Dream Big
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Saturday, February 16, 2008
I don’t pout, I brood.
No we are not. We are trying to find a bus that runs in this city at 4:30 am. We are drunk and spending other peoples money. We are foolish and with any other exchange rate would be overweight. We ate McDonalds this afternoon on the ruins of the Roman Forum. We are like the pigeons of St. Marks Piazza. Foolish birds clucking and concentrating solely on the food ix inches in front of their faces oblivious to the extrinstic beauty and worth around them- certainly never able understand any intrinsic value or meaning.
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
tes levres
"drive", the spot on the road- the ciggy tips the lips, taj mahal talkin' about cheatin' on you, i'm approachin' you. the truck in front of me, nasty size, i push past fast above eighty degrees, ask you please if we can stay up later. baltimore to paris, new york, back, then forth, like "come forth with everything you got, i'm yours", like a mix between the old and new sound, so it has a hot bass but fucks with some minor chords that just scream in a brazen anger, even ol' taj says "damn, give me that again". "you fit me", hit me with a reach, you could teach me so much if i had any patience or capacity to learn. if i speak one language, and you speak another, and we think in a collective language different than the first two, how can we talk? eyes are the window to the gut, but ours are the same color, so does that mean our guts are the same color? I didn't want to talk about souls. i mean that in a figurative way. i'm not talking to anyone at all, the truck is still in front of me, i tried to change lanes, but can't find space. i guess i could just go for it, and forget about the space, but i'm not one to gun it. i think i'll take my time.
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
C.R.E.A.M
i think the lull is because for so long this thing has just been a vent. Catch a breath of fresh air and you lose a bit of the edge on your tongue; these margins are seams thats can't hold in the view. that's not a "you'll never understand what i've seen tip." more like a - i'm having trouble understanding what i've seen. (seriously, who ever thought the quote we all grew up thinking was clever but false "fools speak cuz they have to say something, wise men speak cuz they have something to say" would ring true. I mean we get a taste and its a punch in the face. but you gotta hold your ground, and bite your tongue, let em know you're in with the times. can't blow your cover though. that blow put you in your place, you know you don't have shit to say.
but of course i'm full circle, once again wondering what everybody else has seen, and thinking maybe people are curious about me too. glad we got this little knights of the roundtable meeting ground. so guess i'll start the horseplay and splash around in this baby pool of slippery confusion.
basically just one thought of late;
im not sure of what utilitarian philosophers are proposing - that we already live in a utilitarian society, or that a just society is a utilitarian one? well either way John Rawls give a scathing critique; any conception of justice should be founded on the two independent entities of what is right and what is good, whereby what is right leads to the most good. but utilitarianism doesn't separate them, what is good is assumed to be right and thereby are one in the same. Guess that would make sense if I could explain his null hypothesis of why what is right and what is good have to be distinguished (instead of them being synonymous), but i can't. well either way...
ive just been thinking it seems like maybe we are living in a utilitarian society already. and i dont think utilitarianism is theoretically just, nor do i think our society is just. but, is capitalism naturally utilitarian, or can capitalism be responsible? can it be altruistic? sympathetic? humble enough to recognize that although we may all be rational and free thinking...we live in a society where your height can predispose you to making millions playing ball (just the tip of the iceberg)? idk guess just throwing out that when its said "assuming all other things being equal" we are just assuming. hmmill leave it at that, maybe ill go back to edit and make sense of this later, but for now...
im baaAAaack.
but of course i'm full circle, once again wondering what everybody else has seen, and thinking maybe people are curious about me too. glad we got this little knights of the roundtable meeting ground. so guess i'll start the horseplay and splash around in this baby pool of slippery confusion.
basically just one thought of late;
im not sure of what utilitarian philosophers are proposing - that we already live in a utilitarian society, or that a just society is a utilitarian one? well either way John Rawls give a scathing critique; any conception of justice should be founded on the two independent entities of what is right and what is good, whereby what is right leads to the most good. but utilitarianism doesn't separate them, what is good is assumed to be right and thereby are one in the same. Guess that would make sense if I could explain his null hypothesis of why what is right and what is good have to be distinguished (instead of them being synonymous), but i can't. well either way...
ive just been thinking it seems like maybe we are living in a utilitarian society already. and i dont think utilitarianism is theoretically just, nor do i think our society is just. but, is capitalism naturally utilitarian, or can capitalism be responsible? can it be altruistic? sympathetic? humble enough to recognize that although we may all be rational and free thinking...we live in a society where your height can predispose you to making millions playing ball (just the tip of the iceberg)? idk guess just throwing out that when its said "assuming all other things being equal" we are just assuming. hmmill leave it at that, maybe ill go back to edit and make sense of this later, but for now...
im baaAAaack.
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Apathy
My own mind is more interesting to me than the entire country.
Why should I feel guilty that I don’t light dollar bills up with the poor, huddled masses to illuminate the white house on a dark D.C. night?
My internal narrative is incessant and offers me no exit into the socially constructed reality
I know what is real to me and the foreman of that reality doesn’t give a fuck about anything else… Not Iraq, not inflated rats in front of my school, not Darfur, not nothing.
But then, alas, bile corrodes my soft pink throat and I know how ugly I am- I am guilty and the blood is on my hands—I am xenophobic, lazy, and too disinterested to pursue knowledge let alone materialize action.
I legitimize my games because the sun also rises, and I tell myself that I am James Joyce’s great nephew and silence, exile, and cunning will lead me through.
I’m confused now- because I do care- I care so god damn much and all I want is for things to be right, and to actualize the arsenal for change
But I am not ready- I know not even myself and my imagination is not fully developed to fictionalize a better world, one with hope, one that is different than the one in which I live.
We all want to be revolutionary, but…
This honesty is not revolutionary.
Smoking weed is not revolutionary.
Not cutting your hair is not revolutionary.
Over exposed film and incoherent plot lines not kept afloat by half-assed symbolism is not revolutionary.
Rage against the machine is revolutionary, but not when its coming through your headphones.
Cranking butts, and rubbing bleary eyes between sips of cold coffee is not revolutionary.
Having the outline of Africa on your Timberland boots is not revolutionary
The individual is not revolutionary
Hobart and William Smith Colleges is not revolutionary
A Hammer and Sickle novelty tee shirt is not revolutionary
A Che Guevera Trucker hat is not revolutionary
Cramming Marx and Engles for an exam is not revolutionary
Saying you’re a political liberal and fiscal conservative is not revolutionary
Wearing a bright red pin on your satchel book bag that reads “is it fascism yet?” is not revolutionary
These are empty shells of a revolution- the molting of a snake after he and his essence has moved forth apart. The only thing revolutionary in this day and age at Princeton Review’s 19th most politically apathetic school is ideas. As these seeds in my head grow, I want to plant them in the television and on the big screen and in a book and in a weekly column and in the soul of someone else who knows more than me.
White boy pain spilled out on the floor tonight because everyday life is getting easier and it’s making me uncomfortable. Life is good, I say and smile, because it really is and I am guilty but can’t stop smiling, and my own mind is still so much more important
and I am still an asshole
and Tuesday morning’s seat race is still a priority
and I will still never accomplish anything,
and I will still make money
and I will still drink rum at night and coffee in the morning
and life will still be good.
If however, my pugnacity shall arise from its paralysis, life will not be good, and my coffee will not be from starbucks, but my mind and body will have given back and the circle will be complete.
And my kids will respect me
and my wife will be tired but kiss me more deeply
and my head will ache but I will sleep more soundly.
and life will be good
I can’t wait to say thank you to the world for giving me this time to think, to develop my own personal narrative, to imagine what the world could be before I jump in and try and turn it into what it should be.
But for now, I am twenty years old and very happy to be confused. I wouldn’t worry about it though.
Why should I feel guilty that I don’t light dollar bills up with the poor, huddled masses to illuminate the white house on a dark D.C. night?
My internal narrative is incessant and offers me no exit into the socially constructed reality
I know what is real to me and the foreman of that reality doesn’t give a fuck about anything else… Not Iraq, not inflated rats in front of my school, not Darfur, not nothing.
But then, alas, bile corrodes my soft pink throat and I know how ugly I am- I am guilty and the blood is on my hands—I am xenophobic, lazy, and too disinterested to pursue knowledge let alone materialize action.
I legitimize my games because the sun also rises, and I tell myself that I am James Joyce’s great nephew and silence, exile, and cunning will lead me through.
I’m confused now- because I do care- I care so god damn much and all I want is for things to be right, and to actualize the arsenal for change
But I am not ready- I know not even myself and my imagination is not fully developed to fictionalize a better world, one with hope, one that is different than the one in which I live.
We all want to be revolutionary, but…
This honesty is not revolutionary.
Smoking weed is not revolutionary.
Not cutting your hair is not revolutionary.
Over exposed film and incoherent plot lines not kept afloat by half-assed symbolism is not revolutionary.
Rage against the machine is revolutionary, but not when its coming through your headphones.
Cranking butts, and rubbing bleary eyes between sips of cold coffee is not revolutionary.
Having the outline of Africa on your Timberland boots is not revolutionary
The individual is not revolutionary
Hobart and William Smith Colleges is not revolutionary
A Hammer and Sickle novelty tee shirt is not revolutionary
A Che Guevera Trucker hat is not revolutionary
Cramming Marx and Engles for an exam is not revolutionary
Saying you’re a political liberal and fiscal conservative is not revolutionary
Wearing a bright red pin on your satchel book bag that reads “is it fascism yet?” is not revolutionary
These are empty shells of a revolution- the molting of a snake after he and his essence has moved forth apart. The only thing revolutionary in this day and age at Princeton Review’s 19th most politically apathetic school is ideas. As these seeds in my head grow, I want to plant them in the television and on the big screen and in a book and in a weekly column and in the soul of someone else who knows more than me.
White boy pain spilled out on the floor tonight because everyday life is getting easier and it’s making me uncomfortable. Life is good, I say and smile, because it really is and I am guilty but can’t stop smiling, and my own mind is still so much more important
and I am still an asshole
and Tuesday morning’s seat race is still a priority
and I will still never accomplish anything,
and I will still make money
and I will still drink rum at night and coffee in the morning
and life will still be good.
If however, my pugnacity shall arise from its paralysis, life will not be good, and my coffee will not be from starbucks, but my mind and body will have given back and the circle will be complete.
And my kids will respect me
and my wife will be tired but kiss me more deeply
and my head will ache but I will sleep more soundly.
and life will be good
I can’t wait to say thank you to the world for giving me this time to think, to develop my own personal narrative, to imagine what the world could be before I jump in and try and turn it into what it should be.
But for now, I am twenty years old and very happy to be confused. I wouldn’t worry about it though.
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
You may find yourself in a beautiful house...
...with a beautiful wife. You may ask yourself- how did I get here?
I'm driving from greenwich to newport in someone else's father's car. I am drinking rum at an expensive private beach. I act like I'm used to it, but I know I don't fit in- I can't fit in, it is not organic. But alas, I am there. These are my friends. This is not me. This is me. This is life, and to this point this is how the world has turned and this is where I am. Caught with one foot off the merry go round- whipped around weightlessly/feet planted firmly to the ground. My nose is broken after being smashed by a series of opening and closing books; and when I look up nothing makes sense because they're not words; it's life and people and water and sand and alcohol and the words mean nothing. I remember the words and sip slowly because I want it to taste good/ And it does taste good so I breathe deep and close my eyes knowing that there are more books to read. I promise myself these bullshit lies will end and I'll fucking do it, just do it- I swear I will. But god damn that chair is comfortable and those little kids are adorable in their little J Crew madras bathing suits/ and their mothers are fucking gorgeous because they don't work, but rather look good. At least I know I'm in the drivers seat/ but when you're drunk and have been sunning all day, you typically ride shotgun,..-I typically oblige.
You may ask yourself where does that highway lead to. You may ask yourself, "am I right, am I wrong?" You may say to yourself- "My God! What have I done?!"
I am the epitome of a lazy generation with too much of their parents money and subsequent low expectations. White= Advantaged. Money= Priveleged. Male= Never recieve prejudice. These blessings are daggers hanging from strings on the ornate ceiling above the throne of the Greek King I learned about in latin during my liberal arts education which is important to supposed to know. If only I were a poor mexican day laborer picking grapes in salinas, my ideas would mean something- because they would be all I have. But my American dream is one not yet constructed, for Horatio Alger and my father already lived out the one we all know.
Same as it ever was
I'm driving from greenwich to newport in someone else's father's car. I am drinking rum at an expensive private beach. I act like I'm used to it, but I know I don't fit in- I can't fit in, it is not organic. But alas, I am there. These are my friends. This is not me. This is me. This is life, and to this point this is how the world has turned and this is where I am. Caught with one foot off the merry go round- whipped around weightlessly/feet planted firmly to the ground. My nose is broken after being smashed by a series of opening and closing books; and when I look up nothing makes sense because they're not words; it's life and people and water and sand and alcohol and the words mean nothing. I remember the words and sip slowly because I want it to taste good/ And it does taste good so I breathe deep and close my eyes knowing that there are more books to read. I promise myself these bullshit lies will end and I'll fucking do it, just do it- I swear I will. But god damn that chair is comfortable and those little kids are adorable in their little J Crew madras bathing suits/ and their mothers are fucking gorgeous because they don't work, but rather look good. At least I know I'm in the drivers seat/ but when you're drunk and have been sunning all day, you typically ride shotgun,..-I typically oblige.
You may ask yourself where does that highway lead to. You may ask yourself, "am I right, am I wrong?" You may say to yourself- "My God! What have I done?!"
I am the epitome of a lazy generation with too much of their parents money and subsequent low expectations. White= Advantaged. Money= Priveleged. Male= Never recieve prejudice. These blessings are daggers hanging from strings on the ornate ceiling above the throne of the Greek King I learned about in latin during my liberal arts education which is important to supposed to know. If only I were a poor mexican day laborer picking grapes in salinas, my ideas would mean something- because they would be all I have. But my American dream is one not yet constructed, for Horatio Alger and my father already lived out the one we all know.
Same as it ever was
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
clap back
The only thing different from a hope and a dream/Is the time you take to take it from what it is to what it means/And what it means is something that’s cracked through the seams/And you’re back in your bed again, stuck on your dreams/My dreams I try to live ‘em, dive and sort ‘em out/Half right half the time other half I’m straight out/ Of luck luckless fucked up fuckless no/Change in my state but the dollar makes a buck/ This is not reality just a blow of a frozen life/Stuck in a pattern of existence defined by what I like/Or what I know, cause I do know that I know so little/The conductor of my dreams is tricking me with these riddles/And everybody else has the keys to all these questions/And I can’t figure it out through books or freestyle sessions/Or regression into my idea of what it means to alive/So I’m stuck in my dream world, reality steps outside.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Re: Lost
Indeed we are a lost generation. A youth of speculators searching for wealth after the goldrush. Our generation is lost because in the swirling dustbowl we are strangers in a kingdom of dirt castles. Antiquated architecture to ominus to face- our knowledge that they have always been there plays into our ignorance of why, or who put them there. Despite our arsenal and its ability to bring these castles down we just talk about its weaknesses, never acting. Our pugnacity is undoubtable, but paralysis grips us all.
Our youth and education must not be in vain. Though these are weapons for progress they are for naught if not put into action. As another school year dawns, we must swear to get up, get out, and get some- on any level, so as to say thank you to the cosmos for giving us these privleges.
Our youth and education must not be in vain. Though these are weapons for progress they are for naught if not put into action. As another school year dawns, we must swear to get up, get out, and get some- on any level, so as to say thank you to the cosmos for giving us these privleges.
Monday, August 20, 2007
Lost
And with tears in my eyes... optimism as my greatest strength and weakness I begin to realize just how evil we are. My sleep has been troubled with the screams of those born into a reality that I cannot fathom and convincing myself that someway somehow I can change it, that I was meant to help fix it but why me and why not them? We can go to space but genocide in 2007. Millions killed for no good reason. We bawl at what Hitler did swearing never again... yet here it is again our answer... show me some profit and then we'll help them! The chocolate children are still ignored no different than in Alabama in 64. If it was in our backyard what would we think. The lives we've let drift away, lost ideas, lost beauties because our humanity is only as good as the petroleum in the ground or terrorist whereabouts that for all i know we probably invented. I've truly started to care less about some Rockefeller legacy... My god how will history judge us... we are capable of so much and it seems history has mastered repetition.
Are we the lost generation? What do we stand for? Our ideals contradicted daily. Equality for all... unalienable rights... responsibility towards the greater good. Raised to believe we're the good guys, we're always right and we know whats best. Our lack of involvement in mother Africa puts it all to the test. In search of my calling, something more... so when I stand before God I wasn't just another money whore. Meaning is Everything.
Are we the lost generation? What do we stand for? Our ideals contradicted daily. Equality for all... unalienable rights... responsibility towards the greater good. Raised to believe we're the good guys, we're always right and we know whats best. Our lack of involvement in mother Africa puts it all to the test. In search of my calling, something more... so when I stand before God I wasn't just another money whore. Meaning is Everything.
Monday, August 6, 2007
has it ever crossed your mind?
it's all in your mind if you haven't seen it yet. a couple of stories from the ones that would spread rumors - "i cant head back solo". i'd put my faith on the line that you could, but the more i do that the more skeptical i get. some have gotten mugged, but they were asking for it; asking for a place that wasn't like the rest. and they got mugged by some people that were asking for a place that wasn't like the rest. and then they did, they both did, they crossed the equillibrium of supply and demand. one demanded what the other supplied, the other supplied what the other demanded. but neither were economists; both were only thinking about what they knew. they weren't happy with the answer so they tried to figure out what they could know.
Friday, August 3, 2007
A Penny and the Empire State Building
Maybe I just use repitition because it sounds fly
Maybe you're fuckin with the wrong guy
Or maybe I should just calm down, right?
Maybe I just started a blog to show off
Or maybe I write on it so I don't get wrote off
I hope they see I'm tryin to get away from maybe's
But quite honestly they have the allure of a lady
So I gotta try to seduce them and slay she
Get her on my good side by date three
You see I got to flip this
Because when the maybes start comin up positive its
Leading to me being more optimistic
Then after I rock and pivot
I can take over with a mic like Scottie Pippen
I'm tryin to gain some traction so there's not a lot of slippin
Watch me move forward steadily even though all the drops are different
John's talkin about my iPod in my pocket
Puttin beats in my ears, so whether I hear cheers or jeers
Then I have to rock it, turn the music up
There's hip-hop in my heart and I can't refuse it love
Walk with a swagger where I used to strut
And that's the one thing I'm not worried about losin', but -
Maybe I won't make it in the new city
Maybe all my good moves are a little too risky
There'll be a lot of dudes with me but are a few shifty?
Maybe my grades will be later in the alphabet
I gotta wait a few months for my pals to get -
back, Until then I gotta nail the set
Or maybe wait for the scales to tip
Fuck Maybe, I'm definitely not ready for failure yet
The Alchemist Turns Basic Elements to Gold
Maybe you're fuckin with the wrong guy
Or maybe I should just calm down, right?
Maybe I just started a blog to show off
Or maybe I write on it so I don't get wrote off
I hope they see I'm tryin to get away from maybe's
But quite honestly they have the allure of a lady
So I gotta try to seduce them and slay she
Get her on my good side by date three
You see I got to flip this
Because when the maybes start comin up positive its
Leading to me being more optimistic
Then after I rock and pivot
I can take over with a mic like Scottie Pippen
I'm tryin to gain some traction so there's not a lot of slippin
Watch me move forward steadily even though all the drops are different
John's talkin about my iPod in my pocket
Puttin beats in my ears, so whether I hear cheers or jeers
Then I have to rock it, turn the music up
There's hip-hop in my heart and I can't refuse it love
Walk with a swagger where I used to strut
And that's the one thing I'm not worried about losin', but -
Maybe I won't make it in the new city
Maybe all my good moves are a little too risky
There'll be a lot of dudes with me but are a few shifty?
Maybe my grades will be later in the alphabet
I gotta wait a few months for my pals to get -
back, Until then I gotta nail the set
Or maybe wait for the scales to tip
Fuck Maybe, I'm definitely not ready for failure yet
The Alchemist Turns Basic Elements to Gold
you're blinded from the start
starfish and sea snails on the beach - an ambiguous feature of wherever you are, right next to the chain of pizza restaurants and european surf shops imported from iceland? but the constant reminder of the pier, not any pier but this pier, with the dozens of folks reppin melanin and fishing poles catching galjoen and other species remote to the sandy beaches of Durban, probably to sell in shwarmee and samosas for a few cents in the market (after they've sat warm for a few hours) to unsuspecting tourists from johannesburg and gaborone. and as much as they try to remain inconspicuous in their unimposing role, their existence is my vitality. my reminder that thousands of miles away from home im not in the same evironment; the streets do hold their own mystique, money doesn't sit in every pocket, the hand still goes straight to mouth (after the shop is closed and the street is swept with the branch of the palm tree) not after the ipod is in the pocket and italian leather wallet is in the vest.
but then walk up three blocks, and you rationalize the other way. yea there's 18 sweaty people in a van - but they're not walking 5 miles barefoot everyday. they have to have steel bars over the smallest of windows - but they're still making a living. its a table on the side of the road with sweets sprawled across its top - but the cost of living is so low that just a few sold will buy a chicken curry pie, the streets are filthy but the water is clean, most of the shantytowns at least have electricity, the white kids are racist but they must be at least aware of whose labor they're living off of, the escort services are more than escort services - but there are 'safe abortion' advertisements on every street pole ((WTF?!) the baby won't get aids but the women still will), im a foreigner but at least im not trying to exploit, i cant recycle a can but the world cup's coming - and with it international standards, she cries for a couple of rand for her child - but their are poor mothers in NY too, im guilty of privelege - but i have been for the last 19 years...
it's unnatural. you can't cope. you can observe, and analyze, and read books about what can be done, and talk to the authors that are writing them, and you can walk the streets of the neighborhood and eat your meal on the side of the road or from the fast food restaurant and you're a nuisance just the same. but as soon as you are reminded of that fact, and it doesn't leave you after a night of booze and sleep, then you are destined to have your legacy already defined...so you find a way to cope, to vent on a blog, or to think of inspirational quotes that help you to keep typing, and trying, and wondering, and hoping, and believing more and more until the future is once again yet to be defined and reality is malleable, and hope is constant. and hope is constant.
but then walk up three blocks, and you rationalize the other way. yea there's 18 sweaty people in a van - but they're not walking 5 miles barefoot everyday. they have to have steel bars over the smallest of windows - but they're still making a living. its a table on the side of the road with sweets sprawled across its top - but the cost of living is so low that just a few sold will buy a chicken curry pie, the streets are filthy but the water is clean, most of the shantytowns at least have electricity, the white kids are racist but they must be at least aware of whose labor they're living off of, the escort services are more than escort services - but there are 'safe abortion' advertisements on every street pole ((WTF?!) the baby won't get aids but the women still will), im a foreigner but at least im not trying to exploit, i cant recycle a can but the world cup's coming - and with it international standards, she cries for a couple of rand for her child - but their are poor mothers in NY too, im guilty of privelege - but i have been for the last 19 years...
it's unnatural. you can't cope. you can observe, and analyze, and read books about what can be done, and talk to the authors that are writing them, and you can walk the streets of the neighborhood and eat your meal on the side of the road or from the fast food restaurant and you're a nuisance just the same. but as soon as you are reminded of that fact, and it doesn't leave you after a night of booze and sleep, then you are destined to have your legacy already defined...so you find a way to cope, to vent on a blog, or to think of inspirational quotes that help you to keep typing, and trying, and wondering, and hoping, and believing more and more until the future is once again yet to be defined and reality is malleable, and hope is constant. and hope is constant.
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
jaws is still alive
i saw him today, on the bus, out my window, in the mirror. they say he's drawn to blood. NO, not me, not I! really? Not in shower, only in the laundry, where my dirty work lays. On the plane over here where my guilt still lays. But on the roof built by - oh wait. in the pub with the music by who?
i CAN look up though, haven't done enough damage yet - strike that, the landfill with my cartons of milk from 3rd grade are orbiting. what's a mind to do? i want to bridge the gap between the where i am, what i had to be, and where i long to be.
salt water heals wounds, but not scars. this nonsense built me, not the stars.
i CAN look up though, haven't done enough damage yet - strike that, the landfill with my cartons of milk from 3rd grade are orbiting. what's a mind to do? i want to bridge the gap between the where i am, what i had to be, and where i long to be.
salt water heals wounds, but not scars. this nonsense built me, not the stars.
645
up up up past the right of human history, same questions.
you told a story to me but i laughed to hard to remember it. there's a star out there, bottom of it all, i can't think straight. i am not that gullible, but you are fooling me. it's the same thing everytime, step into a room, hands to pockets, swing side to side. "hello". a step back, farther farther up up. on the roof, we talked about something vital, she studies philosophy so she's got to be thinking, spit on two three turns away from an answer that means something. it's quite cyclic, but our conversation has a beautiful essence that is young and living. my web of knowledge is limited and shaped by everything that has ever been around me, i listen to music everyday that dresses me up. swirling, she slid into my memory. DONE
you told a story to me but i laughed to hard to remember it. there's a star out there, bottom of it all, i can't think straight. i am not that gullible, but you are fooling me. it's the same thing everytime, step into a room, hands to pockets, swing side to side. "hello". a step back, farther farther up up. on the roof, we talked about something vital, she studies philosophy so she's got to be thinking, spit on two three turns away from an answer that means something. it's quite cyclic, but our conversation has a beautiful essence that is young and living. my web of knowledge is limited and shaped by everything that has ever been around me, i listen to music everyday that dresses me up. swirling, she slid into my memory. DONE
Friday, July 27, 2007
big fun
timetable dreams backward hope in underdrive, souvenir, I, study tip top shape to a sage, unfathomable nothingness, think about it, lover walks ahead of you signifying nothing, it's too old, age sits in a rocking chair, in the seams, pickup, if, music doesn't speak, gamblers, taxes free blank pages better than most laws, face paint, pier, follow up question would have to be...
i saw the new day coming
my mom tells me that when i was younger, every morning when i woke up, i would walk into my parents room and proudly present myself, "Okay, I'm awake!" i thought i was God's gift to the world, telling my parents - i've done my part, now you do yours!
its the other way around now. when the buzzards, or the maids, or the heat, or the monkeys outside my window wake me up - it's as if Africa proudly presents itself, "Okay, you're awake!" God's gift to the world, telling me - i've done my part, now you do yours!
So i know why my mom got up with me every morning. when you have something as exciting as a new child at your bedside, or a new world - there's no time for lying under the covers.
(yes, i am aware that John Doyle and Africa is probably the world's most absurd analogy)
its the other way around now. when the buzzards, or the maids, or the heat, or the monkeys outside my window wake me up - it's as if Africa proudly presents itself, "Okay, you're awake!" God's gift to the world, telling me - i've done my part, now you do yours!
So i know why my mom got up with me every morning. when you have something as exciting as a new child at your bedside, or a new world - there's no time for lying under the covers.
(yes, i am aware that John Doyle and Africa is probably the world's most absurd analogy)
Sunday, July 22, 2007
ouvre
We went to the beach in town, walking around city, city blocks, congested with small businesses with colorful posters advertising what was happening. Four of us, I could see fear in three sets of eyes- in my own eyes sans mirror/ facing self it might have been easier, dark cloud behind the coast populated street like no other city my young eyes have seen before, pulse of street in 3/4 i'm sitting in 2/2, cause my heart's beating so fast- what is this world, and for that matter, and more absurd, what is my world- a man on the sea, son balancing on his head, daughter clinging on son's back, one or two coins thrown in cup every fifteen minutes or so, doing acrobats actors would pay too much to learn, then talk about their diverse background. t.i.a. there's a light in the corner, her and i by the water, her friend is crazy, waves crashing on a river, off somewhere, group of people with erased visages, frames of her, smiling with jumping eyes- we can talk about it and see it all we want (poverty), but life is an probably always will be outside this picture, I pick up the magazine with the article about this life on these city blocks, but a la fin, il n'est pas pareil. and i could write about, and try to show everybody in my magazine-buying life what it's all about, that raw real, women screaming to nobody legs outstretched to nobody, kids hustling with whiteface (kids with shoes walking by unaffected), surfers in the sea, thousands of miles and trains and elevators with special keys away, this africa, je ne peux pas exprimer, c'est dehors de moi-meme. she bites her thumb, hair flying, new cell phone ringing new tune in morning. every single person i see. spot next great tragedy.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
How Flawed I Am
The 40 or Proverbs. The profanity or the Save Darfur Campaign... if only it were that easy. These days I struggle for that balance between having a good time and hypocrisy. The fear of what I have to say falling on deaf ears is paramount. Getting on my knees to pray after having a hangover that morning. Joking about sex with the boys and still putting the highest value on it at the same time. Trying to fit in and trying to be a movement. Boppin my head to the same rap artists I criticize. Wearing Jordans and bragging about the same guy who hasn't done anything notable for the black community besides a few tax write offs on a 1040. Skimming a Maxim or checking out Time Magazine. Reading about saving Africa or reading The Jordan Rules. Making myself watch CNN and checking out the NY Times when all I want to is watch the 11 oclock sportscenter... Perfection I'll never reach but that balance I must. It's tough to find that ultimate comfort with one's skin...
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
"Come there is a way to be good again"
What does it mean to be a good person? A notion I've been struggling with a lot lately. It seems many think it's just about being nice, getting along with people, caring about your family, and staying out of trouble. I had a conversation during my running of the bulls weekend. I was talking with someone about why Christians believe being just a "good person" isn't good enough. My boy was trying to tell me he doesnt understand why you just can't be this good person. I told him its funny he says that since that seems to be a recurring theme among many people yet this world is definitely not in a surplus of goodness.
I think we must truly distinguish between opening the door for the old lady at the mall and what it means to truly be a good person. Does compassion for humanity come into the mix and at what level? I know what the bible teaches, we all try and fall short of the glory of god and it isn't satisfactory to just be this "good person." Aside from religion however I'm just looking for some intellectual discourse here. I mean everyone and their mother talks about being a good person but what the hell does that mean? It's like the most ambiguous thing i've ever heard.
Look I know everyone can't be going to Africa or to the hood to champion some cause but at the same time I feel like we confuse being good too often with being nice. I don't think it's enough to be a nice person and get along with most people and be liked. I'm tired of people trying to comfort themselves and sleep at night with this notion and I wonder what everyone truly thinks about the definition of goodness. Someone enlighten me... I have my spiritual beliefs but I'm interested to hear what others have to say about truly being good. I mean is our definition of good the exact opposite of what we perceive as evil... I think not. I think the reason our gandhi's and others are so rare is because we sugar coat goodness into some name brand superficial definition.
Someone help me out here....
I think we must truly distinguish between opening the door for the old lady at the mall and what it means to truly be a good person. Does compassion for humanity come into the mix and at what level? I know what the bible teaches, we all try and fall short of the glory of god and it isn't satisfactory to just be this "good person." Aside from religion however I'm just looking for some intellectual discourse here. I mean everyone and their mother talks about being a good person but what the hell does that mean? It's like the most ambiguous thing i've ever heard.
Look I know everyone can't be going to Africa or to the hood to champion some cause but at the same time I feel like we confuse being good too often with being nice. I don't think it's enough to be a nice person and get along with most people and be liked. I'm tired of people trying to comfort themselves and sleep at night with this notion and I wonder what everyone truly thinks about the definition of goodness. Someone enlighten me... I have my spiritual beliefs but I'm interested to hear what others have to say about truly being good. I mean is our definition of good the exact opposite of what we perceive as evil... I think not. I think the reason our gandhi's and others are so rare is because we sugar coat goodness into some name brand superficial definition.
Someone help me out here....
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