Intelligence is attractive.
Conveniently I just graduated (and am single)
Why does everything I write
turn hateful and filled with spite?
I guess the only conclusion
leaves me in disillusion.
I don’t care, I never did
and if I did?
It’s not a statement I’d be willing to part with.
Reflection is poison
or at least very annoying.
I speak, I whisper, I squeak, I whimper.
The words I sling are only in this vane,
I suppose I’m right when I say everyone is insane.
My alliteration is just a re iteration of a repeating operation.
Exponential preparation to existential dramatization.
The equation is unbalanced
The situation is relaxed
My reputation is un-maliced
But the desperation is untaxed
Unfazed and unpacked
Sight unblocked but too soon to react
You had to ask
Unashamed to look back
Lack luster filibuster fills the air
And soon you’re removed from all question and care
Not to mention the overwhelming sense of despair
You’re hypnotized before you realize
You were never clever or wise
Retract the lies we despise
And take the door prize
Size don’t matter
So don’t flatter the fatter batter or you’re left in tatters
What matters is the sadder scent of the semi super
Broken and lost in a silent stupor
A poem about boobs
Titty titty titty titty titty titty titty
Damn those titties are fine
Action Project Statement (APS)
Twenty-three years, and what does it mean? I have gathered that the action project is supposedly some kind of (re)definition of a person’s character, but who do I play? An intellectual who is constantly finding an excuse to lag behind (when I’m not having injuries give me them), some kind of quasi-artist with mediocre performance abilities, or some mixed up combination of the two. The goal of declaring some kind of life-altering collegiate experience I have deigned on myself has burdened me since the first class. Luckily, luck was on my side, and our mutual friend Bodem asked me what I plan to do. Of course, I answered (as you might imagine), “I have no idea.” He told me he had a couple of ideas, and I told you that to say I am stealing one of them, regardless if he uses it or not. I am going to compile and release an album by May, and it will include only my own originals.
I remember leaving our Human Nature class last year, and catching you in the lobby with my guitar on my back. You asked the ordinary sort of questions, like “Is that a guitar, how long have you been playing, and are you any good?” If you don’t remember my answers let me try and summarize; It was a classical guitar (which is slightly smaller, quieter, and easier to play than the regular steel-stringed acoustics most people play), I’ve been playing for roughly 13 years (now, not then), and I used to be decent, but the stroke and subsequent surgery has left me little skill with my right hand. However, I said it wasn’t all bad, I could still strum chords and sing, and I got the chance to do so at the college’s open mic nights. I had written a few songs prior to the surgery, and wrote a few more after, but never really felt I had the “chops” to strum an interesting rhythm while I tried to bellow over it.
But when Mike told me about his idea, I realized it’s the only thing I’ve really wanted to do since I got to school. Hell, I even became a music major. I’ve tried recording in the past, every so often, but I never really set my mind to it, because I always thought I had better wait for the right time. I know the class has just started, but the opening lecture (along with the semi-depressed rantings of my best friend about how it seems time is passing us by) made me realize that I really have nothing to lose, and a lot to gain. Now, chances are that my debut will just flounder into existence, and never really become anything. But for now, I’m going to hope with all my will that it will launch an exciting career, and I will become instantly famous. Of course, being aware of both courses this move could create in my currently non-existent career, I will not be surprised by the outcome, for good or ill.
I’ve always had trouble with deadlines, and reasonable time frames, so I am expecting that both will make or break the recording process. At the end I’ll either have a steaming pile of feces, in the shape of a cd, or something I can actually be proud of. As for recording equipment, I think I can manage, and approximately half are going to be entirely produced by a music program. I intend to include 6 ballad-esque tunes, with guitar playing, and singing by me (and perhaps this duet I have sitting around) and 6 Electronic pieces, including some experimental compositions, and a string quartet (for my music major thesis). They say the best way to get accustomed to a pool is to dive in, let’s hope music is the same.
Words are for the wicked, wise, and willing
Spoken from the sighted to the blind
And so they try
hoping to fill an empty mind
Words shift with perception
changing with time
shadow becomes light
with a blessed shine
But no spine, we soon find
it’s just a masked lie
nothing more than a feeble cry
uttered by a desperate mind
Tied and broken
“divide and conquer”ed
supplied a token
a sacrifice unspoken
If you heard me then
and hear me now
aside from the rhyme
Does it at all make sense?
Now the dreadful quagmire I despise, filled with hate and lies
It saw with no eyes, it thought with no mind.
Puddles and pools plagued the people, and the people were pleased.
But the swamp misleads
I’m just a simple mad man
don’t mind me
I’m just a simple mad man
let me be
I have no plan
nor plot to deceive
Nor an irreconcileable
thought to relieve
those who receive this curse
only bleed from a wound impure
I can heal, but never cure
I can feel, but the line is blurred
the reality of the situation
sits somewhere vacant
in a place filled with the complacent
tired, old, and patient
They’re waiting on a forgotten tale
hoping for a legendary hero
but with time, their hopes grow stale
‘till they dwindle to zero
Every hero must die
be it alone at the hands of a villain
Every hero has his time
Even if he’s not willing
Seated and breathing
this mantra I’m repeating
a sequence uncompleted
broken and defeated
treating these feats
like a thousand treats
Graffittied at every meeting
the silence is repeating.
Sitting and pondering
Wondering and wandering
Lost in thought but nowhere to be found
I’m sure to be around here
But By the sound we’re approaching a sensitive subject
With a delicate subtext
As we reflect we find a new direction
A surreal insurrection
While forces conspire
The circumstances seem dire
An escape evades my gait and I’m forced to face a terrible fate
With a trace of the grace I win the race but still taste defeat
Each day it begins again
And each day I repeat, I repeat, I repeat.
I’m at my best
up with the sun
after it sets in the west
I guess I’ll give this rhyming thing a rest.
I woke up, but my eyes were still closed. I thought I understood, but I guess I was wrong. Feelings can be freeing, but more often they are binding. They are a steel cage hindering an escape. The walls close in, but you already felt claustrophobic.
Maybe, you wouldn’t feel so alone if you had someone to hold. Though, times are changing. The words I hated most, “I don’t know,” were the words I spoke; I sang.
I sang a song, in case you cared. It was about an angel I knew. It wasn’t for her, at least, consciously. It was more about how I felt, with her in mind.
One close encounter, is better than none; as a friend once said “One is infinitely bigger than none.”
If that’s all I get
the only thing I regret
is not appreciating it more
in this never-ending quest.