. My hands are wounded because I hold onto heavy rain that never falls through. Who wants to see me? No one, I guess. I am just another infuriating face begging for a chance wearing tainted shades when the sun is out. I am just another someone looking for fool’s gold. I’m just another one. Who wants to see me? No one, I know. I walk into another day everyday, god willing; Everyday with no shoes to walk in, no shoes to try on.

Skies, Subways and Sketches

2009-11-10T04:17:00.000-05:00

When the sky looks blue, look up and smile.
You can only be in one place for so long.

I feel at peace in the morning - when it’s quiet and no one’s around. The silence soothes my ears like a sunset soothes my eyes. I can imagine and craft stories without interruption because, well, you know, that’s what I always do. I like to be in tune with time, by myself. It kind of makes life a little bit easier, easy like Sunday morning that is ;). I mean, my trip is an hour each day, so that’s ample time to reflect and revise, listen and learn. What do I even say to myself? Nothing. I don’t need to. I dream it out and draw it in my psyche (if that makes even the slightest sense). When I’m in tune, everything else is tuned out – the coughs, the announcements, the loud racket of the subway, the traffic of people, the breathing, the smell of warm coffee and stink…the coughs. I’m focused on the movement. Maybe that’s what I reflect on. I listen to myself that way. I can never be too sure though, ‘cause my mind is that wild. But, I never like being in one place for an extended amount of time. I feel useless when that happens. What’s the point of taking a step if you’re not going anywhere? Things can simply be without expectations, but that can’t be stagnant…right? Whenever I do something, I want it to be a move somewhere, even if I don’t know where somewhere is or how I’m going to get there. Man, why am I even typing this? I need to get back into the groove of things…No wait, I think the grown-up in me has made its grand entrance. Yeah, I know. I said S.D.M too =).

The Sessions.

2009-09-07T20:26:00.004-04:00

It was like a long slow drag of a shabby cancer stick. Summer, pfft. As it comes to a crummy end, a new beginning ascends from the earth – something so vile and vicious enough to swallow you whole. It’s a crook of time and an aid of monstrous madness, SNEAKING up on you when you least expect it. This phenomenon is taking its first breaths and its first sly steps towards your psychological DOOM as we have words. It’s daunting. It’s devilish. And it’dangerous.

But I’m a risk taker.

I’m awfully ready and eager to take on this draining yet career-building experience, SCHOOL. I love school, by the way. It’s back, bitches! Can you believe it? A year older, a year wiser, a year so changed I am. For once, I’m seeing myself grow and go forward, come into my being. I usually see that in other people I know very well very often; some younger, some older. But to see it in myself is mind-boggling because…well… I’m a still-standing question mark. According to me, I’ve been the same all my life: knowingly unknown. I don’t have answers. I’m an unsolved mystery, for now, searching for clues that will lead me to a solution, forever.

How do I allow folks to understand me? I should leap out of my skin sometime. Maybe then, they’ll get me. I don’t know, I’m still learning. But it’s not essentially their fault. I hide behind the shadows of laughter and long stories, by choice, mostly out of subconscious terror. I guess I just doubt people by my own design. My bad. Hopefully, university can lend a hand in my own discovery walk towards a more optimistic me and a less introverted me.

Awake & Untitled.

2009-08-30T03:47:00.006-04:00

I woke up this morning, brainsick from last night. Or was it early morning? Four of Five? I wonder. I was so drunk on troubled thoughts, drunk beyond this earth. The time of time seemed so endless that I lost myself. I felt strange. Still do. My mind was just drifting off into all kinds of places with no direction. Did I go to Mars or Venus? While reminiscing about what I could remember, the brimming bags under my half-opened eyes start to vanish slowly - with the swipe of my hand. Nasty, but necessary. Rising from the bed, I was. The pool of dried drool and the soft sheets were left behind in no hurry. It was like separating body and soul, which is damn near impossible. No school today, for once. Nothing to do, as usual. My feet descended to the floor, sitting as still as the sleeping beauty.

I gazed outside into the young day, carefully thinking about yesterday. A slight breeze entered through the window, tickling my skin. The sky was the sea; slow drifting clouds consumed by the blues with a purple tinge. The sea was the sky; rippling in the water. The trees swayed their ripened bodies to the divine tune of the wind. Birds flew towards the light while I tried not to look. The last thing I need is burned retinas. But the first thing I need is some serenity. My head’s killing me, and certainly not softly. I still smiled to the day because I’m happy to be.

It was a busy morning. The trains blew heavy smoke and headed past GO. No collection for those drivers. Cars rolled down the streets blaring horns and engines, hoping to fly by smoothly on the highway in due time. I just hoped to get by today. The people were like silhouettes; morning marauders moving rapidly in all directions. Heels clicked and sneakers slid. My slippers tiptoed to the next room.

Lady Love.

2009-06-22T03:09:00.004-04:00

Laying on the grass, underneath a quiet tree
Tickled like the keys of a piano
You make me laugh away my butterflies
Smile to the pretty sky.
I feel like the brightest star
Next to you, next to me
Next to nothing
Can compare to the way you look at me
I drown in your darling eyes
flooded with love
I get tangled with your fickle feet
In your arms is where I wish to stay in endlessly
Touched like a slow first kiss
You make me rise
And I fall in love with you all over
Dream of mere moments maybe to arrive
And as the night ascends, I linger on glad times
Waiting on the moment you open your eyes.

HEAVY THINGS.

2009-06-22T02:23:00.004-04:00

Lately I’ve been thinking
Some heavy things on my mind
Every minute every hour I’m trying
To loosen up this trying bind
I can’t shake these stupid things
So close, but no cigar
I’m drunk on sleepless nights in Seattle
And I’ve never been to a bar
I’m lost in a sullen sea
With my thoughts to keep me company
But those heavy things cloud my blue skies
Knock me down senselessly
So immersed in this tale of journeys
Trips my mind has gone on
Struck by the moonlight a thousand times
That I’ve yet to see the gleaming sun
I would rather be in another place
A place where my thoughts were see-through
Yet these heavy things make that possibly impossible
Impossible to fall in love with you…

05.07.09.

2009-05-07T22:59:00.000-04:00

I want to face you, but I can't see you.

City Lights.

2009-04-18T03:21:00.003-04:00

Check 1,2..

The city lights are up in flames. These lush lights chase the night quietly, not a sound in sight. Not a soul in search of day. I stand unmoving, high on wakefulness and alone, existing outside time and space peacefully. The atmosphere is forever in motion. Streams of scarlet brilliance drift across the busy roads. People pace and wander around my invisible self like a gifted hand is hastily painting moving sketches. My eyes can’t keep up. Midnight blues and divine violets rove along, swiftly. Flashes here, flashes there. I stand unmoving. The city lights breathe the musty air with me and watch the sky strip down to its undressed body too. A midnight clearing arrives. Dazzling. A train passes me by, heading in the right direction.

my eyes now tell a story...

2009-04-14T03:06:00.005-04:00

hello world.

been a minute since i've written. my exams are approaching me with lightening speed and so, i'm a little scurred. but it's cool, i'm calm, i'm relaxed. can't believe my first year of university is almost up. insanely sane. time flies with the swiftness. my dad is just as amazed as me - he was telling me that he remembers when i was this high. crazy.

anywhoos...

it's 3:10 am. and i'm studying like a fool, listening to mixing monthly homies fs green and full crate - they are sooooo dope, check them out. i was writing this thing about facebook, kinda unfinished but it was inspired by seeing someone glued to the computer that eventually turned into a joke that eventually turned into some written rhyme-like words, haha. set to dwele's im cheating, since it was playing at the time. it goes "i can't log into facebook/i don't really know what's wrong/ i've typed in my password like 8 times/ and caps lock sure ain't on..." there was more. i know this 'cause i wrote it on a napkin. and bam, it disappeared. flew away? don't know. but whatever, the rest is coming. ummm...i don't know what else to say about myself - never been good at it anyway.

my homie renzo had his b day 2 days ago - yes i remembered =). i'm late on this entry but it's ok. happy belated b-day dude. i've known him for like 5 years now and he's like a brother to me...my third brother. like a younger brother...even though he's older than me. he's such a kid at heart. i've talked to him about just about any and everything there is to talk about. we argue...and he's a stubborn punk sometimes, but i've got love in my heart for him. he's an amazing writer...actually inspired me to start a website and develop my writing - bet you didn't know that did you? *heart*. ah, so many memories. i'm not the mushy-type much, but i love you man. this one's for you. (it ain't like that, but you get what' im sayin, haha)

dueces. more writtens will follow, trust.

You on point, Tip?

2009-04-10T22:01:00.005-04:00

Always on point.

Much love to one of my favourite artists ever, Kamaal The Abstract. Happy birthday.

Timeless music and creativity travels with you.

So true, so funky...so fresh. Legendary.

Have a good one.

Meldazy

2009-03-21T13:56:00.016-04:00

I was on my way home one night and I saw the street sign MELDAZY...
I knew I had to write something about it, put my own meaning to that word and let it fly. So I did. Bizack. Guess who ran from the dome?

Meldaz(e)y

Bedazzle and daze
Flying, soaring away
In my mind in my eyes
The space covers the shade
Chillin under a tree
Apple falls into my hand from gravity
Solved an age old mystery,
are you hearing me skyy
Listening, open up your ears wide

I feel lazy lying on this gravy grass
With myself no one else in this sun so crass
Off-beat back-beat, bring it back no beat
Just keys just fill it in my thelonius spree
Little birds sing softly, nice tune
In the jazzy june sunny side up afternoon
Pipes so fueled, gems so jeweled
Breathing in the air, exhaling on a muse

Musical overdosin…

Endless Oceans bring a chilly breeze
Never escapes me
Cold and shivers through my body
Resting on my skin, smooth
No ends loose
Fast forward in blue
Mix it up on the moon
Fresh selecting craters from the root
Weightless, wipsy, film in the timeless bottomless boundless room

Floating in the space of my psyche
Call me mad crazy
Lazy dreaming on a Saturday 'noon
Loopy light long night miles away
I call it meldazy

it's getting late...

2009-02-17T20:03:00.004-05:00

It’s getting late…

It’s getting late
Late...
And I have yet to see you
It’s getting late
And my heard can’t find you
My mind cannot bear
To see you not there
Beside me
Please

It’s getting late
And I’m still waiting for your call
It’s getting late
I’m going nowhere at all
But should I, should I stay here and dream
Believe in the possibilities
Or let go
Of you

It’s getting late…

It’s getting late….
The clock has stopped its ticking
The light is dim
I guess you’re just a sweet memory
Missed…

Wordless

2009-02-14T04:03:00.003-05:00

Endless beginnings
Soundless touch explores the skin
Creations climax

…what a freak.

Happy valentine’s night.

Say Yes - Floetry

Happy Birthday, Mr. Archer.

2009-02-11T22:33:00.016-05:00

An artist. Musician. Performer. Singer. Songwriter. Master of his craft. The definition of soul music.

D’Angelo, thank you to the highest degree. Thank you. Thank you so very much. Thank you for being patient with yourself and your music and giving me countless, classic cuts that I will never get tired of.

If there is any artist that I hold to such a high standard, that I trust with every ounce of trust I’ve got in me, that I love, that I respect…it’s Michael D’Angelo Archer. His music has had a profound impact on the way I see things, the world, and the way I listen to sound. I don’t think I would be the person I am without having found his music in 2000. Voodoo will have a special place in my heart. Always.

Hearing “Untitled” for the first time was life-altering to say the least, haha. That was the first time I was exposed to such a bass-heavy, funky, soulful tune. My ears were just full of…of wonder and excitement. I was wide-eyed with interest. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him, for more than one reason. I knew…I just knew that he was someone that I wanted to musically explore. And I’ve done just that.

D’Angelo is music. Music is a part of him. It’s the way he reflects on life, the way he expresses his feelings and emotions. And I can feel it every time. With every guitar lick, every sung note, every drumbeat, every melody and soothing harmony, every sound…I feel it. Two classic albums: Brown Sugar and Voodoo. And add the many covers and rare tunes that he’s got. I still bump them all. STILL. Every single track. If that doesn’t scream “classic” to you in the midst of all these single-driven albums and 15 minute-famous-sans-the-talent artists I don’t know what does. With all the rush and the fast-paced happenings we call life, D is always able to just sit back, relax and jam. He’s one of the most patient artists I know. Despite the news Tip dropped yesterday, I’m still anxiously awaiting D’s return. I trust with all my heart that he will never try to please the fans and admirers before he himself is pleased with his work. And that’s a standard I think so many artists should have. Five years between two albums is basically unheard of now. Why? Because people believe that inspiration is something you pick of from 7/11 around the corner for $5.99 plus tax.

Today, the musical genius turns 35. And I couldn’t be happier. Happy Birthday D’Angelo. I love you.

You didn't dig my flow, but you're still welcome.

2009-02-11T06:19:00.001-05:00

White dog barked at me the other day while I was on my way to class. I just can’t catch a break, can I…even when I’m tryna get my education lol. I’m playin’.

I feel like it’s the middle of the year already. 2009. Wow. Days are just going by so fast. I can’t even absorb the day’s events and the night’s episodes. I get taken aback by it sometimes, almost overwhelmed. Is my life really progressing like this? It’s always good to just take two steps back and really take a look at the unfinished painting that is my life. I always find something I’ve noticed.
So, I missed the big Laker/Boston game. MISSED all of it. Every last (b)ounce of it. Why? Studying. Just haaaaaaad to study. Study all the wrong material for that matter, lol. I get to my psychology exam and half the shit I studied wasn’t even on it. The fuck was that? I was just singing D’s song in my head…

Shit, damn, motherfucker

Pretty much summed up how I was feeling. Nonetheless I think I did OK. But OK in my terms is not really OK, persay, kinda, sorta. Whatevs though, because it’s only the first exam. It’s not the end of the world…or so I think. Dun Dun Dun Dun!

I’m just about restless, yet tired of this sentence structure so I’m gonna just sum everything up point form bullet bullet style.

- I missed Tip on Ellen. ELLEN! Fuuuuudge.
- Grammy’s sucked. Jazzy was robbed. Carrie Underwood was blazing. Sugarland was sick. Radiohead’s performance was wicked cool. Boyz II Men singing background pissed me off. Jamie Foxx and Neyo singing with the two four tops while Boyz II Men was in attendance pissed me off. Jazzy got robbed. Miley Cyrus should quit singing. J-Hud was amazing. Eric B and fam looked soo beautiful. Robin Thicke was THAT DUDE; his vocals are just…stunning. N.O tribute was nice. J.T. and T.I. were O.K. Swagga like us performance was just eh…M.I.A is a trooper. Jonas Brothers and Stevie Wonder collabo was not the business…And it’s MR WONDER to y’all.
- 24…still gotta watch it.
- Needa write some poems/songs/regular nonsensical stuff.
- I’m racking my brain about the guitar on Downtime remix by Foreign Exchange…I swear I’ve heard it somewhere…”Cuz I ain’t got fuck-around time…”
- I love soulbounce.com
- According to Q-tip, D’s album is coming in 2010 and a single is dropping in the fall.
- Happy B-day D’angelo =). You know a full blog entry is gonna be dedicated to him right? Lol
- I don’t get why a woman and her husband sat on opposite ends of the subway seats, holding a conversation when there were three seats beside her. SMDH. Yelling and shit like I wanted to hear all that.
- Exam this Friday my favourite number day. Excellent.
- You know, it’s really annoying to have a class full of about 25 and have about 17 of them with laptops typing EVERYTHING the prof puts up on the slides…almost in motherfuckin unison! LOL. Kinda irritating me, the notepad guru. I just kept saying WTF. I think the prof was too ‘cause she kept stopping here and there with a “holy shit” look on her face.
- Eccentricity makes the world go round.
- Ever makes jokes to yourself? Yeah, I do that too and end up smilling a little too much for my own good, haha. Just the other day I saw a girl at the subway and said to myself “she looks like Dubaku from 24” LOL.
- Facebookers need to lay off the 25 things about me shit. I remember clicking on the notes link and just seeing the ENTIRE first two pages filled with that. Some girl in my class was even doing it during lecture lmao. It’s 09. Let’s do better, haha.

Art of Fresh. Move. Get Free.

2009-01-07T23:03:00.006-05:00

Move
Feel it.
The rhythm of the sound
Passing through your body.
Travelling infectiously,
intensely,
intently .
Caressing you.
Consuming you.
Slithering so sly outside…
Skin full of sweet melodies.

Move
Feel it.
The rhythm of the sound
Passing through your body.

Painting a picture,
alive in heavenly harmony.
Surround sound.

See.

Dance.

Sleeping on Selections.

2009-01-02T04:59:00.002-05:00

Happy New Year - good luck with the New Year’s resolutions ~~(that never work).~~

So like anywhoos, sounds and colours, I’m wide asleep, typing away, trying to figure out why in the world I am staying up for RAMMS when it won’t return the favour. Y’all know what happened last time… 100s of 1000s of lives were at stake on facebook, waiting for RAMMS to work. I was one of them, drinking that late night H20, listening to some smooth jazz while tapping my sleepy fingers to my own rhythm. It was a drag, a long, slow, drag. But it was comical sensing the frustration in the comments, the impatience in the words and the “error 502” t-shirt business suggestions flying over the screen in straight lines with every refresh button click. It was quite the early dawn.
Fast forward one semester in ‘09, and the same shit is happening. Only this time, I’m off to bed.

RAMMS Resolution for 2009: Get its shit together. ~~(Never Never gonna happen).~~

2008-12-31T04:32:00.001-05:00

My brain…is way too active for my own good. I lose sleep because of this mind control. I’m always thinking, thinking, thinking. People, places, things, verbs, nouns, keyboards, music, CDS, MP3s, speakers, boxes, Andre 3000, haters, Gatorade, basketball, Raptors…My mind just doesn’t sleep. Feeds off ill imagination. Stories are its favourite.

Look at the time: 4:34 AM. And I’m still awake.

Should you know?

2008-12-31T04:21:00.013-05:00

I was just looking outside the window.

The snow was flowing, falling, flying in the frosty air. It kinda just made its bed across the night city, getting ready to fall asleep ever so silently. Made me wonder.

I’m a very private person. I’m not much of a talker either, as loud as I may be. I don’t really like to share. I’ve never been one to. I’ve stuck to myself since I was a kid. It’s hard for me to show my cards. Maybe I’m selfish with myself. Introvert? I guess. I have this notion in me that people…they wouldn’t understand me if I told them anything. They wouldn’t get me. So naturally, trust and chances are issues with me. People tend to get FBI on you when they find out that one intriguing detail about you that just sparks interest in their minds. I’m very fearful of that. Not that I have too many secrets locked away, but I…I don’t know, it’s just so damn personal. I hate that I’m like this sometimes. But still, I like to keep my inner thoughts and feelings to my inner me…they’re all mine, dammit. I can just be me when I'm alone, unbothered and uninterrupted. Being in my room, alone in the outer space of four walls where my imagination can run untamed and my introspection can thrive feels like something I can’t describe... I'm guessing that's a problem. No one really knows what’s happening with me. But that’s my fault, right? I’ve become a sly fox, always carrying a plan in my left hand. I've got my tactics. I'm a careful chooser of words - over your head, under your nose and around your ears they travel. Sometimes in your face. You just have to pay attention.

I guess what I'm tryna say is...

I don't really know how to change.

...

Ahh, you wouldn’t get it anyway.

Intro-speckt// (Still searching)

2008-12-20T05:51:00.003-05:00

Hey. Been almost a month since I’ve updated. My bad for that. Just finished my first semester of school…Yep, I can’t believe it either; time flies doesn’t it lol. Anywhoos…this is a little song I just wrote; kind of a free write. I was listening to Eric Benet’s exquisite song “Chocolate Legs” and I kinda got inspired in the weirdest way. The album is fire btw; I’m hoping I get it for Christmas.
Is the song unfinished? No clue. Y’all should know by now things just don’t make any damn sense with me until I give them a little bit of thought, haha. I’m a “let it flow” type of writer. But check it anyway.

Intro-speckt (Still Searching)

I’m still searching
For a melody, for a song
For the keeper of the keys to my shattered, lonely heart

I’m still searching
For that little smile on my face
For the sunshine to bring me happinessthat my memory can’t erase

The days keep getting longer with every kiss of night
I feel like a stranger to my life sometimes
These walls keep getting taller,
I can’t seem to break them down
How do I set myself free when there’s no one around?

I’m still searching
for that lovely summer day
For the strength in me to wash the troubles away

I’m still searching
For the woman that is I
To find the peace in me
That’s just slowly passing me by…

Wordsmith.

2008-11-24T04:33:00.010-05:00

Abstract.

The sleepy snow has been falling asleep a touch too soon.
I took a step from inside out and was accosted by the cold.

Fanatical shit.

So like anywhoos. DOOM.

I’ve been relaxing these past couple days and nights, trying to collect my thoughts. My mind is very vigorous, too much for its own good. I’m always thinking about something.

Exams. Those things. Those sly things. Haunting. Lurking. Slithering. Lingering. Two more weeks until they emerge, make their way towards me. No diggity, I’m not stressing. I’m way too cool for that.

I need Q-tip’s album. Enough said. I don’t buy albums much, but this is one that I actually…want. I’ve heard some songs here and there and I was blown away into out-her-space. As soon as I heard “We Fight/Love” and “Believe”…my mind was massaged and my ears were caressed. I know what I want for Christmas.

I played ball in the RAC for the first time in eight million centuries. I was on a high as soon as I walked in the gym. “I feel so good” was all I kept whispering to myself. Just holding the orange ball, gripping it hard with soft hands, centering my eyes on the tricky rim and releasing RAC ball #6 into the seemingly sheer air felt like a dream. Women hardly enter the gym for sports like basketball, and so when I was in there, the guys were overwhelmed with emotions, ha-ha. I had a smug look on my face: “And what motherfuckers, I play basketball and I for damn sure am not leaving right now. Deal with it.”

Life is great.

Here's a little freewrite I just did that probably doesn’t make a damn bit of sense but that's just how I do.
What this means? I don’t know.

Wordsmith.
I’ve got a rising love jones for words. I love how they slither across my lips as I say them, roll off my pens and pencils when I write them. Express. The way they crash and clash, collapse in front of my eyes; enthuses me. The way they love and become one; intrigues my soul. Sometimes I can’t take it. The sound makes my mind quiver. Shake. Vibrate. Lose control. I don’t know what it is. I can’t tell you. It’s a secret to be discovered, by me and you. The uncanny shapes, coils and curls fill me with sensations, penetration of pleasure. They fill my crux, they fill my page, my letters of pleases and thank-yous. Words are extraordinary. They fill me, my lost person, shielding me from the heavy rain. Words are at my selection waiting for detection as I long for their fond affection. Words – they are me to you.

Later Days. *waves*

Journey.

2008-11-10T08:39:00.007-05:00

And the winner is… Barack Obama. Believe me when I say I don’t follow politics. At all. Whatsoever. I just don’t. I can’t say I understand politics either. But the fact that my own brown eyes witnessed a man of colour speaking to millions of people with dignity and grace; the fact that my own brown eyes witnessed a man of colour trying to promote change and trust, the importance of family; the fact that my own brown eyes witnessed a man of colour who is not your stereotypical depiction of an African-American said something to me. It inspired me not to be the best I can be, because I was raised with that mind-set – but it inspired me to be more. It inspired me to do more. It showed me that I can provoke change among people if I believe. I must say, I got a bit teary-eyed watching the amazing history. Still do.

Enough tears for one moment.

I was conversing with my father as I do everyday. He was telling me how he became a traveler world-wide when he was eighteen. Starting in his homeland of Ghana, he travelled to Sierra Leone, Senegal, Morocco, and so many other places I was in such awe of that I don’t even remember them. I was just sitting back and observing him, talking about his adventures and connections and just…everything. He had told me before that he went everywhere before going to Canada, but I never knew it was this much. Back in the day when things were cheap, he bought plane tickets to Italy and from there took the train to so many other places – Paris, Poland, Belgium, Germany…

He lived off of a few bucks and cheap food, but it was the culture that he embraced so well. He lived in Italy for three years, spent summers in Europe, ate food he never knew of, met people he would’ve never found in Canada or USA. He even snuck across a border in the night with his friends…don’t remember which one. Shit, he made me want to do that one day.

I told him that I always wanted to travel, and I probably developed this love for learning and loving culture from him. He told me these days it’s way too expensive to do what he did, but I could still do some of it…after second year of course. I almost yelled when he said that. He told me planning is the most important thing, as well as being aware of your environment. And being a woman and all, that’s something that was emphasized. He said it twice.

I want to travel the world. Always have. I have this endless love for learning and experience. Being where I am can make you a little closed minded and narrow, but the possibility of getting away opens new doors and unlocks the curiosity in my mind. I'm too excited already as I type this so I'm just gonna stop. Yeah. I'm saving on up right now.

Serenity.

2008-11-04T04:10:00.006-05:00

Glimmer of the sidewalk
Brilliant city lights capturing my mind's eye
Whistling air in the shadows of night
Leaves me, a painted scene
A cloudless sky, a love with me
Wander through the unseen
Secrets with two keys
A marvel of the mind
A Serene Dream

Ramblings

2008-11-04T03:58:00.008-05:00

You know, words and things.

These past few weeks have passed me by so quickly. I’ve got a lofty stack of work to finish up before I can truly relax. I can’t say I’m stressing too much though. I work pretty well under pressure. I haven’t seen my eyelids fall peacefully in a while, but it’s all good.
September to now has been all about me wondering and wandering, trying to find myself in this colossal place called university. I’m still the cool kid that brings lunch to school everyday and listens to music non-stop. But this life, this complex life hasn’t really…stuck with me yet. I’m still not used to it. I don’t even remember my whole schedule. I forget sometimes. I don’t know a lot of people. I’m a raindrop in the puddle. It’s weird. I hardly have any guy friends. VERY weird. I haven’t played a sport yet…now that is some fucked up shit on my part. It’ll change though, I promise. I’m even allowed to leave whenever to wherever for whatever. Yeah, I’ve been on a Maxwell high for like four weeks now. Love that guy.

If you ask me how the life is…high school + heavier workload + more freedom = university life.

Basically. The only skill I’ve learned here thus far is that it’s up to me to figure out what’s important, not to take everything I’m taught and write it down in my mind and on paper. That’s an expertise I won’t let go of. It bugs me how the opposite was the case in high school. What bullshit. But I guess you live and you learn. As they say, things will get better.

I believe, like Q-tip && D.

Nuit Blanche: A Sleepless Night of the Crazy and the Beautiful

2008-10-05T16:10:00.007-04:00

Downtown is the crux of the city. It pumps red wonder through the veins of the unknowing, and blue excitement through the veins of the familiar. It’s always overflowing with amigos and strangers, brothers and bastards, soul mates and sluts; the whole works. I call it a maze for people who want to see the sights and discover the culture. Whenever I go downtown, which is often because my university is there, I love seeing things I’ve never noticed before. At dusk, it’s an especially exciting scene walking towards Yonge and Dundas and seeing a bunch of people crossing at the all way intersection. I love that intersection by the way. Greatest thing to happen in a while.

My friend and I attended Nuit Blanche, which is an all-night art experience all over Downtown. From bridges to buildings to malls to alleyways, art invaded Downtown like an unwanted guest, except this was a very wanted guest. It was fascinating and mesmerizing, overwhelming and breathtaking all at the same time. The thought that these creators put into the art pieces was just…inspiring. The artistry was spectacular. The Waterfall, The Time-Piece, The Art Gallery of Ontario, and the OCAD building are all examples of it. Each one carried a sense of individuality about them of course, but they also shared imagination, and its grave importance. Mad respect.

The whole night, in the back of my crammed brain, I was wishing that I could inspire someone through my art, my words, and my voice. Be creative. I try my best to be.

Let's go to sleep in Paris...

2008-09-22T17:41:00.006-04:00

The Remix. FINALLY. Check it out.

PARIS, TOKYO REMIX
Lupe Fiasco ft Pharrell, Q-Tip, and Sarah Green

Bonus: Paris Tokyo Jazz Mix

September 13. The Wonder.

2008-09-13T23:49:00.010-04:00

You had passed away long ago, long before I knew your name and could speak it. You were a blurry sketch to me. I had to figure you out - research you and learn about you. I asked myself why people praised you the way they did. I had to find you. I remember listening to your words on your CDs, wondering about you – your life, your kin, the things you said. You wrote lovely poems. In The Depths of Solitude was my favorite. Still is. I felt just like you at times. I felt alone, always trying to find myself. I know what it was like; trying to be accepted by everyone, trying to please everyone. I know. Even in your songs, I could feel your voice in my heart. Until the End of Time. Do for Love. Changes. I Get Around, ha-ha. The things you said. They spoke to me. I watched one of your speeches once. 1992 speech, I think. I was in a daze watching it because I knew you meant what you said. I felt you. You truly wanted to change the world, change the system. You wanted to help your people build a better life and a better future. You weren’t like other artists. You were one of a kind. Yet lingering under the surface of these inspirational words was a dark deathly side of you. Maybe you were addicted to it, I’m unsure. But the things you said. I wondered about them and I didn’t understand. I didn’t understand why you spewed such slighting slurs at the same people you wanted to help and change. I didn’t get it. Why would you do that? The shady side of you was emerging more and more as time passed. It was angering me. You said ugly words. You fought foul fights. There was only so much you could handle, I know. You were always in the spotlight. Someone was always praising you. And someone was always criticizing you. But your actions angered me, so much that I almost hated you for them. You were acting brainless. The things you said. It was beyond me how you had the guts to say them. All the talent and intellect a young man like you had was slowly going down the drain. It angered me. Convictions swallowed your whole life. In my heart though, I knew you were a lost soul wandering on the streets and stages worldwide trying to find yourself. When it hit me that you had already passed long ago, I was sad, living the life of a fan in '96. I just asked myself why you had to go so soon. It was too soon. I wasn’t ready and neither was the world. I still haven’t accepted it. To me, your presence lives on. You became a beautiful yet staggering painting. You touched my life in ways I never knew possible. I thank you for that. Sometimes I wonder about whom you would’ve been and what you would’ve been doing today. I miss you a lot, a whole lot. I’ve shed tears just thinking about you. It’s just not the same without you. But I still hope that you’ve found yourself and peace within.

Love always.

Sexy Swagger.

2008-09-12T23:09:00.008-04:00

Lance Gross is too fine.

via theybf.com

A Taste of the T.

2008-09-10T22:20:00.006-04:00

Beautifully edited video. LOVELY. The words he used to describe Toronto hold a universe of truth. I was at this event (Parade && Picnic) and it was exciting, exhilerating, and one of the best experiences I've ever had. I think I saw myself for half a second...I think.

Big ups to Scarborough

via Nahright

Funny Shit.

2008-09-10T22:13:00.003-04:00

I came across this by luck. I guarentee a laugh. After watching this, my stomach was airless and my eyes were anything but tearless.

Sleepy Nights

2008-09-07T06:36:00.002-04:00

Brimming bags of sleep
Dwelling underneath my eyes
An unending dream

Abstrakt.

2008-09-07T06:21:00.003-04:00

WASSILY KANDINSKY Yellow, Red, Blue

I like it.

Janita

2008-09-07T06:12:00.010-04:00

Angel Eyes - Janita

Let Me Love You - Janita

http://www.myspace.com/janitaartist

Born Once More

2008-09-07T05:36:00.008-04:00

I had my first day of university. I was scared, nervous, excited, happy, cheerless, worried, weary, bamboozled, energized and fired up. I walked up to the university on my own. There was no one to hold my hand and comfort me, to tell me everything will be ok. There were no tears this time. There was no turning back, because God knows I’m not taking another hour long ride on a subway full of surprises and delays when I woke up this early. For the first time in my life, I am attending a school with no reputation, no status, no name, no face. Nothing. I’m label-free, baby. It’s weird, but I get to be me.

CRM 100
I walked towards my first class of the day, 9:50 AM, with a bagel with cream cheese in one hand and a tottering French vanilla in the other. I believe…that I spilled at least 25 cents of it. Clumsy ol’ me. I was looking adamantly for the building that held my class. It was like reading one of those “Where’s Waldo?” books or playing a tricky ass game of eye spy. It was like this all day, despite only having one lecture and two labs. After 4 whole centuries, I found the building. The classroom was easy to find, to my surprise. I walked in only to see most of the seats filled. I thought I was early. It’s 9:50 dammit. I stood still for a split second to stumble on a familiar face. I scanned and I scanned. Not one friend. Not one familiar. I made my way to the top of the classroom. It was almost like I was tip-toeing because I was unknown to everyone. No one saw me. In their diversely colored eyes, was just another classmate, just another black person, just another dumb motherfucker, just another bitch, just another lovely girl. I sat down and got out my green binder and lucky pen. I was ready.

The professor walked in and introduced himself as a man who is curious about law and crime. He looked relatively young and seemed down with the OPP. The words out of his mouth floated in and out of fresh and filthy ears. He introduced the course, made some funny jokes and sparked discussion about touchy topics such as racial profiling. As he did, I kept my lips together. I wanted to hear my fellow classmates and see their characters come to life before they saw mine. It gives me a feel of my competition. After all, we all want the best grade. Yet, the discussion intrigued me to the tenth degree. The topics were brought up through questions, but the people made the topics. There were small debates left, right and centre. I knew I was going to love this class. While listening to the opinionated and the ‘like’ word abusers with my ears, I inspected the room with my eyes: blonde chick in the high-waisted jeans with the Starbucks cup, definitely a fashionista; tall, dark and handsome on my left; Red haired girl in the t-shirt and jeans, laid back like a lazy boy chair; skinny guy with the glasses and purple tee, one word for him: nerd. I bet he reads comic books.
As the class came to an end, I was joyful. On top of having one less lab today, I was excited for what was to come in the future, whether it was new friends, new foes or new debates. I was joyful.

LUNCH
Lunch time hit me at 12. When I exited the building, there was a block party going on. Booths and free stuff – what more could you ask for? I made my way down the street, picking up pens, water bottles, popcorn, gum, shirts, key chains, lanyards, and anything else that was free of charge. With no familiar faces in sight, I went to a restaurant called Chipotle Mexican Grill with, you guessed it, a coupon. One free burrito for me. As I was ordering my food, I watched the lady stack it up in the tortilla – chicken, lime rice, black beans, tomatoes, cheese, guacamole, and some spicy sauce. I sat on the lipstick red stool, facing the window where people walking on the other side. It was fascinating to see different people doing different things – talking on their cell phones, listening to their mp3 players, and even staring at me. I must be stunning even while chewing a burrito. I finished eating with time to spare before my next class. I left the place and walked around like a tourist, taking in the impure air and admiring the big flashy signs. I wandered about for almost an hour, watching the mass amount of people crossing the streets, buying hot dogs from the vendors, refusing pamphlets, accepting honey bunches of oats boxes and admiring the street artists. The old lady with the bad fashion sense was near the mall again, holding that sign of hers – “God will save us” or something like that. Even that pro-black guy was there, talking people to death about fighting the power that wanted to go grab some grub. I glanced at my watch. Time to go.

SOC 105
I show up to the door of the room. 5 people are standing outside, chatting away as if they were about to skip class. I was wondering why people were standing outside, despite the door being unlocked and unclosed. I would’ve asked…but I didn’t want to interrupt the conversation. So I did what anyone else would do – I walked in the classroom. I sat myself down near the front so that this time I would be able to see the teacher and hear their voice well. A minute after I walked in, the rest followed. They sat down and got out their notebooks like responsible students. I talked to this one girl in front of me, asking her why everyone was standing outside. She told me she had no idea either, and we laughed it up for a moment, a short-lived moment. After that, we exchanged no words. My eyes exchanged looks with the back of her head though. 10 minutes go by and the prof has not shown up. I was sitting in amazement how late this prof was. It’s university! At least send out a notification because one of the laptop abusers would check it out. 5 more minutes go by and we all start to discuss this problem. We come to the conclusion that because it was a lab and the first day of classes, there wouldn’t be a class, hence the teacher being absent. I felt dumb for a moment, a short lived moment. I took my stuff, stuffed it in my bag, and walked out with the entire class. What a waste.

HOME TIME
I hopped the train and took a journey home. My first day, was an okay day. I met a few people, saw a few places and enjoyed my world of wonder and amazement, the Ryerson University experience.

Jazz Café Experience

2008-08-23T03:09:00.015-04:00

Surrounded by swirling smoke in the jazz cafe, I was sitting down, tapping my fingers to the lingering sound of a tune. Couples around me were holding hands like sly foxes under the round tables, kissing keenly, like the sky does the moon. Empty seats and lonesome folk were sitting as one, with scented candles burning with zeal. Strangers and friends mingled, lounging on the divan. I was focused, gazing at the starry spotlight on the woman onstage. She was singing the blues, freeing them from her soul with every gloomy note. Her voice was almost haunting, sending chills throughout my body. The band played slowly, with the music leading the way. Taking a drag of my last cig, blowing smoke rings that travelled across the room, I closed my eyes and swayed my body, left and right to the melody, digging into my thoughts and untamed imagination.

A bluesy dream, it was; the sound of the barry soothing me. I was floating on air, flying high through the smoke. I was lost in the music, lost in the moment. A heavy crowd of colours emerged; blues, reds and purples, chatting away like a soft breeze. A figure, faded like a black sketch loomed; all rubbed out and messy, but redrawn as it neared… It has bold outlines and faultless features – teasing me to insanity. This handsome painting whispered into my ear sweet nothings, sweeter than the sweetest honey. When I unclosed my eyes and took a look around, I smiled, bit my lip and guzzled my drink down. I just sat there and smoked my ciggy dry and tasteless. Tapping my fingers to the lingering sound of a tune, I let the nocturne of the keys make its mark in my mind.

(No folks, I don't smoke lmao this one isn't about me)

Lightning Bolt Strikes Gold too…Cheerfully?

2008-08-22T03:06:00.008-04:00

“And he’s done it! He’s done it! I cannot believe my eyes! Wow! Amazing!”

He looks to his left. He looks to his right. He knows. He knows. He beats on his chest. As he crosses the finish line with ease, he spreads his lengthy arms like wings and flies across the track. He celebrates with a smile and a handful of dances. He’s broken the world record. 9.69. The fastest man in the world. Number one. Who, you ask? Usain Bolt.

This young, now 22-year old, Jamaican sprinter has a future ahead of him brighter than the biggest star. I was in absolute awe for two days straight. Usain Bolt, 9.69 seconds, 100 M? It was mind-boggling to me. It still is. He is definitely the highlight of the Olympics. Usain is a relaxed and fun-loving guy who knows that he’s a damn good sprinter. Yet I tune into my daily dose of the Olympics while I’m enjoying my breakfast and I hear some breaking news - Jacques Rogge, president of the International Olympic Committee believes that Bolt showed a lack of respect for his rivals by celebrating too early.

"I think he should show more respect, shake hands, give a tap on the shoulder to the other ones. Not making gestures like the one he made in the 100 metres,” Rogge said on Thursday. “He still has to mature. I would love him to show more respect to his competitors. He should learn that he should shake hands with competitors." - Link

Is this guy serious? Showboating is embedded in sports like a heart is in one’s body. When you score a goal, make a sick pass, cross someone to the point where they fall, of course you want to celebrate! It’s a great feeling. You cannot deny that nor can you deny how they’re expressed. And when there are far more serious controversies to deal with, such as the age of the Chinese gymnasts, this man wants to cry and whine about a little celebration. Usain is overwhelmed with joy and Rogue expects him to shake hands? Bullshit. He hugged some people, and to me that’s good enough. It’s not as if he put up his middle finger, turned around and starting running backwards, saying “Catch up niggas! FUCK YOU!” It’s not as if he did not acknowledge the other sprinters. He was as modest as he could be. Many athletes have been “showboating”. Just yesterday, during the 50k walk, the first place man from Italy was waving to the crowd, pumping his fists in the air. Volleyball players run around and yell at the top of their lungs every time they make the other team cough with their sick plays. If Usain had showed no emotion at all, there would be an even bigger whine from that rogue, calling him stuck-up and rude. Give me a break. With such a great accomplishment for Jamaica, a country full of sprinters that hardly make the podium, there is absolutely no reason to criticize a young man who celebrates his success. It’s not that serious folks. You know what’s really serious? Doping. That’s some serious shit.

Snowy Sunday

2008-08-19T20:22:00.008-04:00

Snowflakes awake on a Sunday sunrise,
Swirling in the vivid sky,
dancing to the rhythm of peace,
Until they fall asleep ever so softly on the sill,
Silent and serenely.

I watch them in naive wonder
as they form a lovely painting;
Beds of purity lay upon naked nature,

streams of water are hidden under rinks of gleaming ice.

Snowflakes dance to the rhythm of peace.

As the sun glimmers,

I blow a kiss to my window, concealing this scene with a cloud of air
And draw a heart for the sleeping snow.
This snowy Sunday,

a winter bliss,

my favourite day.

Bored beyond bright && broad borders

2008-08-19T04:02:00.011-04:00

When you’re incredibly bored as I am, you just ramble on about random things, wandering about in the world of words, jumping from subject to subject like you’re jumping rope (Double-dutch is still the shit by the way), and trying to become interesting and more interested in something or someone. But on the plus side, that’s probably when the best work crawls out of its shell and makes itself known in my mind. Inspiration hits me in the most awkward moments, like when I’m drinking my daily OJ. Then BAM! I have a story. It’s crazy. My persona is just random and on that WTF level of a higher power that is just works. Everything just works. But for now it’s back to your regularly scheduled boredom – in the early morning.

August 19th. Year 2008. The sun left the sky to smile in the east, leaving the shady moon behind. It reminds me of a ruined marriage, you know, the ones where the man avoids his wife and eventually leaves her…for a white girl.

2:15 am. I’m drooping down in my seat further than my bottom lip. I feel like just descending all the way down to the crimson carpet beneath me and falling asleep once and for all. Not to die, for you literal folk, but just … to let go, you know? The Olympics have been wearing me out. Yeah, yeah, it’s low and vile what China has been doing to Tibet. At this point in time, you’d think we as one world would learn by now. But noooo. Everyone wants to enslave each other’s minds and paralyze the rights and freedoms of every human being…and steal pencil crayons. Everybody wants to scrap and struggle with the next man who looks at them funny, even if they just have a lazy eye. Everyone wants to have that control, that power that makes people bow down and kiss one’s dirty feet. BUT, at the end of the day, The Olympics are the event to watch. People just forget about the troubles and enjoy the show. It’s exciting! Exhilarating! Electrifying! It’s been my life since 08/08/08. What a lucky day, eh? The 100 meter dash, 4x1relay, gymnastics, triathlon and the list goes on. Tibet what? Who? Where?

Under my eyes, bags of Z’s have made their impact. I should lie down in my bed and let my eyelids do the falling. I should at least try, put my imagination at ease. That thing is wild. But I’m one of those people who stay up for absolutely no reason. I’ll be finished the day’s tasks and be sitting down, changing channels even though there’s nothing on. I’ll be listening to songs I’ve listened to more times than a millie. I deal with my boredom that way – by writing and jamming. It’s just how I do.

I wonder a lot, you know? I was always one of those kids who asked “Why?” too much, the semi-annoying, Stewie like tall girl. I used to gaze outside windows, mostly on rainy days until the sun went down. The sound of the pitter-patter of the raindrops was so soothing. The rain would slither down the window, making a silent stream. I’d grasp its serenity with a firm grip and get in that zone of mine, thinking about anything – books, people, twister, Power Rangers, life. It was fulfilling for me to create pictures and stories in my mind from just about anything. Silence would swallow my surroundings and I’d be rapt in the climax of my story, the splendor of my picture. What can I say, I’m a curious person. My imagination runs wild. One day, I’m meeting someone from my past, the next day I’m narrating in third person with the most exquisite words, running from people with machine guns. Is that weird?

Don't answer that.

Villain of the Midnight

2008-07-23T00:26:00.015-04:00

Lure her on a wounded leash
To a dark space in the mind
Take control her peace; feed her a spoonful of lies
Suck the life out of her eyes with an evil ablaze
Take away her last breath, her last tear; make her crave
Dig the hole that is her grave
And write a letter for my lover
“She’ll be back after never
And you’ve blown your stupid cover”
Make her suffer to the ceiling
Make her slam down to the floor
Make her feel no feeling
Make her living no more
Hide her body under the surface
Under the grime where it stays for a reason
If only he were cheating
Then her demise would be needed...

When Sunny Gets Blue . . .

2008-07-14T09:02:00.025-04:00

Joanie Sommers - When Sunny Gets Blue -

Sunrise seethe (fancy fancy, eh?)

2008-07-14T08:57:00.003-04:00

My book’s overdue…4 days. I should’ve returned it without ado but fuck that. It’s not that important, right? I owe what, like 45 cents? That’s my entire piggy bank gone. Damn. All those pennies…

“She ain’t got no money in the bank…”

They won’t track me down though. It’s not like I have overdue taxes for the government to enjoy waiting on, shit.

So it’s 6:30 am, and I’m one pissed cookie.

Since yesterday, I sketched out a plan in my mind to run in the morning, 6 am sharp knives. 6 am rolled out of bed with me, and I was getting ready – black tee and tights, messy hair, stank breath and I was red’ to go. I opened the brown door and stepped into my world of focus. I was a dazzling day – light blue skies with stratus clouds, lively trees with tiny birds chirping away, the weightless wind singing a jazz tune. I was walking to run. I took my first running steps, and I could feel a twinge in my knee. My knee felt out of place. When I looked down, I saw why – I forgot my knee brace. While saying a compound of cuss words to myself, I went up the stairs slowly, and got that stupid thing. I went back into my now awry world, and attempted to bring my sketch to life - So much for that. My knee still hurt with every little step I took. Sucks, right? I know. I hung my head low and went inside. Still cussing, I was still glad. I woke up early for once. In my book, that’s a huge accomplishment.

Wait for Her . . .

2008-07-11T17:57:00.004-04:00

I long for her. I lust for her brown sugar voice to escape her full lips, one crystal at a time, once again. I miss her.

When nightfall struck us deeply one day, she was in my arms. She was motionless, sleeping peacefully. I was smiling at her closed eyes, stroking her dark hair back. I slept with her. The next day, when sunset made its grand entrance, I awoke with happiness. I rolled over to my left in the white heavenly sheets to share it. She was gone. She was gone. Empty closets and drawers swallowed my now vulnerable mind. I didn’t remember the last time I blinked. I called for her name, no response. I checked the bathroom, the main room, the hallway, everywhere. She was unseen, lost and not to be found. She didn’t leave a note. She didn’t leave a number. She didn’t leave a sign. She left me. I sat down on those white heavenly sheets, and held my head lower than a bottomless pit. She left me.

Everyday, I look optimistically outside those lucid windows of mine. I view the blossoming flowers, their petals floating through the air; the trees slow dance with the wind; the seemingly static soft clouds; and the people, a motley of colours, shapes and sizes. But I never see her. I never see her. I play her favourite song on the piano, a nocturne it is. I play it for her everyday louder than a thunder strike. But she never hears it.
I’ll forever play the song, waiting for her to come back to me.

Mission X

2008-07-11T01:44:00.004-04:00

The human race lives unconsciously under his roaring red eyes, burning for a chance to escape his watch. They live a thousand deaths under his turmoil of tyranny and between the four corners of the planet. Fear has taken the place of their souls. They do not think. They do not wonder. They do not see. They do not speak. They are masked machines of silence. They do not question, ever. Questions lead to false answers, which lead to the pathway of torture and demise. They report to the command center for the daily inspection of their thoughts. Thoughts are only thoughts if they are of his wisdom. The consequence of ill thoughts is one’s end. The populace does not dare resist his army of men for fear of the black bag. They do not dare resist his word. His word is always right.

My name is X-42. I am a mole. His word has made me seek places of escape for I am against it. I have to change locations recurrently to conceal myself. I trust nothing or no one. I disguise myself differently day by day. By nightfall, I am on a mission. It is a mission to change the eyes and minds of my people; a mission to end the downstream of life. I plan to destroy the command centre by 2300 hours tonight. I want to send a message of challenge to him, and a message of change to them, the people.

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow . . .

2008-07-01T00:48:00.007-04:00

1:02 am.

Tick tock the clock goes. Every stroke of the hasty hand of seconds strikes my ears stridently to my demise. It’s like I’m brainsick. The sound clutters my mind like a cloudy thought; a romantic dream; a crooked nightmare.
Typing away, I am, pressing these dark and dirty keys one at a time, relentlessly, like my life depended on it. Yet, it’s all meaningless. Empty words and faceless phrases attack the computer screen with pleasure. I’m trying to think of an idea to embellish with captivating language sprinkled with a touch of the abstract. Something to write – a poem, a prose…anything. Thinking, thinking, thinking. I listen closely to the swirls of air dancing, the silence wandering the room like a stranger; It's soothing...but no ideas, nothing. Fuck. My eyes are starting to mound with sleeping bags. I can feel my eyelids trying to hold on to each other for more than just a swift second. Widening my eyes isn’t helping much. It’s just making me look crazier than I do. Remember kids, images are crazier than they appear. Sounds crawling through the speakers are the only thing keeping me awake...but not for long.
THINK JEAN, THINK! THINK! I’m pounding my head for an idea to surface. I’m scratching my neck for inspiration to slither out of my veins. My eyes are drifting away from the screen to spot an idea on the shadow-ridden walls of this apartment; stacks of papers, black pens, flowery curtains, burnt out batteries…nothing. This is more bullshit than FOX news. My imagination is lifeless, like the broken printer in front of me. Stupid printer - couldn’t print a resume when I fucking needed it.

Chapstick

2008-06-01T01:40:00.007-04:00

Moves across my lips

Cherry flavoured ecstasy

...

Who wants to kiss me?

F L a w s .

2008-06-01T01:26:00.004-04:00

Strip. Take it all off.
Naked chocolate skin
Undressed bare body
Natural beauty, blooming
Breathing life into flawless imperfections
Embrace them. Feel them. Like them. Love them.
Stare. Watch me
Take over the world
With my perfect flaws and all

Return of the writtens.

2008-06-01T01:13:00.000-04:00

I’ve been on a writing lull for a long time. I don’t know what it is, but I just haven’t had any inspiration hit my ‘packed full of luggage’ mind. I’m fresh out of snazzy ideas and random thoughts. I’ve been attempting to write, for sure. I’ve been wasting more paper than all of Canada. The ink in two of my pens has departed too. But nothing has come out. I’m a night person regardless of my ‘invisible’ skin colour when it comes to writing. When I’m drunk on wakefulness, I write my best work. It’s unbelievable, I know. I’m a super human being. But I have never been on writer’s block for so long. Maybe I’m just being lazy. I haven’t a clue. Writer’s block is a bitch.

[ Love + Laces ]

2008-01-31T16:33:00.000-05:00

Old Works

2008-01-31T15:30:00.002-05:00

...My mind just undressed/
My common sense senses itself being laid to rest/
This naked intellect, wandered by imagination/
A dark sensationJust made its entrance..
--------------------------------------------
» J a d e D.

So jaded is how she left me.
Those words, locked up in my head,
serving their sentence behind the bars I created.
It felt like I died before I lived,
got in a casket before a bed,
got hurt before I was loved...
My soul, empty. My heart constricted.
I want to forget those incorrect words,
but my mind won't let me.
When she let those words roll off her lips,
I let my tears roll down my cheeks.
There was a silence between us - my eyes dilated.
I felt like the sky had fallen on top of me.
Gravity crushed my body too early.
My breath could not escape my lips.
Jaded, was how I was left.
-----------------------------------------------------

Wandering Soul

I'm just a wandering soul
drowning in my own blue stream
looking for a place
rather than the one in my dreams...

I'm just a wandering soul
silence makes me smile
darkness covers my shadow
as I walk the long mile.

I'm just a wandering soul
with no place to go
and an ache in my chest
'cause my heart's on the floor.

Old Works

2008-01-31T15:27:00.000-05:00

Just thinkin'
- 'Bout my own mind, and how it's like a film strip
Just flippen through each still picture, then stoppin at one in paticular,
Perpindicular, are the lines of an X, similar, to X on ma chest

Just thinkin'
- 'Bout the people that I know, and how they have nothing to show,
But somethin to hide, and why, I deal with them? I don't know,
Just the flow of the whole world makes me wonder, why do I
do the things I do, just to be cool and show that I am no fool?

Just thinkin'
- Bout the things that I see, and how the homeless on the street,
Have nothin' to eat, the crackheads walkin clumsily, and the children
gettin abused, used, and bein confused, bout what to do, choices to make
will either build or break you down underground, to your grave...

Just thinkin'
- Bout beauty, and how it has many definitions, people reminiscin, sayin size zeros
are the best, but you know, beauty doesn't show, unless you know, who you are, look in the mirror, know that you a star

Just thinkin'
- Bout love and what it really means, and how I'm lookin' to love someone and for someone
to love me, for who I am and who I is, sticks and stones break your bones...and words will always
stick with you, in your mind, and once they're in, you'll completely forget about time..

Just thinkin'
- Bout the black folk these days, and how the ways of our kind, has turned back time, a whole lot, just the thought of the word "nigga" kills me inside, because I'm tryna rise to the top and these flip flop blacks tryna act, tough, droppin outta school, breaken all the rules...then it's complaints about racism and critism..but it doesn't makes sense because your intuitions of your decisions are your own fault or success..

Just thinkin'
- Bout the gurls these days, tryna dress older than their age, without a page in their mind of what to do and how to do it...it's unprotected sex and parents gettin' vex over baby mamas bein 13, 14, and even 15...Gurls havin abortions, havin gurl fights, Looken for a boy to say "Damn" in da middle of the night...We gettin abducted, killed, raped, and murdered, and all you can say is "It'll never happen to me." Gurl please.

Just thinken
- Bout how to end this poem, it's been a long one, been a long day, and by the way...i enjoyed ya precense cuz time is of the essence...but promise me one thing...Visit my site again, and tell ya friends, cuz signen the Guest book aint nothin but a G thang

Old Works

2008-01-31T15:02:00.000-05:00

Beautiful Dancer

Lyrics move her lyrically

Leaping lovely across the stage with ease

Turns and twirls,

Enchanting the eyes of her world.

She moves her body,

Sinuously,

Like poems of cursive writing,

A dream of beauty.

She spread her soul in the sky

Passionate flying

Her eyes as the stars

Dancing,

Like there's no life tommorow.

A beautiful dancer,

A song in disguise,

A woman with soul,

A real fantasy.

---------------------------------------------

There once was a girl from Peru

who was walking around with the flu

She coughed and she sneezed

all her boogers on me

and my friend said "Jean, why so blue?"
----------------------------------------------

My Smile

I carry my smile wherever I go

Inside my pocket, where it won't show

I wear it when I see my friends

Straighten it out when I see my foes

Flip it upside down when I'm drowning

in my tears, my smile is no more.

When I see that special someone, I stretch the ends, 4 by 7

So that he'll notice me and answer me like a question

I wear it in class when I'm doing my work

But hide it if the teacher starts to lurk

My smile and I, we are close for sure

We share good food, jokes, and words

I take good care of my smile and it takes care of me

Give it whatever it needs

I don't want to end up

with chapped lips and bad teeth

It helps me laugh and feel happy

even in pictures, I wear it and say CHEESE!

My smile's like my best friend

Funny and lovely,

A star that lights up in the sky above me =]

Old Works

2008-01-31T14:59:00.000-05:00

iM A FiEND..

iT`s DELiCi0US,
iT'`s ADDiCTiVE T0 SAY THA LEAST
iT C0VERS MY DREAMS,
SATiSFiES ME..
CANDY KiSSES KiSSiN MY T0NGUE,
MELTiN iN MY M0UTH,
CARAMEL-FiLLED CENTRE,
i WAS W0N.
DARK, BR0WN, && WHiTE,
SWEET && BiTTER FLAV0URS,
i SAV0UR EVERY M0MENT
ALWAYS.
CHEWiN iS A ¢¾HEART BREAKER,
JELLY IS A MYSTERY
HiDiN LiKE SECRETS,
BUT i LiKE iT BETTER F0R THA EYES N0T T0 SEE iT..
iT`s A FETiSH i RELiSH F0R,
TH0SE C0NFECTiONS..
TRUFFLES AND PEANUTS,
STRAWBERRiES DiPPED in HEAVEN
PARADiSE,
i L0NG F0R,
AND iM N0T PREPARED TO WAiT,
iM CH0C0LATE'S BiGGEST L0VER,
i`LL DiSC0VER, UNC0VER ALL..
iT`s LAYERS AND TASTES.

A Rainy Night

2008-01-25T10:28:00.000-05:00

Click Pic for My Magnum Opus

MARS

2008-01-19T17:49:00.000-05:00

Mars is the best. Shit, it’s cooler than Earth.

I’ve always wanted to go to Mars – live on it, breathe on it. It’s been a dream of mine since I was a young dreamer. I used to just sit. I would sit and dream about it – while holding a novel in my hands. My eyes would just focus on the dirty school ceiling without a tear or a blink. Wonder was my playmate. Kids would interrupt me with their snot-ridden fingers in my face, but it was ok. I knew where I left off. Besides, it’s on my “2 million and a half things to do before I turn 30 or maybe 40 or even before I die” list.
I don’t know why I’ve always wanted to go. Maybe it was the mystery atmosphere surrounding it, or maybe I was just…weird. Maybe it was the TV or the radio. Maybe it was the way I would look up in the sky at night and search for it. It could’ve been the alien dude that was banging on my head with his brainless soaring saucer. I don’t know. I wish I did though.

Mars is just…cool.

Mars chronicles to be continued…

Society’s loveable words of wisdom… (Journal)

2008-01-19T17:40:00.000-05:00

ter•ror•ist (tĕr'ər-ĭst)
n.
A Muslim man who hates America with an ardor ablaze. He’s willing to trade its death and destruction for his life; a martyr. He has scornful eyes and a haunting grin – a devil in disguise. His name angers the fearless. His shabby beard attracts the fearful. No one knows when he’ll strike. People run away when he enters public places. He’s always clasping a black bag. “He’s got a bomb!” They bellow in their minds.Insurgents wander in the masses namelessly. They await his signal. They await their calling. They await their fate.
adj.
Of or relating to Muslims

gang•ster (găng'stər)

n.
A young black male who roams the streets at night. He wears baggy blue jeans with a t-shirt the size of the world. His fitted cap masks his lonely eyes. His favorite color is black. His deadbeat dad disappears like time. His mother is always yelling. He doesn’t go to school – it’s for suckers. He doesn’t go home – it’s for nobody. Only his boys understand him. The rest of the world – fuck the rest of the world.
A member of a gang; anybody but a white man or a female.

bitch (bĭch)
n.

A person who is afraid to do something.Don’t be a bitch about it – just smoke the damn blunt
“Offensive”
A woman; bodacious, smart, intellectual, blonde, Asian, skinny…Any kind of woman.
A girl; 5 years old, 8 years old, 5th graderApplies to any kind of girl
A female; woman, girl, lady, daughter, mother

hood1 (hʊd)
n.

That place where black people live

hood2 (hʊd)
n.

That thing on the back of your sweater.

nig·ger (nĭg'ər) (or nigga)
n. “Offensive”

1.
a. A black person, mostly referring to a black male
What up, my nigga?!
b. Anybody of any race from any place in the world
“Anybody can be a nigga – white people, black people, Asian people.
We all niggas in a good way” – (Ignorant motherfucker)
c. The opposite of its original meaning

rock·er (rŏk'ər)
n.

1. A white person who listens to rock music. They wear rocker chains with black nail polish. Their faces are splashed with heavy black make-up. Their hair looks like sharp metal. Dark colors make them happy.

white (hwīt, wīt)
n.

1. A colorless square
2. A person with skin resembling a peach crayon who pronounces every single letter in any and every word. Superiority is them, so they fear change. They fear “other” people rising like gas prices. They do activities that no one else would do (ex. Kayaking, jumping off of a cliff, etc.). When there are crazy killers talked about on the tell lie vision, it’s usually them. They’re favored, more loved, and the norm of the world
3. A black intellect that doesn’t fit the stereotype of a black person.

love (lŭv)
n.

1. Hugging, kissing, touching, hurting, slapping, smacking, throwing, killing…
2. Buying a diamond for your wife; buying your kids Nintendo DSs
3. A nice feeling

dirt·y (dûr'tē)
adj., -i·er, -i·est.

Wearing the same skinny jeans on two consecutive days

A, B, C... (Journal)

2008-01-19T17:38:00.000-05:00

An amorphous alien appeared at an amazing affair.

Brimful beer bottles burke billions.

Creep, crawl, crunch, cringe, cripple, cease…

Disasters distort dignity deep down dripping drains.

Eerily exasperating eclectic electric eccentric emotions exploring Earth

Fall flames flickered for flowers flowing freely

Grisly gangs grabbed grand guns, gracefully gunning guiltless girls.

Hardy Harry hammered holes, hitting home hallways.

Imagine imagination inertia in ice igloos; incognito idea in intellect

Jagged jewelry jaws just jabber jaded jocks

Keen killers know keys, keeping kip kits

Ladies lost love letters like ludicrous liars lose light

Melodious music makes me mitigate my mindless mind

New nostalgia never nears naked night noise

Obscene or orthodox; ordinary or odd

Pierced promises pollute psychic painted pictures

Quaint quasars question quiet queens

Raging rebels revolutionize ridiculously ravaged radio

Shameless souls stray shanty streets so shady

Trail the tick tocks time throws thematically throughout the term

Unwind under unusually umber umbrellas

Virtuous vessels vacate venomous vipers voraciously vibrating

Windy weather whistles wars without words, wars with wrath

Xenophobic Xanthippe x-rays xylophones

Your yucky Youtube yearnings yesterday yoke you yourself yearly

Zero zealous zookeepers zest zigzag zebras

[B]lack Hole

2008-01-13T21:50:00.000-05:00

Plunge into an abyss

No escape

Stretched by oblivion
I feel my body leaving me
Time slowing down swiftly

Tick…
Tock…

The torturous twinge tears me in two

Every inch inches away,
every chip chips away

Life’s lives on outside of me

(This is one of those "don't ask me what it means" poems)

Narrative to Script

2008-01-12T04:39:00.001-05:00

A Living Death
Based on the novel
"Jane Eyre" by Charlotte Bronte

By: Laydee_J

Dramatis Personae

Jane Eyre – She is the main character of the script. A young, plain-featured governess who has overcome the most ill-fated advertises by maintaining her morals and her shrewd state of mind. Her fiery character and intellect generate thought-provocation in the minds of others.
Mr. Rochester – He is Jane’s master at a manor called Thornfield. As an affluent man hiding a sinister secret, Mr. Rochester gives the impression of an impetuous tomfool who has not a care in the world. But when he is with Jane, he is the complete opposite.
Bertha Mason – Bertha was a beautiful and prosperous Creole woman. Now she’s an insane and violent fiend with no psyche to call her own. She’s a secret in a secret room guarded by her keeper – and her husband.
Sophie – She is a French nurse at Thornfield for a little child who stays there as well.
Grace Poole – Grace is Bertha Mason’s keeper. Her drunken antics and negligence choke the safety of the residents of Thornfield.

Act I Scene II

The wind whistles and the fall leaves flow with the rhythm in the eyes of the lustrous moon. Dusk has fallen on Thornfield gracefully. Jane Eyre restlessly awaits the return of her love, Mr. Rochester, who has left for the evening. Tomorrow, he will no longer be her love – he will be her husband. She waits in her chamber, a small modern style room with papered walls and a carpeted floor. She is feeling an array of emotions. It is almost like a fantasy to her. She was only the plain, soft spoken governess just a few months ago. That was all anyone thought of her to be. And now, she has found someone who loves her for her – Mr. Rochester; hard on the outside and soft on the inside. The bed is beside the slightly opened window opposite the creaky closet. The oak dresser is on the other side of the bed against the wall, where her white wedding dress lays. It’s facing the door. The blue chintz window curtains are blowing softly with the wind. The lamp near her door is breathing light into the room. Jane is sitting anxiously on her petit bed in her nightgown with Sophie, the French nurse. She has a small box in her hand. They are having a small talk about the wedding.

SLOW FADE IN FROM A LOW ANGLE:
There is a voice over of both Jane Eyre’s and Sophie’s voices. It is muffled. The camera slowly moves up until the entire room is visible. The camera zooms in on them sitting on the bed cross-legged. It stops when both their bodies and the bed fill the screen. Now, we can clearly hear their voices. The gust of wind and rustling leaves from outside can be heard.

JANE
(Strong voice)
(In French) The box that you are holding (points to it) – what is inside of it?

SOPHIE
(Medium Shot; Soft spoken, slow, French accent)
(Short Pause) Oh! La boîte! La boite! Eh…uh…here, opan eet! Opan eet!
(Hands the box to Jane with a smile)

JANE
(Close up of her opening the box)
(Surprised look on her face)
Oh-la-la, c’est tres beau!
(Looks at Sophie)
(Short Pause; In French) From the depths of my soul, (She puts her left hand on her chest) I thank you. A gift is what I have never received in my life nor did I ever expect it. Merci vraiment, Sophie.

(Gust of howling wind)

JANE
(Tries on the veil, looks into the mirror)
(Medium shot of her reflection in the mirror)(Strong voice with a hint of awkwardness)
(In French, Aside to the audience) I saw a veiled figure, so unlike my usual self that it seemed almost the image of a stranger.

SOPHIE
(Close up)
(Soft spoken, slow, French accent)Eh…uh…es-tu…uh…ready?...pour…la …eh…cérémonie de mariage? Meez…eh……uh…Rochestare?

JANE
(Close up)(Looks down shortly, then looks at Sophie)

SOPHIE
(Close up of her looking at Jane)

JANE
(Close up of Jane)
(In French) Jane Rochester…is a person whom as yet I know not. (Long Pause) Mrs. Rochester! She does not exist: she will not be born till to-morrow, some time after eight o'clock a.m.; and I will wait to be assured she comes into the world alive before I assign to her all this property. (Long Pause) How late it grows! I shall go to sleep as Jane Eyre once more. I wait for the new day feverishly (Smiles). Bonne nuit, Sophie.
(Lies down on one side of her bed with the veil on)

(Leaves rustling outside with a gust of wind)

SOPHIE
(Close up of Sophie)
(Gets up off of the bed, medium angle shot of her standing over Jane)
Bonne nuit, Jane Eyre (smiles)
(Close up of her kissing Jane’s cheek and tucking her in)
(Long shot of the room, Sophie exiting it)
(Door closed behind her)

JANE
(Close up)
(Jane’s eyes are closed, she is sleeping)

(Wind howling)
(Long shot of Jane’s room)
(Pause – muffled cackling laugh)

JANE
(Close up of her opening her eyes)
(Close up of her eyes looking left and then right)

(Wind howling)

(She goes back to sleep)
(Screen quickly turns black)

(Black screen - Cackling laugh, even louder than the first time; scratching sound)
(Song instrumental – Put you on the game by Lupe Fiasco)

JANE
(Close up of Jane Eyre’s eyes again)(Long shot)
(She gets up and slowly heads for her door; veil is still on her head)
(Aside to the audience, soft spoken) It was a curious laugh; distinct, formal, mirthless. I stopped: the sound ceased, only for an instant; it began again, louder: for at first, though distinct, it was very low. The laugh was as tragic, as preternatural a laugh as any I ever heard. It passed off in a clamorous peal that seemed to wake an echo in every lonely chamber.

(Medium Shot) Jane opens her chamber door and looks both ways. No one is there but darkness. She slowly walks down the long and matted gallery hallway to her left, following the odd laugh.

JANE
(Medium shot of her walking)
(Soft spoken, Aside to the audience) Very chill and vault- like air pervaded the gallery, suggesting cheerless ideas of space and solitude. The laugh was repeated in its low, syllabic tone, and terminated in an odd murmur. I stopped with the odd murmur. It was in front of a rather tall door. It was not my habit to be disregardful, but I was very curious. I opened the door with caution like a watchman.

(Song stops)

JANE
(Close up of her hands pushing the door open)
(Whisper)
Grace! Grace!

(Medium shot of Grace lying down with a bottle in her hand)

JANE
(Medium shot of her standing at the door)
(Whisper)Grace! Whatever are you doing lying down on the floor…with a bottle in your hand?

(Close up of a dark cage with hands on the bars; Cackling laugh)
(Close up of Bertha’ teeth, smiling)

JANE
(Close up of her entering the room; Close up of her face, shows fear)
(Strong voice)
Who is there? Who is there! Show yourself!

BERTHA
(Monstrous voice; Close up of her face)
Ya ‘appy to see meh, hm? YA ‘APPY TO SEE MEH!
(She punches the bars and yells ferociously)
(Her face is revealed; she has a lit candle to her face)

V.O (Bertha is yelling)

JANE
(Close up of her face, fear)
(Soliloquy) It was a woman - tall and large, with thick and dark hair hanging long down her back. I know not what dress she had on: it was white and straight; but whether gown, sheet, or shroud, I could not tell. I have never seen a face like it! It was a discoloured face—it was a savage face. I wish I could forget the roll of the red eyes and the fearful blackened inflation of the lineaments! The lips were swelled and dark; the brow furrowed: the black eyebrows widely rose over the bloodshot eyes. It reminded me of the foul German specter—the Vampyre.

JANE
(Medium shot of her face, Strong and loud voice)
Who are you? What are you? Why are –

(Interrupted by Bertha)

BERTHA
(Laughs; Deep voice)
Is dat…meh say is dat a vayle ‘pon ya ‘ead?

JANE
(High angle shot of Jane)
(Long Pause, Quivering voice)
Y-y-y-yes, yes it is. Who are you? Tell me…tell me who you are.

BERTHA
(Smiles)
(Deep voice)Move closah to me. Me nuh bite ya
(Laughs). Let me tayke a look closah. Come.

JANE
(Breathing heavily)
(Long pause)
(Superimposition of Jane and Bertha)
Aside to the audience - It was snatching and growling like some strange wild animal, a figure running backwards and forwards.
(Jane slowly moved closer to Bertha)

(Bertha suddenly snatched the veil from Jane’s head; Jane screams)
(Bertha is trying on the veil)
(Instrumental – violins playing)

JANE
(Close up of Bertha)
Aside to the audience (V.O) - She took my veil from its place; she held it up, gazed at it long, and then she threw it over her own head, and turned to the mirror. She removed my veil from its gaunt head, rent it in two parts, and flung both on the floor, trampling on them.

GRACE
(Medium shot of Grace; Slowly gets up, stumbling, intoxicated)
(Inconsistent voice)
He…’ELLLLLLLLLLOOOOOOOOO! IS ANYBAWDY OUT THEEEEEEEEREE?
(Looks at Jane)
I KNNOWWWW YOUUU! YOU’RE—
(Grace falls to the floor towards Bertha’s cage)

(Medium shot of Jane looking at Grace and then looking back at Bertha)

JANE
(Superimposition of Jane and Bertha)
Aside to the audience - Her fiery eyes glared upon me—she thrust up her candle close to my face, and extinguished it under my eyes. I was aware her lurid visage flamed over mine.
(Yelling)My veil! Oh how my day will be ruined. It’s all --

BERTHA
(Close up of Bertha, breathing heavily)
(Intentionally tries to burn Jane but misses)
(Jane steps back)
Dis vayle righ heah spose ta be mine…SPOSE TO BE MINE! I YAM ‘IS WIFE! ME! I YAM! I’M LOCKED UP IN DIS RANCID CAYGE LIKE A BEEST! I YAM NOT STAYIN’ IN ‘ERE NO MORE! HE SAY HE LOVE YAH, HM? HE SAY HE WAN MARRY YA, HM? WELL HE A LIE! HE A LIE! LOOK WHA HE DID TO ME!
(She starts yelling ferociously)

MR ROCHESTER
(Medium shot of him entering the room)
(Yelling)
V.O – BERTHA yelling
Grace! Grace what is – Jane? Jane, my love, what are you doing in this room? It is not safe! Leave now!

JANE
(Close up of her on her knees in the corner. She looks up with tears in her eyes)
(Close up of the veil on the floor)
(Yelling, sad/angry voice)
Who is she? Who is she!

(The yelling has ceased)

MR. ROCHESTER
(Normal speaking voice)
(Close up of his face)
I will tell you after we are married. Come, let us go now.

While Jane and Mr. Rochester are exchanging words, Bertha has grabbed Grace’s key and is about to let herself out of the cage she has been kept in for a long time.

(Song instrumental Pretender by the Foo Fighters)

JANE
(Yelling, crying)
(Medium shot of her getting up)
I want to know NOW! How can I become Jane Rochester with –

(Interrupted by Mr. Rochester)

MR. ROCHESTER
(Close up of Mr. Rochester)
(Breathes in heavily)(Speaks with anger)
THAT is my WIFE — Bertha Antoinette Mason. I now inform you that she is my wife, whom I married fifteen years ago. You shall see what sort of a being I was cheated into espousing, and judge whether or not I had a right to break the compact, and seek sympathy with something at least human. Bertha Mason is mad; and she came of a mad family; idiots and maniacs through three generations? Her mother, the Creole, was both a madwoman and a drunkard!—as I found out after I had wed the daughter: for they were silent on family secrets before. Bertha, like a dutiful child, copied her parent in both points. Jane, I –

(Bertha attacks Mr. Rochester)

BERTHA
(Close up of her yelling, attacks Mr. Rochester)
‘OW DARE YA SAY I’M MAD!

JANE
(Close up of her screaming, yelling)
STOP! STOP! Please!

V.O – Bertha and Mr. Rochester are wrestling.

(Bertha and Mr. Rochester are wrestling; she looks up at Jane, and jumps towards her)
(Close up of Jane yelling)

(Screen abruptly fades to black)

(Long shot of Jane’s room)
(Pause – muffled cackling laugh)

JANE
(Close up of her opening her eyes; waking up abruptly)
(Close up of her eyes looking left and then right)

(Wind howling)

(She feels her head, the veil is still there)
(She goes back to sleep)
(Screen quickly turns black)

Song – Pretender by the Foo Fighters

Songs & Stories

2008-01-10T05:07:00.000-05:00

10 Dollar – M.I.A

TITLE: Lost & Found

BRIEF STORYLINE: An anonymous young girl living a life of poverty in the warfare-stricken country of Mexico flees with her younger sister when her mother and brother are shot dead. As they are running through a heavy wooded forest, they are chased by infidels carrying guns and machetes. They run far enough to lose them, but without proper nourishment, they become very weak. The younger girl’s sister dies. The unknown girl keeps going until she eventually sneaks herself into the U.S.A and starts a new life from death. She befriends 4 prostitutes who teach her the life of the streets – drugs, sex, and money. They teach her what a woman is. They even give her a new identity, a new home and a new name – 17 year old Lala from Los Angeles, California. She lives with them out on the streets and does what they do. She becomes a prostitute. Business is slow because she’s a beginner. But once she starts getting more customers than the whole block, she gets more money. More money for her means more clothes, more happiness, and more freedom. Lala gains a new attitude and swagger. She meets a man who becomes a regular customer, a banker named Mr. Ruse. He falls in love with her but she knows better than to put her feelings first thanks to her “girls”. She digs his pockets and drops him. She moves to a new block and onto another man, Mr. Redrum, a banker from Yorkshire. But when she digs his pockets, he digs her grave.

DESCRIPTIVE OPENING:

It was raining. She was lifeless. It was frigid and freezing. Her body was face down on the sidewalk sewer. Rivers of rain slowly slithered into it. Her midnight curls swallowed her long face. The wind howled a somber song. Blood trickled out of her like a leaky pipe. Thunder roared. Her skirt was lifted above her buttocks, exposing her sodden panties. She was topless. Cars drove by, splashing her almost naked body. Some honked, but never stopped. Mr. Redrum came back to her with a smile. He kicked her head, laughed, and walked into the night. The moon was full. The sky was pitch-black.

OPENING LINES OF DIALOGUE:

Brother: (Shouting from afar) we’re coming!
Mother: (Shouting from afar) get the fire and pot ready!
Younger sister: Can you get --
5 gunshots are fired
Young girl and younger sister scream
Young girl covers younger sister’s mouth
Younger sister: (whisper) what’s happening
Young girl: (whispers) Sssh! Quiet!

Tell Tale Heart (Continuation)

2007-12-21T19:43:00.000-05:00

Cessation of the beating was beyond my reach. I grew rampant – clutching my ears from the chronic clamor! Convulsions took control of me! Louder! Louder! Louder! LOUDER! I must scream or die! I must scream or die!

“I cannot bear the beating of his hideous heart no more! Almighty God, please forgive me for I have sinned! Forgive me!”

I was possessed by tumult. My wide eyes were met by the vacant eyes of the officers and their scrutiny of me. Their look was similar to your thoughts, reader; Taking my heightened sense for madness!

“You dare not say I am a mad man! I exclaimed vehemently. “Under those three planks lies the source of the sound! There! There!”

The officers looked at each other, puzzled. Yet, they approached the planks steadily. As they got closer, the beating grew haunting and more intense. My hands, my dead hands were placed heavily on my head. Oh God it ached! It ached very much; agonizing beyond my own words.

“Do you hear not that horrible sound? It is unbearable I say!"

They (officers) carried on with their inquiry. One officer removed the first plank. I could not swallow the anxiety. I paced, and I paced, and I paced. I looked out the window into pitch blackness, only to see a shadowy figure walk past. The second plank was gradually lifted. I grew very nervous about their sighting.
What was I to say? How would I explain? Have you any idea? Madmen don’t think like I think. Am I sound yet? Oh how funny I am! Ha ha!
The last plank was removed. I gasped for air, for their reaction I waited for painfully and patiently.
“What were you screaming about? There is nothing there.”

I stopped; and so did the beating of the hideous heart.

“What do you mean? There is a man dismembered in that spot!”

The police officers stared at my pale body and lifeless eyes. What were they staring at? I haven’t a clue! I haven’t a care! I was free, free at last! I was not.

Now at this point, you fancy me mad since the police took me to an insane asylum. You are still wrong for I am not mad! Was I not successful? The police did not discover the corpse! Madmen have no intellect! I have intellect! I should not be here! I should not! Oh how I hated it here! The food tasted like dead corpses. I fed on this food everyday! It was repulsive! Sickening! It sickened my insides! I developed a heightened sense of taste since I entered this mad house. I can distinctly taste organs and lungs, liver and hearts! I tried to starve myself but they avert me from it. How lovely it would be to quietly pass away this very moment.The nights were long and silent. I settled in a tiny room by myself. Lanterns were nowhere to be found. I conversed with myself for hours. Unclear notions massaged my heavy mind. I stood awake for hours and hours at a time. But one night, I was aroused by slightly, heavy breathing. I deemed it my own, and fell asleep. But there it was again. I tasted the air – dead corpses. From there, I heard a low, dull, quick sound. “Who’s there?” I said vehemently. A warm gentle wind crossed me. I stood up abruptly. And there, standing in front of me, was me.

Z E E N

2007-12-10T04:49:00.000-05:00

iNSERT NAME HERE is a cool zine spoofing those raunchy, addictive, jiggy, FAT-spotting, vile spying, star stalking, fortune-telling, plaguey make-over doing, top 10 listing, zany teen magazines. Funky, eh?!

THE GUIDE

FASHION
PG 1 FIND OUT WHAT'S ON THE HOT/ NOT LIST
PG 2 HOW TO GET THE LOOK

TEEN LIFE
PG 3 LIFE THROUGH ADOLESCENT EYES
PG 4 ELECTRONICALLY MAILED CHRONICLE
PG 5 5 PICK UP LINES THAT SCREAM "I ¢¾LOVE YOU"

ADVICE
PG 6 ADVICE FROM DR NAW MEAN?

HOROSCOPES
PG 7 WHAT'S YOUR SIGN?

Leave a message after the beep

BEEEEEEEEP! (click the beep)

RanDome Pt II

2007-12-08T19:09:00.000-05:00

A Businessman With No Spinners...

I don't want anything on me - no make-up, fake hair and nails. Nothing. I just want to be naked.

Coolin'

Cherry Red Hair with a Banana flavoured jacket

Villain of Midnight

Sly Slithering Slippers

Beware.

Education of Sex(es) [Script/Screen]

2007-12-08T18:48:00.000-05:00

Dramatis Personae

Penny Dollar
Mr. E. Ville
Rob Banks
Amber Green
Chris Cross
Crystal Ball

Act I, Scene I

The spanking new classroom 212 of Dippy Dodger C.I at Penny’s sex-ed class where the blare of wacky walking twaddle talking TVs is nothing new.
There are 30 seats in total. Penny’s seat is at the back and has her black bag sitting on it.
2 science binders, a math textbook, a stack of lined paper and grubby gym clothes are sticking out of it. Amber Green sits behind her and beside Amber is Crystal Ball. Rob Banks sits on Amber’s other side and Chris Cross is 2 seats to the right of Penny.

Penny’s desk has 3 wads of pink gum inside of it. On her left is a large diagram of the female reproductive system. It’s an old one. It says “Ha ha, boobies!” near the right breast. Beside that is the male one. The overhead is set up at the front of the classroom. The note is covered with a piece of blue paper. Penny is in her seat stuffing her stuff in her bag while Amber and Crystal Ball are whispering.

FADE IN:
Darkness. We hear the voices of 30 high school students chatting away at the same time. As Mr. E. Ville demands their attention, the screen is filled with a long shot of the class slowly starting to comply with him. Then, there is a short silence followed by a close-up of Mr. E. Ville.

MR. E.VILLE
(loud, British voice)
Today, we ‘umans will be confuhrin’ abau’ doins that many peopuhl complaete when they ah fohrlohrn, board, or inquisitive in some cayses. Can any one of you puny dizzy-I’d strumpets tell me what I may be tawlking abau’?

Long shot of the confused faces of students

AMBER GREEN (V.O)
(whispering to Crystal Ball annoyingly slow, overly crying voice)
I can’t lieke buhlave I like gave my pantieees to lieke a geeek. I thought lieke only football players were lieke…rich – with like money. Crystuuhla, what should I lieke do?

Medium shot of Crystal Ball touching a crystal ball on her desk with her eyes closed.

CRYSTAL BALL
(whispering majestically)
Everytin OK, everytin ok.
(Short pause) I see man come to jyu and he say “heah millon dollas.” You rish, you -

(Interruption by Penny)
Medium shot of Penny turned around facing Amber and Crystal with the focused class and Mr. E.Ville talking in the background.

PENNY DOLLAR
(Whispering slightly loud, annoyed voice)
Can you two clapper clawed clackdishes shut up? I’m trying to learn here! (Taps pencil repeatedly)

MR E. VILLE (V.O)
When a ‘uman with exwhuy chromozones lawves anotha' ‘uman with 2 ex chromozones or whatevah yor prefrence…

Penny grunts and turns back around
Superimposition of Amber and Rob (whispering) and Penny (writing, paying attention)

AMBER
(whispering to Rob Banks and Crystal)
Yeah, about like something you can’t like, have! (Amber laughs quietly)
Penny is such a like (pause) such a like lumpish hell-hated harpy!
She’s like a like little know-it-all bug that won’t like…go away!
(Flips hair)(They all snicker)

MR. E. VILLE (V.O)
Whimen awlwayz complayne abau’ somethin’…

Close up of Rob Banks looking into Amber’s eyes with his arm around her.
Penny is half turned around, now listening to their conversation.

ROB BANKS
(whispers, low-pitched voice)
Ah know baby, Ah know. She just buggin’ like she alwayz do, naw’m sayin’ boo?
(Laughs) She set trippin’ like a dankish earf-vexin’ foot licka. Aha!
But I’z gotz you home fry, I’z gotz you.

Close up of Penny turned around fully and the background of people and Mr. E. Ville.

PENNY
(whispers loudly, sarcastic) (clears her throat)
You’re not too smart are you? I like that in a man.
(Smiles) Excuse me while I whip this out
(puts up middle finger) (Pause)

Extreme close-up shot of Rob Banks looking surprised.

ROB BANKS
(stands up, yells)
(Slams desk once with each word) Don’t knowbady talk to me like that aiight?
I’m Rob Banks, beeyatch!
You hear me talking hillbilly boy? I ain’t thru witchu by a damn sight.
I’ma get medieval on yo asss! I just hate you and yo asss face, mang!

Long shot of the entire class staring at Rob Banks pacing back and forth. A Medium shot of Mr. E. Ville now focused on Rob.

MR. E. VILLE
(points at Rob, talks calmly)
You; sit; naow. (pause)

Long shot of entire class still staring at Rob sitting down.

Close up of Mr. E. Ville continuing his class.

MR. E. VLILE
(loud voice)
Naoow, can anywun tell meh waht masturbation is?

Background noise of the class saying and yelling “Eww!” at different times.

ROB BANKS (V.O)

(whispering loudly, irately)

What y’all saucy onion-eyed nut hooks starin’ at, huh?

High angle shot of Chris Cross answering the question.

CHRIS CROSS

(loud goofy voice)

Hey, don’t knock masturbation. It’s sex with someone I love.

Extreme long shot of whole class and Mr. E. Ville laughing,

students talking with fresh disgust in their minds.

Close up of Penny with a sickened look on her face

PENNY DOLLAR

(loud, disgusted voice)

You are one (yells)

filthy little beslubbering common-kissing bladder!

You’re like living doo-doo.

CRYSTAL BALL

(soft voice, shaking her head)

Jyu nastee, nastee.

Low angle shot of Chris Cross responding

CHRIS CROSS

(loud voice)

That’s what I love about these high school girls man;

I get older, they stay the same age (smiles).

Medium of class “Ooh”ing, instigating the problem.

MR. E. VILLE

(Clapping his hands, yelling)

Guys!

Extreme close up of Penny’s annoyed facial expression.

PENNY

(loud and powerful voice)

Look here you wayward ill-nurtured lout (long pause)

(V.O) Class still instigating, laughing at her insult to Chris

(V.O) MR.E. VILLE
(loud voice)
Class, pay attenshone please!

PENNY (to Chris)
Son – you’ve got a panty on your head. (smiles)

CHRIS

(yelling, slightly ire)

Get outta here. And don’t come back for five to seven days!

Actually, make that the whole year.

I’d like to be Penny-free when being educated about sex!

(V.O) MR. E. VILLE

– Gouyhs, this is thee lawst time! Qwhyyet!

PENNY

(sarcasm in her whispering voice)

Excuse me while I whip this out…again

(puts up middle finger)

What Time Is It Mr Wolf?

2007-11-15T19:48:00.000-05:00

“A little girl named Jae-eung Lee was found dead 5 km from the outhouse behind her school. She was…"
“Shit,” said Detective Park Doo-Man with a hint of fury. He turned the TV off.
“That’s body number three from last week,” uttered Detective Seo Tae-yoon with a heavy sigh. “The report says that some of the girl’s classmates said they’ve been seeing a mysterious man behind the school for a while. They say that he’s the serial killer. We already questioned that no help fucker witness of the man. Anyway, it says here that there was no evidence left behind,” Park read.
“Killers always go back to the scene of the crime. Let’s go there tonight,” Tae-yoon said with the confidence of an undecided voter.

The wind whistled like a champ. The two detectives hid behind the big rock far from the outhouse. They kept lookout like lighthouses. The outhouse was grungy-looking. The windows were boarded up. The door was broken. The roof was uneven. It smelled like rotting flesh. The outhouse seemed isolated from the world. The detectives waited with not one word exchanged between. No one or nothing crossed their view – until it started to rain. A man exited the outhouse with a bone in his mouth. He scratched his bushy beard. He had jagged nails that could cut through anyone’s dreams. He howled, exposing his sharp stained teeth. He was like a wolf. Detective Park moved his foot to get ready. Snap went the branch. The unknown man swiftly turned around in the direction of the noise. His eyes were beady – and yellow. He started to run.

The two detectives exploded with speed. They ran after the animal. Their feet were smashing the puddles of diluted mud into a million shattering shapeless pieces. The suspect was running so fast, dodging the bullets of rain shooting from the sky. But he tripped. The two detectives, panting like two fat kids, took the animal into custody.

“Why did you kill the little girl?” Detective Doo-Man asked with a vengeance in the questioning room.
It looked more like a dungeon. Silence was squeezed by the neck.
“Ha. She doesn’t belong, that’s why,” the nameless man laughed.
“Why are women here anyway? Huh? They’re not people. They need to be annihilated!”
He started to yell. “I want to taste the air of their non-existence! Their flesh and bones need to be ripped from their bodies first! It’s time for the world order to be restored!”

Detective Tae-yoon rapidly reached across the dusty table and grabbed the no name man’s scruffy neck.

“Listen you piece of shit, you’re going to go to jail forever for the three murders!” He yelled like a lion.
He punched the face of the murderer. He kept punching that face. He stopped. The unknown man touched his bruised and battered face. He laughed again.

“Everyone knows you torture innocent people. So go ahead, kill me,” he offered nonchalantly with a smile.

Wandering Stress (Guerilla Poetry)

2007-11-10T23:56:00.000-05:00

I opened the gate,

Went out of my murky mind

Below the heavens

Janelle Monae - Sincerely Jane

2007-11-10T10:06:00.000-05:00

Left the city, my mama, she said don't come back home.
These kids round killing each other,
they lost their minds, they gone.
They quitting school, making babies, and can barely read,
Some gone on to their fall, Lord have mercy on them.
1,2,3,4, your cousin's here round here selling dope,
While they daddy, your uncle, is working round, strung out.
Babies with babies, and they just keep burning,
While their dreams go down the drain now.(While their dreams go down the drain now)

Are we really living, or just walking dead now(Are we walking dead now?)
Or dreaming of the hopes round in the wings of angels
The way we live, the way we die,
What a tragedy, I'm so terrified.
Daydreamers please wake up,
We can't sleep no more.

Love, don't make no sense,Ask your neighbour,
The winds have changed, it seems,That they've abandoned us.
The truth hurts, and so does yesterday
What good is love, if it burns bright explosion flames(I thought every living thing had love, but are)

Are we really living, or just walking dead now.(Are we walking dead now?)
Or dreaming of the hopes round in the wings of angels.
The way we live, the way we die,
What a tragedy, I'm so terrified.
Daydreamers please wake up,We can't sleep no more.
I've seen them shooting up funerals in their sunday clothes (Ya!)
And spending money on spinners, but won't pay college funds (Ya!)
And all you gangers and bangers,
Rolling dice and taking lives in a smoky dark
Lord have mercy on them (Ya!)

Teacher, teacher, please reach those girls in them videos (Live your life)
The little girl's just broke, and queens's confusing bling for soul.
Danger, there's danger,When you take off your clothes,
All your dreams go down the drain, girl.

Are we really living, or just walking dead now
Or dreaming of the hopes round in the wings of angels
The way we live, the way we die
What a tragedy, I'm so terrified
Daydreamers please wake up,
We can't sleep no more.

**Scratching Begins**
Lord have mercy
Have mercy Have mercy
Lord have mercy
Are really living, or just walking dead now
Have mercy
**Scratching Ends**

We live, then we die,
And we never know, thats why
So young, now we're gone
Now are you gone?
We live, then we die,
But never touch the sky
So young, now we're gone
Now are you gone?

Spoken Section:
5,7,8,2,1.Its now time for you to come home, my dear.You've been gone long enough.Thank you.We must come, we must go.

Ran Dome.

2007-11-10T07:11:00.000-05:00

I woke up about an hour ago. I'm as tired as BET. The Sun's hiding its face from me right now. Bummer. The cluttered clouds are an airy azure, swallowing my mind's eye like a nightmare. While I'm typing away, I'm gazing outside a dirty window, into the world. It's alive. My fingers punch these damn keyboard keys with perplexity. My fake hair's a mess. My skin is turning white. Time is moving slowly. My eyes have bags full of sleep and unconcious. My head is a broken TV...with no cable. I have laundry clothes to fold. Low and Behold! - The reason why I'm awake.

Mellow music melodies are making their mark. Cool sounding. They flow like ocean water. I've got to get those sleep eaters, but I don't want to. They're all the way downstayurrzah. I'm paralyzed by the soothing sounds swinging in my ears.

Whoosh, Whoosh, Whoosh, Whoosh, Whoosh...

7:30...7:31..7:32......7:45....Dammit man. I'm going, I'm going.

7:55....

Soldier's Story (continued)

2007-11-04T20:10:00.000-05:00

They walked slowly towards the orphanage. Death was in their eyes. Their footsteps were getting louder and louder. Kofi was panicking. He ran to Akua at the other side of the room. He told her recklessly that the rebels were coming. He was crying uncontrollably, like a broken baby doll. It was yesterday night all over again. The kids were scattered and screaming. Kofi was as still as a windless night. He was a picture. The door was shot down. Angry looking boys and men stood at it. They paced towards the innocent as one.

“Which wan of jou arh workinn foh thee arhmee, ah?” A tall dark man exclaimed.
His right hand man lit a blunt.
“I am talking to you! Ansah me!”
The TV was blaring.

He fired his rifle. Two kids fell on the ground with holes in their foreheads. Blood swam through the room. The army officer walked over. The children and workers moved out of the way. He put his hand in the rich blood. He gazed at his red hand. He licked it.
“Mmm, the taste of arhmee blood.”A young boy soldier stepped forward.
“Let dat be a message to you fools. Arhmy men arh the enemy. If we find jou with dem, we will kill jou like we killed them.”

The boy laughed with his crew and walked away. It was no turning back for them. They stole the innocence of two young boys.The scents of blood and blunts mixed. Akua and Kwame, crying, lifted Nana’s pale body from the bloody floor. They carried him outside into the dark world. Two other boys carried the other lifeless body. Anger and despair were written all over their faces.

“Joanna has brought her African baby back to America today. She carried it to the airport while the paparazzi snapped pictures of her. She made a speech saying I quote: “There are people out there who need our help. Everyone has a job to do. There is a war going on right in front of us and we need to do something about it” She is doing her part, that’s for sure.In other news, Britney Spears has just lost her children…”
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kwame was shooting. The other boys were shooting. They were killing rebel men with clean hands on triggers. They were falling, one by one against the wall. He loved it. The rush was heightening his excitement. He was the BTK killer of Africa. The other boys were smiling.

“Now dat you ah experts, it is time to faze the real world. Those bastaahd rebels arh lurkin in dee woods. Dey arh breackan this country aparht. There will be a revohlution!” Joseph exclaimed.
“Yeah!” The soldiers hollered.
“You,” he pointed to Kwame, “You will be my little seargent.”

Kwame smiled and took a joint from another boy. He smoked it. He grabbed a bottle of gin off of the floor and drank some.

“Now get ready, the village in frohnt of us is filled with dee rebels. We will kill them all one by one,” Joseph smiled.

The soldiers got into position. They got onto the grass and started crawling quietly and bit by bit. They were crawling army style in army clothing. Branches were snapping and leaves were rustling. Their boots were dragging evil with them. As they approached the village, they got on their hands and knees. Kwame had the focus of a Jedi. He never blinked. He never swallowed. He was focused. The group waited. They waited.
They got up and started running like cheetahs. They were screaming and shooting everything in sight – newborns and mothers, fathers and sons. They stayed in packs like murders. The rebels fought back, shooting death at the army. It was a war.

“Kill dee rebels!” Kwame shouted.

The murders shouted in agreement. Kwame entered a house uninvited. He rummaged through drawers and fridges. He broke bottles and chairs. He shot the family portrait. The TV was blaring. He ran to a bedroom. He opened the closet and found a clothed family.

“Get out hereh and get on yoh knees. Face the wall and shut yoh mouts!” Kwame yelled.

He was bloodthirsty. The family of five was on their knees, praying to the heavens for help. Kwame shot them in the head, one person at a time. When he got to the mother, he thought of his own mother. He shot her dead.

“A Fashion Show will be held in New York City tomorrow, right in front of the history museum. Many celebrities will be attending the event – including Tony, the latest celebrity to become a humanitarian and adopt a black looking baby. He is bringing the baby with him. The title of the event is “Accessory Chic”. The theme is of course accessories. Some include necklaces, purses, and small handbags shaped like babies. We will be on top of the event. It’s going to be a war over there…”
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Yesterday, after burying his friend, Kofi could not take it. He was restless. Nightmares were haunting him like ghosts. Blood, bodies, and tears were chasing him. He sat up on his bed, panting. He looked beyond the window. The moonlight was still gleaming. It was the early morning. Kofi was miserable. His heart was hurting more than a brain tumor. He wanted to go away. He wanted to run away. These emotions were building skyscrapers inside of him. He looked around the room. Silence was roaming around. The rest of the boys were sleeping. Kofi said a prayer to himself. He wanted the Lord to help him overcome this pain. But he couldn’t wait. He ate some bread from the kitchen and put on a shirt. He left the orphanage and entered a world of loneliness.

He walked along the dirt road/sidewalk, hanging his head. No one was around. Shooting guns ceased for now.

“Where am I goin?” he asked himself.

He walked slowly towards his home village. It took him an hour. The village was run down – fallen trees, broken houses, cracked lights, and dead bodies. The air smelled like demise. He entered his old house. He felt a chill enter his body. The blood of his mother was still there, dark and dry. He walked further down the bullet infested hallway. Her naked body still lay there. Her eyes were still wide open. Kofi was staring at them, waiting for them to move. He would be waiting forever. He went beside his dead mother. He put her arm around him and lay on her bare body. He whimpered to sleep.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The day was young. Kwame was woken up at his camp by Joseph. The gun was still in his now dirty hands.

“I want to kill dem by surprise,” Joseph wickedly whispered.
“Me too; let us go,” Kwame whispered.

He lit a joint and drank some tonic. A murder of them ran hastily from their camp in the middle of the forest, to the front of it. From there, they could see houses and rebel camps behind them. They were ready for combat. They snuck their way into the village. They were quieter than a pin drop. Some of them went into the houses and others went behind. They got their knives ready. Kwame took his out from his pocket. He and Joseph snuck behind the houses. They stayed close to the wall. One foot in front of the other, they approached the camp like carnivores. They attacked. Kwame slit the throats of three rebels. He licked his knife clean. Joseph stabbed the young boy soldier in the chest. Both of them ran back to the front of the house. They split up. The sun was now rising to life. They acted quickly.Kwame opened the creaky door.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kofi was woken up by a noise. He sprang to his feet, observing his bloody shirt. He bent back down and kissed life into his dead mother. He was alert. He looked both ways before crossing the hallway. He walked slowly to approach the living room. The TV was blaring. He did not know why but he had an aching feeling. He tip toed towards it with his hands curled into fists. Those were his only weapons. If God took him right now, he wanted to see his mother – his dear, loving mother. He turned the corner. He came face to face with a soldier. It was him.

“Ah, a rebel you ah, arhn’t you!” the soldier exclaimed.
“Kwame, it is me, Kofi, yoh brotha,” Kofi said with tears in his eyes.

His reflection stood clueless in front of him.

“Jew ah not my brotha! The arhmy is my brotha! You ah the enemy!” the soldier said in a stern tone.
“Kwame, please, let me talk to jew,” Kofi pleaded.

The soldier said nothing. He just watched Kofi like a clock. Time was running out.He aimed.

“Kwame, do not do dis!”He put his finger on the killer.“Kwame!”

He fired. Kofi was a victim of a soldier of war. His body fell in one motion. It made a thud. Blood splattered from Kofi to Kwame. Kwame stared at himself lying on the floor. He loomed over his brother. He spat on him. He walked over his body and out of the door.

“The fashion show was a success. The proceeds will be going to the items of Africa – children, who are living horrible lives in their war stricken countries. Singer Joanna looked gorgeous with her baby black boy on her side. Actress Rayne has an African baby too. But she was sitting in the audience with it. A war was definitely going on in the world – the world of fashion! Skinny models: Are they good or bad? You decide.”

Soldier's Story

2007-11-04T19:56:00.000-05:00

A shrilling shout was cried. A single gunshot was fired. The two twin boys awoke straight away. They put on their shoes and shirt. They ran to their bedroom door. They held each other with a tight grip. To their left, a pool of blood was slowly streaming by. Terror and anxiety scarred their faces. Another gunshot was fired.They ran to their mother’s room without a thought in their minds. She lay motionless on the floor and lifeless beside her bed. She was naked. Her skin was torn apart. Her hair had dark red highlights. Her chest held bullet wounds close to her heart. The stench ruffled their runny noses. Tears forced their way out of their eyes, like vomit.

“ Get out heah now you traitahs!” A man roared from afar.

Two boys and the night appeared in front of them. They gripped their guns with the hands of men.

“I found dee traitahs! I found dem! Ovah here!”

Kwame and Kofi dashed for the front door. Bullets were thrown their way. Boys were sprinting after them. Older men followed behind them.The twins entered the woods barefooted and shirtless. Spikes and splinters cut their shorts and feet. They ran through branches and leaped over leaves, limping in pain. Plants were crushed and crunched. Rebel men chased after them, shooting at their black bodies in the hours of darkness. As the boys ran, voices of the anonymous became distant.

“I think we have lohst dem,” said Kwame, panting frantically. “I think we should split up an--

…”Guns blasted louder than thunder. They came from behind. Kofi started crying
uncontrollably. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t breathe. He ran away from his brother. He was running to nowhere. “Kofi! Kofi!”A hardy hand grabbed Kwame’s leg. Kwame fell to the ground.“Be quiyet. I am Joseph. You ah with the arhmee now. You will be safe wit us,” a man whispered. The same man shot a looming rebel dead.
Two brothers, each were unwillingly taken to live in two different worlds of war.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He unclosed his eyes. He felt his face. Waterless tears stuck to it like a child in a womb. Kofi looked up. Luminous lights struck him, shrinking his eyes.

“You cannot stay in bedt all day. It is noon time, uttered a woman worker, towering over his still body.
She was so stern she made the army look gay.
“Ok,” he responded.
“A quiyet one you will be, ah?”He didn’t say anything.

The woman was tall and brown skinned, just like him. She had ample brown eyes with a mole beside her left. Her lips were dark and lovely, full with the flesh God gave her. On her shirt it said “Akua”. Kofi moved his feet towards the ground. He sat upright, like his now deceased mother taught him. He scrutinized this place called the orphanage. Worn out bunk beds with thin sheets were cramped together in the room. Some boys lay soundless – eyes shut and mouths wide open. They looked just like him. Others were cleaning because the drill sergeant told them to. Kofi felt a disheartening feeling. There were no parents, brothers, or sisters. He never saw them outside of his dreams. He was homesick. This was the lost and never found box he was living in; these boys were living in; boys who were nothing.
Kofi watered those old dry tears.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Get up! Get up right now and take ‘dis with jew,” a tall dark man bellowed in Kwame’s ear.
Lieutenant was his name – Lieutenant Joseph. He was the army officer from yesterday, dressed in camouflage.

Kwame stretched his long limbs and got out of the plain and already broken bed. He yawned. A bad sleep crept onto his eyes, declaring its home there. Kwame was a confident boy back home. But in this black hole of misery, his confidence was caught and never seen again. Through the darkness, he saw little ebony figures moving mechanically to line up. They were holding something long and smooth; black. They were headed towards the door. None of them were his little brother.

“Calm on! Hurry up! Do not disobey me,” The same man roared, louder than a lion.

Kwame took a step to follow the line, but he stepped on something hard. It was a gun. He stared at it and then picked it up. The boys walked barefoot into the daylight. Tinted houses surrounded their view. He followed. Gunshots from afar boomed into the air. The boys instantly fell to the dusty earth. Their brown eyes stomped the floor. Cries of fear were expressed on their faces.

“Get up! Stop yoh whinin’! You ah souljahs now! You ah men! You have to fight dee enamie! Do you undahstand?
“Yes sir.”
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After cleaning his face, Kofi sat down on a wooden chair. He was staring into space, thinking like a scholar. He wondered about his older brother. A voice cut his thought into pieces.
“Hi. My name ees Nana. What is yoh name?”
“Kofi,” he responded.“Hawh did you get heeah?”
“I was running frohm the rebels and the people here let me in,” he uttered quietly.
“Oh. My mowda was shot and my dad cooed not afford me. So I am here,” Nana said with sorrow.

He hung his head.The black and white TV was blaring static and news:

“Out of this world singer Joanna will be visiting Africa tomorrow. She is going to pick up an African black baby. She is the latest celebrity to do so. Joanna says she wants to do her part in helping those who need it the most. I know we at the news station are doing our part by reporting the latest news. Speaking of that, figure skater Romeo just bought a new house…”

“I wish sohme one would get me out of here,” Nana cried.
“Me too,” Kofi whispered.
“Do you think that dey know abaht us out there?”
“No. My mom all ways told me dat the world is a shadow to us and ah way of life,” Nana said a little angered.
“Maybe,” Kofi stated.

They both went over to the right side of the room. There was little food, plastic balls, and broken cars. Kofi grabbed the broken car. Nana grabbed a half eaten banana. As he was moving the car in all directions, Kofi looked up through the window. The trees were greener than America. Flowers flourished from the trampled grass. The sun was beaming life onto the vicinity. Men and boys dressed in dark clothing from a distance were beaming death through the window.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You werh all braught here to me yestaday becawse yoh moddas and faddas did not want you. They hate you. The wished dat you weh nevah born. Right now, ah having break fast with de enemy. De rebels! They have made you who you ah now. They have put jou in this place. Dat is why we have to kill every single wan of dem!
“Yeah!” Some children were already indoctrinated; Jedi mind tricks.

“My souljahs,” he laughed, “I am Joseph. I am yoh mastah. I am yoh King. I am yo God! Togethah, we ah the arhmy Now line ahp!”

The boys lined up with the guns still gripped. Army men walked into the private place. Kwame felt qualm slither up his spine. His stomach rumbled. They had guns and glasses. They blasted hip hop music from a tank nearby and rapped along. They smoked blunts and drank alcohol. The boys could hear wildfire of shots in the background. The war was still ongoing. They were living near death. Kwame fought his tears to hold them back. He lost.

“You see these men; these souljahs? They ah fightin foh jew! You will be like them,” said the cynical sinister.

A blindfolded man was thrown against the grey wall by Joseph’s men. Who’s father it was lingered in Kwame’s mind.

“You – step forward now!” Joseph yelled Mr. Sinister pointed to Kwame’s left.

It was a small boy. He reminded Kwame of his little brother.

“Shoot dis disgrace of a man, dis foolish rebel.” Joseph spoke casually.
The small boy closed his eyes.
“Shoot him or I will shoot you.”

Tears streamed down the face of the unknown boy. Kwame fixated his eyes on the unnerving scene.

“Now”!The boy was static.
“Do it souljah!” Joseph yelled.

The boy was static. Joseph aimed his gun at him. He put his gun down. He raised it again and shot the boy. The small boy was thrown 3 feet. He hit the ground like hail. His body lay inert on the sandy road. Blood was exiting his body erratically. The rest of the boys gazed. They didn’t breath.

“Now, it is yoh turn,” Joseph declared, looking at the rest of the living boys.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[ Ruminate ]

2007-11-03T16:23:00.000-04:00

"Now open wide and let me put the night inside ya" - CEE-LO

"If the rain stops, and everything's dry

She would cry,

just so I can drink the tears from her eye"

- LUPE FIASCO

She was snortin' and her eyes had bags in 'it - NAS

Peetszuh

2007-11-03T01:10:00.000-04:00

I love pizza. It's the boyfriend I never had. It's the light to my dark mind. It's the ying to my yang. Call me crazy if you want. I don't care.

It's my favourite junk food. The grease drips into my ravenous mouth like a faucet. The BIG FAT crust clenches my teeth with fervor. The fake cheese gushes out savory sauce as I bite into it. The accepted colour of love. This taste lights my fire. Delicious.

When I'm sucked into the tel lie vision, I bemusedly eat the equivalent of one fridge full of food plus a cupboard multiplied by the drawers of condiments divided by the spices, subtracting salt. It sounds like a lot. But it's not. The number flies by like Superman - that's because it's not important.

Pizza. My most popular one is a basic pepperoni pizza.

I get so weak in the knees/
I can hardly breathe/
I lose all control/
I want it to stay with me...forever!

Pepperonis taste like heaven. They excite my taste buds; jittery and jumpy. It's a packed playground in there. Saliva slithers to the sides of my mouth. It slips out sometimes too. I look like I just saw the sexiest man walk by when it does.

Pizza is so good. I'll love it forever. It can kill me slowly - once and once only. But it's still good.

The T R A V E L L I N G SKY . . .

2007-11-01T00:46:00.000-04:00

The sunless sullen sky,
grasping its many eyes of wonder
glistening, gleaming, and glowing
when the hands of time
slowly, near each other for a touch of darkness
A tainted picture, travelling west,
to the sundry scenes of the earth, chasing the daylight
Clouds, cluttered with grey nothings
like the hearts of the heinous.
Silence walks in circles,
The wind howls with the wolves of the wild
The sky,
a marvel in the mind.

Eckcentrick Coolness

2007-10-31T22:41:00.000-04:00

Weird, quirky, uncanny, outlandish, odd and peculiar.

That's how I like my world.

[S t r a n g e] X.

O C E A N

2007-10-31T22:14:00.000-04:00

Lovers stare, driftin' off into another world
From their eyes, this boy and that girl
Share a depth from the soul
Like the ocean...

Night falls, the moon meets the sky
The ocean swirls in circles around
Holdin' hands, givin' love a chance,
Share a kiss, and from there...Romance

Drownin' in eachother's love they are,
Like the depths of the ocean
Walk along the sides of the shore
Off into their f a n t a s y.

CHECK IT!

2007-10-31T22:12:00.000-04:00

Snapshots.

www.myspace.com/flukeytyro

Check it owt.

Smooth pleasure

2007-10-31T21:52:00.000-04:00

Charming sweet chaos

full flavoured and frothy fun

Endless taste that fits.

The Naked Truth

2007-10-31T21:49:00.000-04:00

Unscramble the voice

Eradicate pure poison

BOOM! Take it all off..

Peresopolis Obfuscation (Pg 24-25)

2007-10-31T21:44:00.000-04:00

I double twofold two times dare you to figure out what's going on here...

Coolness

So, he was frequently sent to an oubliette. Sometimes, they installed him in a cubicle filled with the inorganic mineral with 2 hydrogen and 1 oxygen for more than 3600 seconds. I remember when I was a small homosapien with two X chromosomes...

Everytime there was a buffet on the portal, I thought they were advancing to cart off my begetter to gaol.

BUFFET! BUFFET! BUFFET!

And the negative reciprocal of -1 times out of the negative reciprocal of -1/2 it was veracious.

"Greetings, is the human who carried you for nine months here?"
"Negative! Why?"
"Is your begetter home?"
"No!"

The human with 2 X chromosomes that gave me half her genes went with me to sojourn him.
"Daddy, can I ride on your spine?"
"Terminate it, he is enervated."
"Of course you can."
"Giddiyap! Giddiyap!"

The impecunious man. The dungeon had dismantled his soundness. He had various conditions characterized by inflammation or pain in muscles, joints, or fibrous tissues. All his sparkle he was in throes.
"Come on. That juncture is bygone. Do you want to play Monopoly?"
"I want to take a douche."
"We can hanker after your bath if you want to."
"No! I want to take a really stretched bath.

That night, I loitered a protracted season in the bath. I wanted to be cognizant of what it felt like to be in a cell bung up with H20.
My vertabrate forelimbs, a grasping organs, were corrugated when I came out, like grandpa's.

A TOUCH OF HUMOUR -20 minutes of Hilarity-

2007-10-31T21:42:00.000-04:00

VOTING 2007 101

You will be competing with each Canadian citizen in Ontario in a competition called:

WHO'S MONEY IS IT ANYWAY?
Here's how it works:

Each citizen will recieve a ballot with the names of the threen men who have the most maroon mothers in their commercials - Dalton McGuinty, John Tory, and Howard Hampton. The Green Party leader was kicked out because he didn't have enough commercials...or his TTC ID.
On the ballot, there is a box beside each candidate's name. You will check off the box beside the person who you want stealing your money. Here is a brief description of each person:

Dalton McGuinty AKA Shit on a promise -- He's a fun loving golfer who always keeps closed ears for the people (it's a condition). He says he won't spend your money on health-care, but on things the really care about...like Halo 3 and autism. He's not making any promises he can keep. He promises.
John Tory AKA Smack a Catholic -- A faithful Catholic is who he compares himself to - someone who hates aethiests and public schools. But that changed 5 minutes ago, faster than tax prices. He won't spend your money too much. He'll keep the pocket change for the TTC.
Howard Hampton AKA That Guy -- He just robbed me.

On the other side of the ballot is a list of the things you want your money spent on:
(in no paticular order*)

Clothes
Healthcare
Halo 3
Watering plants
Education
Candy etc.

The citizen who loses more money(from the leader they vote for) than Toronto wins!

And remember:
Money is like healthcare - you pay for it!
- Dalton McGuinty

My Very First Camera Shots

2007-10-31T21:38:00.000-04:00

Testin Testin...
Click Click, I enter the world
Open my camera lens,
See an unknown holdin me in her hands [Click]
A boy approachin me with a man[Click]
Me, developing the photos in my laboratory
And waitin for what this "World" has in store for me..
[Click] Ceiling. Clouds. Colours. Clutter.
My moment of clarity..
The unknown becomes familiar to me
[Click] Colourless squares become my best nightmare,
The red building, becomes my sanctuary, [Click]
5 fingers plus a palm are my love and liking[Click]
Sounds are my mystery...
Directing my camera to different positions
In fast motion,I stop...keep those circles focused,
On the black box on a black surface
Depicting pictures of tall figures,
Similar to that woman I saw back at that tall building..
I let those short curls fall,
and I saw blackness no exit..nothing at all.
[click]Silence..I felt a gust of wind upwards, surrounding my figure
That same woman holding me, fleshy folds on her face moving,
Triggered the round shapes on the side of my face [click]
I couldn't understand what she was saying. Clueless.
I watched her turn the round shape, moving a sharp edged 4 sided shape,[click]
And move her long support, one in front of the other as if to escape
I escaped the 4 walls, but Im entering something new,
A movie.. A whole new picture..[click]

Jagged Edge

2007-09-24T22:22:00.000-04:00

I scream for the dying pain of living, while she smiles a devilish smile. She’s stretching me like elastic bands. My body is tearing, shredding, slashing away from me. Her vicious eyes are devouring mine with crimson hate, grinding their flesh and color. I feel my silky skin turn jagged with spikes of evil. My bones are crumbling and crushing. My feet are shattering and smashing with the ground beneath me. Pieces of me tear away; evanescing into the night sky, like the whistling wind. Her footsteps disappear with my soul. Slowly, I’m mutating into the color of death. Time’s up. I can’t stop it. I can’t control it. It’s coming. It’s here. I’m leaving my peace for war.

Rough Draft -- Comment -- Tell me what you think!

OPERATION STRIP TEASE

2007-09-16T17:53:00.001-04:00

cautioninfrench & roflyourwaffles

While killing time at a fashion show before his mission at the White House, The Russian man wanders off behind the scenes and starts chatting up one of the models (Catholic mother). Unable to control himself, he spills the beans to the model who, knowing her catholic duty, calls the police.

“911, what is your emergency?”
“I’m calling to report a Russian…”
A short boy, resembling a toddler crawled onto the table, reached with his dumpy hands, and put the phone down for her.
“Vyu can’t dzoo zat, zis not a goud idea,” the toddler whispers with the voice of a 47 year old.
“Why is your voice so…manly? What a little miracle you are. Oh Jesus. Oh Jesus Jesus Jesus…
She does the sign of the cross with her skinny fingers. Jesus.
“It is my rightful duty, as a regular church attendee to do this. It is God’s orders,” she explains in a monotone voice.
“Zi should tell zyu sthat I’m an undurcover 15 year old…and zyour babies’ faaja;” he declares like he was Darth Vadar, “All six zof zem.”
With a puzzled face she utters the words: “No. You are not. Not my six miracles from the Lord Jesus Christ. I do not remember doing you,” she exclaims…with boredom. “The Lord would punish me.”
She falls onto her boney knees, almost breaking them, and goes into prayer with her palms facing the Lord’s home: “I believe in God, the Father Almighty, the Creator of Heaven and Earth and in Jesus Christ, His only Son, our Lord who…”
“Zjot it. Zyu Amerdicans zounds like my dog, Lazzie,” he yells. “And by zee way, we did it in zee back…of the church.”
The skinny woman gasps.
“My muhzer back in Raasha zays zat prayer every time she zees me. I always vwondered vwhy,” he says with a confused look on his face.
“But zat iz not nwhy I am here,” he states boldly while glancing at his watch. 3 pm.
“In half an hour, Jeorge Daab-ah-zuu Bush zis holding a fourz of July party at zee Vwhite House. It iz my duty to explode out of zee cake…naked. Zit iz a gift from Raasha. It meanz ‘we hate zyou’. I’m going to be…aztrippar. I need zyour help. Jow me how to walk zee runway.

Written by out-her-space-13 & mindofteenager

Autumn.

2007-09-15T19:52:00.000-04:00

Autumn...

The trees are naked

coloured leaves sail with the wind

red, orange, gold, brown.

My Muse.

2007-09-15T12:27:00.001-04:00

"That's probably why I was into books so much. I hated coming home." - Truth

Personal Pieces.

2007-09-14T22:13:00.000-04:00

My brain blew a fuse like shoes on a landmine
I exploded into the sky; a million pieces
drifting from side to side like long case clocks
It’ll make you stop like bike shocks
I was so angry that they didn’t understand me
Fathom my blues, greens, and yellows like family
One person blamed me, pointing peter pointer fingers
Abusing my mind with cutting edge words like sinner
I went without dinner that night
I just stayed in my room
four walls shaded black with no shadows looming or light
Boarded up windows, a prisoner of my mentality
I fought with myself…the guilt lingered inside of me
I thought to myself, man why would she do this?
Intentions so cruel like Sebastian and the new kid
I cried tears lucid, my heart pierced as my ears
This is nothing new,
My soul’s been wandering for years.

I’m on the receiving end of ill will, when I’d look into her eyes
A vibe so intense that it almost took my life
I send it back with a receipt, ‘cause I feel the same way
The connection was never good,
internet bills were never paid.
I’d punish myself, when I step outside the inner circle
and think they’d be better off without me lurking.
I even scrutinize all the matter of the atoms
Such a misfit I am, like Urkel.
The weight on my shoulders like a middle-class worker
Weighs more than 3 times the weight of mother earth, and
It’s funny, the brawls between us led to my ripped shirt.

Pieces of me, finally fall to the floor
She’s happy; she doesn’t have to stress anymore.

AWKwards WAWKing

2007-09-14T22:09:00.000-04:00

I almost got hit by a car while running for the bus.
The red hand was flashing on and off. I knew I had to pick up my sibling so I couldn’t be late. Technically, it wasn’t red light yet, so I thought that I could make it.
Then I turned to my left and saw a car coming towards me fast. Tires screeching and vroom vrooms danced through my ears. My eyes and mouth widened for a split second and I dodged it very quickly, backpack on my back and book and water bottle in hand. Stupid motherfucker didn’t see me. I have the right of way.

“You stupid bitch!”

That’s all that I heard…and it stayed there – only for a few seconds though. That careless driver must have thought I cared what he said the same way he doesn’t care the way he drives. I didn’t care for his words…only that I was on the bus. Almost being hit by a car didn’t faze me for some reason. It happened…and then I moved into the future. I should’ve been scared out of my mind right? I should’ve been crying and complaining like a tween who wants a celly.
Maybe it was that I didn’t believe that I would get hit. Me? No way, you know?
Maybe I was just in the zone…only thinking about what time I would arrive at my sibling’s school. I hate being late.
Aside from the episode, I’m still wondering why I reacted the way I did.
This isn’t the first time I’ve reacted oddly to a bad situation. I find myself smiling or just pokerfaced with a nonchalant attitude when challenges, personal or not, come my way.
I don’t know…
Maybe I was just meant to be different.

-profile- using slang/jargon/accent creatively

2007-09-13T19:13:00.000-04:00

Profile A Profile B

GENDER: Female GENDER: Male
BACKGROUND/INFO/ BACKGROUND/INFO
PERSONALITY TYPE: University student PERSONALITY TYPE: Vegetarian
Rebellious Just graduated
Smoker Musically illiterate
Single Quiet
Guitarist Funny

FAVOURITE WORD: sloppy FAVOURITE WORD: crux
TIME/PLACE/PERIOD: Downtown Toronto; December 4th, 2006: Music Store

SITUATION: These two people are in the same section of the store. They notice each other.

M: (soft spoken) What a crux, eh? (nervous laugh) It's like looking for girls here in Downtown Toronto, ha ha...
F: (rolls eyes in disgust) Why I always gotta fined tha stupid mothafuckas who thank they funny? You thank you funny?
M: Damn. Only 21 more days till Christmas left. Tomorrow will be 20. Calm down. A crux you are. What music are you looking for?
F: Well, since ya askin'...
I'm lukin' fo this dope ass CD wit wicked instrumentation and melodies, naw mean? Tha lurics and beetz are craaayzee! I just don't rememba the artist. I only know how da CD cover be lookin' like.
M: Right. All of that is great. I'm just browsing for any music...that...has singing.
F: What? Datz it? I need a fuckin' ciggy right now...
You might as well be lookin in da what-da-fuck section of this sto' naw mean?
M: (Looks at guitar on her back) You play the guitar?
F: Would I be curryin' it if ah didn't? Straight up sloppy dawg...
M: Sloppy?
F: Yes foo! Yu deaf? Stoopid? Choose wun.
M: I'll take deaf for 200.
F: Ah shit, I needz ma ciggy.
M: I needs my vegetables.
F: Dang, yu wun uh dem peepuls that eat like carruts and grass and shit righ?
M: Vegetarian. They're called vegetarians
F: Whateva. Well, ah gotta get to ma class. You know how it is, big things poppin'.
M: Right.

Bus Stops Anonymous

2007-09-12T09:55:00.000-04:00

Don't ask me about the title.
---------------------------------
Subway Day

The subway. Clean windows, dirty seats - moving pictures and still images.
I haven't been on it in a while, so I don't even know the stops well. I was constantly looking at the map like a crazy person - my eyes widened and my mouth open, staring into space like I'm retarded (no offense). It was hard for me to see though; sitting down and looking up at a whole bunch of coloured and colourless heads of hair.
So...I got bored. I had no music on me, games, that new technology shit...nothing. I decided to just look at people's faces and examine them like a coroner does with dead bodies. Like some girls, I just pointed out misperfections.
Too skinny. Her nose is too long. His hair looks like it has lice. That dude really needs to get his teeth fixed. Ugly this, ugly that....
It's so easy to point out the things wrong with people...when you're not telling them about it.
So...I'm still bored. So I'm lookin' straight ahead...watching the scenary go by like a slowed down bullet. Trees look like scribbles of green and lines of brown, and the clouds look like a mix of white and blue. A biracial person who doesn't exist.
This blonde-haired, long nosed, big footed, freckle faced lady (I told you it was easy) was staring at me. I know I'm gorgeous, but damn...do I have a car on my face? Jeez...
STOP STARING AT ME!
I find that shit so rude you know? When people are just watching you like you owe them something. Or as if you're supposed to give them something. That is just not cool. Shut up and colour! Bazootie.
Finally, she looks over to the ad for covergirl. Good...because she needs some of that shit on her face...Bitch...ok I don't mean that but it just came out. I have a swearing problem I'm recovering from so...bear with me.
My stop comes and I'm pushing my way through this crayola box of colours to get myself off the subway. I've got to meet someone here so that we can go to an appointment.
Man I hate waiting long...it sucks. I can be impatient at times...and this time, is the time.
I was over at the stairs, staring down like I was about to jump. Would be cool if I couldn't bust my ass. I was really lookin' out for the people I was waiting for.
I swear man, I waited for like...30 minutes. And then finally she comes. She explained herself and what not, we talked a bit, and we still waited. Why? Because I had to wait for my siblings. Goooooosh. Yup, trying not to say the Lord's name in vain.
They come waaaaaaay later and then we take the bus from there.

Oh there's more...but it's not important.

THE BARBEQUE

2007-09-11T18:03:00.000-04:00

Ah, finally! The family barbeque is here. I was growing shack-wacky for a minute, mang. Staying inside all the time with nothing to do is just not my thing. My family is…diverse, if you will. You’ve got your spangers, those “I have money but I’ll ask you for some anyway” folks, the shady and sheisty but pleasant family segotias, the happy-clappy ho…stesses with big bazooties, and the never ending number of nuff nuffs who act with bozocity and need to learn how to shut up and colour! They’re always mean-muggin’ someone, especially if they don’t get their fukubukuros at New Years. Ungrateful motherfuckers always want to be surprised with gifts. Then you’ve got me, the barbeque stopper who’s baaaaalllin all the time with maaaad cheddar and hates when religious MSN users, like those amongst my family, say Laugh My Ass Off outloud…like that shit’s funny.

Canucks, those CRA-ZED bastards..

2007-09-10T22:12:00.000-04:00

Yoooo guy like, why you stealin' maad cheddar from me?

Daawwg...

what's really good?

Stream of Conciousness

2007-09-10T21:00:00.000-04:00

Exerpt:
"Hello? Hello!"
"Who is it?' Christiansen asks, but I hardly hear him.
"Hello? Hello! I'm yelling. It isn't that the connection is bad. It's crystal clear, there's no static at all. But no one's there, just silence.
"Sir, who is it?" Christiansen bleats, but I shove my hand toward the cop to shut him up. I don't hand up because I realize it's not quite silence I'm hearing. It's breathing. Someone's breathing.
"Who is this?" I ask, trying to control my voice. "Who is it?"
Nothing
And then a Roman candle of relief explodes in my chest as Kevin's voice flutters into my ear, tremulous and tentative:
"Daddy?"

Continued by moi:
"Kevin? Kevin! Kevin, say something!"
"Hello? Hello!"
But he's gone. No more breathing. The pulsing sound of the phone is the onlt sound traveling through my ears. I felt obliged to keep the phone to my ear, hoping Kevin's voice gets in the way of the phone's humdrum voice.
"Sir, who was it? Who called you?"
"Shut up!" I said out of frustration.
I cried a brook of tears. They slithered down my face like a snake preparing for an attack. I felt nothing though. I glanced down at my chest and saw only my skin glistening with tears and my shirt turning darker shades of grey.
"How could I have let them out of my sight?" I said to myself, disappearing into my thoughts.
I snapped out of it and took a glimpse of Christiansen. His mouth moving, but only a defeaning silence let loose.