Untitled.

It isn't as if when I'm feeling this way I can drive out to some remote piece of earth and feel a presence of the Lord or something supernatural. The oceans, mountains, and forest lay in a land beyond my gas tank and minimum wage paycheck. Somehow my depression doesn't drive me to be frivolous. Pop art becomes annoying as it is painstakingly at every corner with a billboard lighting up the night sky. I can't escape to chains in the middle of the night, they're all to well-known glow is disheartening.
I can't escape this feeling, and I'm surely just dying.

First poem in a year and a half.

(I have been on hiatus from writing poetry for a year and a half, hopeful that this poem will spark many more)

It's so tyrannical how my mind works.

Killing so many thoughts

So many words.

Hoping this dusty silence has a chance.

The bones relapsing, creaking and cracking.

Morning breath slipping,

and my eyes wishing they were seeing.

Trying to encompass everything of the like.

Allowing the sun to set, and for there to be the night.

Untitled #26

Well, here I am

I am what you see

There is apathy bleeding out my eyes

The whole congestion of inaccuracy

Spilling from my depths

This is a tale of wonder

The socially inept

But de facto

I actually came to plea

That you'd judge me by

my thought

Not my insanity.

Untitled #25

I've come back

Only to hold up

The social standard

We once kept

Yet, mother has swept

Them under the book case

Opportunity is laced

On our cardigans

It buttons up our jackets

And dangles from our ears

The vacuum hasn't seen

The light since

1957

Sculpting the bunnies

That hide under the rug

Feeding them

Every inch of paper

In the pantry

On the backs

Of cereal boxes

Telling us

Preaching to us

Asking

What's your next

Move?

Untitled #24

I'm trying to paint this

Pretty little picture

Trust me I am

My paints keep drying

And shaking, are my hands

I want this so I may

Hang it on a wall

The whitest wall in the

Room

The tiny room

I can call my own

But only sometimes

When the weather permits

Otherwise, nothing is my own

I hope to change this

With my painting

but you see

The long tiresome years

Make me not care anymore

So I'll just sit in my room

imagining stars.

Untitled #23

You know,

You can always ask people

About their stories

Their wildest adventures

Living vicariously through them

As you sit at home

Making sure every wall is white

Every mirror clean

Every glass full

Never letting the dust settle

Because that would truly

Tell that their isn't life here

So rearrange the patterns

Okay?

They won't notice

It's more stealthy

Because it's just one

Cradle rob away

For any dream you've

Nursed to life

Yet, made sure it was

Crippled and held back

Chewing on steel

Was never that satisfying

In the first place

Love.

Want to know the cheapest word
You can buy?
Go ahead and spin the wheel; the price is right.
Sharper the knife
The thinner the deal
Mass produced
A consumeristic appeal
Everything and nothing
Has been attached
No more lock
No more latch
Daddy,
You ask me
What I want for
Christmas
My birthday.
Maybe
We could buy back
The word that isn't
In lack.
No deficit
No empty account
Lets lock it up
Never let it out
Until those
Can figure out the lock
Travel the maze
They unassembled the clock
Deserved the word
That was shut up
Don't let this
put you down
The greeks
The hebrews
Knew what it all was about
This'll be the last I speak of this
Because all of you repeat
allowing the stimulation of
Neurons to diminish

Latest Obsession: The Internet

As of lately, I've become a Barnes and Noble bum. I secretly mark books I have no intention of buying and continue to return to begin reading where I left off. The book I am currently mooching off is "The Shallows" By Nicholas Carr. It is about how the Internet is affecting our brains, and if the internet is making us 'dumber'. Reading this book makes me feel not so alone.

These past couple years I've started noticing a change in my self. An inability to sit down and read a whole entire book. The majority of the knowledge that I acquire is through magazines (i.e. The Atlantic, and The Economist) and the Internet. The new style of journalism is quick, fast, and easy. Our wants as consumers don't necessarily have to do with 'quality' but more with 'quantity.' Let's see how many things we can learn in the shortest time possible without having to read too much. So essentially (and not intentionally) generation x, my generation (y), and the one to follow are being bred to be 'scanners'.
Now, technically, by the United States standards I am an adult, and by puberty standards, I'm starting to wind down and will probably be 100% done by next year. What used to be common among the scientific field is that once adulthood was reached our brains stopped growing. They were no longer rewiring and growing. But due to experimentation and research, this common knowledge is being proved false. An experiment was conducted with five monkeys where a researcher (his name slips my mind) would cut open their skull and use a probe to mess up their neurons. What this did was mess up their nerves so when you would touch the end of their finger it would signal the brain that the middle of the finger was receiving the stimulation. Now with previous knowledge, one would assume the brain and nerves or now damaged for essentially ever. A couple weeks later the researcher touches the fingertips of the monkeys again and the brains have corrected the issue and now the right part is being registered as touched. If the monkeys don't convince you enough (because the fact their monkeys means well their animals and it couldn't possibly relate to us) there has been revolutionary physical therapy where someone who has lost the ability to use the left side of their brain, thus, numbing the left side of their body has through intensive therapy rerouted the neurons so that the left side of the body could respond once again. We as humans are very adaptable and we can gain lost abilities (though of course, hard work)

This is as far as I've gotten in the book. It just worries me how this abundance of technology is going to affect us in the future. It is already worrisome how it is affecting us now. English professors are complaining that people who plan on majoring in english aren't reading the books. It's obviously not technologies in itselfs fault that we are abusing it, but it makes me think of the two books "1984" and "Brave New World. The similarity of these two books are the fact that they give us an idea of a negative utopia and how they'll be our downfall. The difference is the fact that "1984" talks of oppression (from the government) destroying us while "Brave New World" shows how our pleasure seeking will be our oppressor. For the longest time I've heard how 1984 called it, George Orwell knew what was up. It seems though Huxley had a better idea of how it is all going to go down. Our apathy and our obsession with pleasure will destroy us.

Well, I'll have more to say once I have read some more. Every time that I do gives me a little bit of fire. So, happy reading and goodnight. :)

Untitled #22

Oh, how we love the flaws

Like a drop of blood

From an immortal god

No matter

It seems we have come

Full circle

As they preach

From the highest altar

When we can do nothing

But stand there

Catching each fallen Angel

Knowing that this is why

The Cheshire cat smiles

Not only do we hope

That someday we'll cross over

Looking back at the other side

Knowing the world turns

But it's only the trip, the stitch

That makes us have loved ones

Like the happiest moment

is knowing we all die

Love.

There won't ever be anything

Like that moment

When you're in the bathtub

Swimming with the sunset

Cleaning the dirt from your nails

That remind you

Of the clawing, kicking, and screaming

Mostly of the silence

As you finally surfaced

From the deepest trench

You've ever encountered

The edge always being close

But the footing always off

We have searched the ages

The dictionaries

The encyclopedias

The books

The stories

The music

For that one expression

That just might for the littlest bit

Describe the most soul warming,

Buttery, solitary moment

When you realize you aren't alone.

Knowing full heartedly

I can tell you

No one can take away these

Experiences.

Glaciers

Well, I tend to add

To the evil

Might you be entertained

by my poem

Enabling the emotion

The feeling

Which of course

is nothing but a fleeting lie

for its inconsistent state

But I love painting the

Ballerinas in your mind

Might they twirl

And breathe

Blue lights

into your eyes

The truth hurts

a lot.

Rant. (A break from poetry)

I haven't written a rant in quite some time, and now after reading the news, I feel a couple of things stirring up inside of me that can only be relieved through writing.

Numero uno is that of Grades
What is everyone's obsession with grades? I say this in the context of when I'm reading a story about a child who was molested by someone they met on the internet, or someone who committed suicide the first thing the journalist will mention is, "_______ had straight A's and came from an upper-class family. Why on earth did this happen?"
Last time I check grades didn't exactly buy you circumstances or made sure you weren't subjected to life's tragedies. So why is this even mentioned? What significance is it that so and so had straight A's and their parents could afford this and that?
As we can clearly see it didn't buy them street smarts or happiness!
Do we as a society focus too much on grades, and their true meaning?
What should be mentioned when something of such horrific nature occurs is maybe that the person was a great painter, or musician, and how awful it is that another human being was harmed when they had so much to offer or didn't realize it in the first place.

It cheapens their 15 minutes of fame into a statistic. Numbing us as individuals, and reducing their death to that of a Halo 3 point system.
________ was struck down by __________.

Death is a cheap thrill in America.

Numero Dos: Bi-polar disorder, and ANY psychological disorder for Children.

Time, and time again our news is just plastered with numbers of the rising percentages of people being diagnosed and parents spending on things related to psychological disorders amongst children.
Am I the only one who realizes that the urbanization of our country just might have to do with the fact that little Jimmy in Kindergarten can't sit still?
That may be the fact Dear Mother provides endless amounts of processed foods, and television to said child might have an impact on their being as a whole...

What do I know right?

All I know is when I eat to much crap and lay around I notice I get a little wound tight...

I'm 19 years old for Pete's sake, are my high fluctuations of mood when I've consumed high amounts of sugar and caffeine put me in line for the bi-polar/add/ADHD train?

Maybe, if I get off my happy butt and run around for two hours I'll chill out?
MAYBE your child who has 10 times the amount of energy I can no longer dream of possessing needs that too?

Or, a quick attitude adjustment.
I'm not here to cheapen the psychological field, and I'm quite sure there are a few cases in which a child isn't in a normal state of consciousness. But, seriously people?
I find most of this to be the 'Blame Game.'

"Oh, my child has ADD so it isn't my fault when he is screaming and throwing a tantrum in the aisles of Target."

The responsibility of the parent has been shifted to that of the child, not even the child! But! the poor innocent creatures disorder.
Let's pop a pill to that!

Numero Tres: Facebook/Twitter/The internet/ Technology

I will be the first to state that I am a nerd, and LOVE technology.
Not many people know exactly what a GUI interface is, and why Mac is superior to Microsoft because of its formatting.
Anywho.

The real problem is the isolation of our communities.

Technology is slowing causing people to regress to an isolationist state.
Yes, you are now texting 20 people, and messaging 30 more on Facebook
But is this really communication?

Communication is body language and speaking.

The two can't exactly be separated...
So we have to try and provide an alternative to the batting of the eyelashes (so to speak) and create emoticons to provide some sort of clarification to what exactly we said.

At least on the telephone you hear voice inflection...
Now, I have to capitalize my words to make a strong statement.

This has reduced our conversations to be short, and sweet.

I think this is what has killed poetry honestly.

Poetry doesn't provide short cuts in its communication.

No 'LOL's' or 'BTW's' there...

I didn't sign up for a job with cubicles, but it seems the world is already assigning them anyway...



Rant over.

Untitled #21

All she had to latch on to was the things

She created

Nothing more than pious drama

That was doted on at every spare moment

I couldn't blame her

As she applied a layer of eyeshadow

To her already purple lined eye

Waiting for the call

Waiting to be wanted

Waiting for nothing

So I indulged her

Hoping my obvious state of superiority

Wouldn't leak through my smile

I hated myself for this

But it gets harder every day

When I'm realizing

That spilled milk

Is meant to be crying over

By those who can

Untitled #20

I was searching for some tragedy

To shoot up in my veins

My eyes to roll back

My blood to turn red

Hoping to act as a catalyst

A median in fact

That'll allow the relation

To Relate

Infiltrate the void

The cliches' we hold dear

Might my existence

Be devastating

Enabling the healthy

To hear.

Untitled #19

We all come to that point

When insanity is no longer

Our comfort blanket

The iniquities of the world

aren't blamed on the Devil

Starting to realize this

Invidious wave eroding away

The most pleasant little beauties

We know

Might our oceans submerge that last

Bit of paradise

Causing everyone to actually love

And realize

That abnegating oneself

Is more than a blank check

Untitled #18

Sometimes it gets hard to espy,

but the killer of me never wanted me to die.

Blinding me never altered my cry

The iniquity of my sorrow

Well it gets harder to convey

Continually trying to demolish

The hearts that tell of today

Impossible is the sword

Above the walk way

On the Arch

That as much as I turn

It won't rip open my heart

Bukowski

Bukowski, tell me what is wrong.

I stopped existing when I read you

Killed my mind when I met you

It might be an excuse, but you must see

That no one knows me better

Than that bluebird in my heart

You gave me the words

So that I could understand

The deep fluttering, and scraping

Inside the only thing

That mechanically keeps me moving

Yet, I'm told all source of feeling

comes from that very spot

Visibly seeing it pumping

Liquifying my words

But the silence

It's unheard of

I try and try to write

That I end up writing

About you

All because I began

Related

Tried to understand

I did realize

Realize the truth

That I couldn't write worth a damn

it was always you.

Untitled #17

As the deep resounding sound

Concreted between the smallest capillary

As tension rolls down

Dancing with my seahorse

Monogamy theorized

Laying with my concepts

Lacing my prospects

I'm engulfed with my ego

I'm clotting my veins

Which is the only way

We might relate

Since I'm never dying

I'm just submerged in my elements

But someday fire will tangle with water

I might admit that I was absorbed

Into an eluded state of being

Where I no longer

Admit that I heard

Everything said

It isn't as stressful

But I don't speak.

Language of the body

Isn't rare to come by.

Eyes swallowed a moon full

I swore it was the sun

Blinding out the reasons

Faults in me are splitting

Splitting open

Taking toll

Numb knots in my back

This was swallowed whole

The fiery billion of light years

That seem to never pass

that the falling of the masses

Straight past

That golden road

That seduced our

Inner hearts

That may be outward

at last

Untitled #16

Where there were tears

There aren't anymore

As though my existence

Went out the door

Could I even muster a passionate line?

Rhyme and speak of vast entities like time

No more than a line

A sentence I construct

It's the amplified comparison

That I tend to see

The passion that once was me

Concrete is the foundation

That enraptures my mind

The glass ceilings and the advertising signs

Mechanical is the city in my head

Working so that I won't go dead

A battery

a worn out plug

Turning of the wheels

That keep us from

Our rural roots

our primitive prime

The taste of the earth

The taste of time

When the watches were outlandish

The indoors a dread

When I could possibly articulate

All that could be said

But don't worry about my words

my senseless rhymes

I'll perform the mundane tasks

That will subside

Till it is as if I won't go on anymore

Italy, France, the sun

close their doors

So I'm left here wishing

I could take part

being an unclaimed solar system

A piece of art

So all that was expected and all they would need

it a glimpse to see

that this life isn't

What it should be