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Eclecticisms: Writings

Monday, September 13, 2010


*Disclaimer: This blog probably shows more about me 10 years ago than I'd like it to, but hell, I'm goin' for it.

I'm not feeling much like blogging about my last two baking adventures (yet), so I decided to go through some old college papers and essays, and post something informative. Except- I can't find them. So I'm a bit pissed. The computer versions were backed up when my old laptop died, and the hard copies are probably even more buried. Instead, I found a few things I wrote long, long ago. Here there are. Shitty, good, I don't know. It's hard to be objective (or subjective) about stuff you wrote when you were in your late teens/early 20's, idealistically judging the world, and full of ideas on ways to fix it (all while your attitude resembled the latest Cure song). Maybe it's how jaded I am now that makes me not want to write anymore. Well, sometimes anyways. Who wants to read nothing but sad stuff? (Hence, HappyTuesdays!)

I'm reaching out with things I wrote before I knew anything about writing or it's many forms. Here are a few pieces. Enjoy, hate, love, burn them. Do something with them! That's what they're there for.

Haiku, around 2006

I'm putting on hold
the ridiculous notion
that I missed my shot

Guaranteed Weight Loss

Do not eat
Take lots of speed

Train of Thought (1998)
I dreamed of a better life the night we danced Cheek to Cheek as I flew across the floor like a swan on the water as it searches for a fish to eat who's swam down under to his castle below our world, a dream; Truely reality sang by our brothers under the same moon so long ago on this land we've raped dry of its life. under law we are none, together we are but one lost soul, soon to be winnowed out of a universe lost in space.

Vast Winter Wonderland
I am a Visual Vagabond, rapt in the arts
Resplendent are my words-
Some may call me a reveler
Other may call me a rambler.
A vanda in the midst of a desert,
A raceme in a pile of ash,
I am a variable star.

Inspired by Two Sisters By: Nick Quijano
Insperable from the seed
In life they painted
their story
Generation to Generation
Lost in a stereotypical identity
Under the Eye
of their past
Framed for the world
to view upon
as our lives are framed
for others
to interperate.

Night Run
Lightening strikes
my skin
the electricity
runs through my body

Shivers shoot
up my spine
Rivers flowing
to my head

I came to you
to forget this place
Soft as silk,
touching my arms

run down your back
A shudder
in ecstacy

Deep penetration.

Connection (2000)
I call the name you gave
into the night
at the light at the end of the tunnel
I follow.

I listen to seashells
but the sounds
of bottles broken in alleys
have deafened me.

The circular path on this Merry-Go-Round
I am spinning till I'm dizzy
I am loosing my connection
with my gaining infection
that closes my eyes.

In dark I can see how the light
can be blinding
with constant commotion
and serious devotion
In an alley with the glass in my feet...

The dark soothes my eyes;
then a baby cries.
Mother is lost.
What was the cost?

We will be exterminated.
Your connection has been terminated.

Shells Upon Beads (2007)

I much prefer the clinking of shells upon beads

than gold on gold, and rainbows to black and white.

We fight as if we were not one and lose sight, this war

of colors and materialism turn our heads from what

we need and who we were when innocence shined from

all our eyes. Open to the idea of freedom or so we say- binding

ourselves and our brothers in chains and hide them behind

laws growing more constrictive each day, I fear to see the day

come again when women cannot choose and religion

justifies crucifixions and makes excuses for our blindness.

We take steps forward but each step back puts us more

Off track- we spin, like cars on ice or records on turntables,

being scratched and worn. We cease to dance when the music fades;

ignoring the songs we carry within, depending on others

to carry the torch so they can be scorched and we

can sit around watching TV- plasma screens, high definition.

What condition is it when the rich get richer and the poor get poorer

and suddenly you realize the grip is too tight to bear

turning some into what they never were – we’ve screamed “Too late”

for centuries now, but individuals have still managed to change

the way things roll as minds are opened and pulled from this dense

fog we’ve come to live in.

With a war we are kept numb to and the kids I grew up with

are shot on soil not their own; some still choose to pretend

our world is blue skies and bridges aren’t broken. What

have you done to save the world today? Think about it for a minute and

let your thoughts meander in the maze, the endless intertwining

mess we have on our hands. Have you woken, or are you still

among those walking in sleep on these crowded dirty streets?

This child is starving, this animal is tortured, this family lost their

only means to survive while Walmart and Walgreens get bigger and bigger,

prices drop so low, that those driven out of work can almost afford them.

Helping to sustain a world where people must take pills to live

their every day lives and guns in the classroom are no surprise anymore,

yes, we are at war. We are killing ourselves and our mother earth

to whom we owe our very existence. Where is the resistance?

I much prefer the clinking of shells upon beads

than gold on gold, and rainbows to black and white.

With this fight we can pass that torch and put our songs

upon the pages of this generation. Remember love, and what it was

before we knew fighting and fear. Let’s make it clear we will not be hushed

and make them hear when we scream for justice.



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