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Monday, March 31, 2014

A Minute on the Page

As I gaze in the mirror.
I notice this boy,
is absent a beard.
All that stands before me,
is an adolescent face.
In this small white,
marble floored place.
And as I get a chance
to glance,
at him.
He will graciously,
bestow on me.
A few lines of,
breathtaking poetry.
While my peers,
march to the lavatory
to puff their
cancer-caressed vapor.
While I sit around,
transcribing words
to paper.
I observe
that his turtleneck,
is oh so blue.
The same colorant,
that resides on you.
But alas,
time is short.
Have to go back,
and hold down
the fort.
Only seconds longer,
to scribble on the page.
Such unfortunate
circumstances,
stir a passive
aggressive rage.
I hope that this
prolonged piece
of history will last.
But the future will
soon become the past.
Because time is
perpetually sinking
from my grasp.
And after so long,
We've come to the
end of our song.
Time is running low.
Soon it will be,
time to go.
So I say my last adieu.
It was splendid,
chatting to you. 

Sunday, March 30, 2014

Not a Paper Tiger

You are a tiger on the hunt. 
You tore open my stomach. 
Robbed me off my insides, 
and tore my heart in two.
My blood spilled
upon the brush of the forest, 
a sea of infinite green 
was the last beauty 
my eyes became privy to. 
As I lay there in near death, 
I realize how much 
I truly hate you. 
For killing me, 
for taking time 
to hunt me. 
I was once a glistening gazelle. 
Praying on the grasses 
of the prairie.
My throat was dry, 
I was dehydrated 
and in a lonely state. 
So I entered you forest, 
and you killed me. 
Leaving me in a sea of red, 
you killed me. 

The Greatest Sin

Star spangled America
you are oh so flawed.
Is this the forefathers saw?
To the Iraqi deserts
we send our young boys.
They think the rifle
in their palms, a toy.
Succumbing to
 melancholy over joy.
When the baby
that once belonged
to your belly
returns home to you
 in a coffin box.
And maybe
the heart in you
realizes we roam
through rumble and rocks.
For almost a decade now,
we've held occupation
on this foreign land.
What travesty
have you nurtured,
Uncle Sam?
Shouldn't the Iraqis
deal with their own problems,
why do Americans mothers
have to sacrifice their kin?
Isn't that in itself
the greatest sin?

Saturday, March 29, 2014

Blood of Mine

The trumpet transcending in my chest
is not a heartbeat,
 but rather a declaration of love.
Its not some simple crush,
that you could crush.
And here lye the strings of a harp,
and your scissors are no good here.
You try to cast me off, like a ship at sea.
But I'll lay a shipwreck
before my anchor sets sail.
You caress me and then curse me,
and what am I to think?
Oh if you only knew.
You floated from my womb,
young blood of mine.
And whether your youthful visions of grandeur,
take you halfway across the cosmos,
I'll still be here.
With my palms wide open,
young blood.
I say this love I have for you,
is not a simple one,
because its not.
And the only word
in the English language,
that bears any resemblance
to what I'm trying to pontificate is,
unconditional.    

The Song Bird's Melody

They are song birds singing tunes high above the dirt and dust.
Their melody transcends time and their sweet sound echoes.
The whispering of sweet nothings flutters far from the nest laid in the branches.
While the song birds sing their wings spread high up in the sky.
Their feathers flourish and their tin-gent color stands a vibrant red.
The marshmallow aqueducts sitting in the heavens haven't cried for many years.
Only sunshine dares to show her face, to sing beside the smiling song birds.
The song birds drink from the river, and bask and bath with their bodies beside one another.
Comfortably they live in the bark of the branches in the tallest tree in the forest for miles.
In the dark of the night, the moon shares the company of the song birds.
And in the darkness of lonely shadows, the song birds work to make new song birds.
These new birds may have a melody to tell.
And they shall find a song as well.  

A Collection of Philosophical Analogies: Soulmate Qualities

Career?
Not a starving artist. Has a real career. Not a temporary job that acts as a placeholder for the career. 

Common Interests?
Shares my love of history and politics. Loves to have deep philosophical conversations for hours on end. Adventurous and wants to explore new parts of LA. 

Sense of Humor?
Understands my sense of humor. Accepts my sense of humor. Enjoys my sense of humor. And most importantly enjoys my sense of humor.  

Extrovert?
Total extrovert. Loves people. Loves large social gatherings. Loves to meet new people. 

Loyal?
Trustworthy. Communicative. Patient. Spontaneous yet reserved. 

Romantic?
Enjoys long walks late at night and staring aimlessly into one another's eyes. Loves to cuddle. 

Independent?
Has her own group of friends. Is very independent yet makes me feel wanted.

Artist?
Writer. Writes poetry, screenplays, short stories and novels. I want someone who I can collaborate with.

Friday, March 28, 2014

HOUSE OF CARDS: A Golden Age of Television


      Frank Underwood is anything but a hero. Maybe he’s more of an anti-hero, some may go as far as to call him a villain. But as the protaganist of Netflix’s hit series, House of Cards, he has proved himself flawed but fascinating.  

      Audiences want a character who’s complicated and conflicted. They also want someone who’s dynamic, colorful, three-dimensional, inflamed who struggles with the darkness inside them and even importantly like many of us, often succumbs to their own selfish wants and desires without remorse.  

       In this golden age of television, the viewers have become hungry for something grittier, something darker, something more sophisticated.  We need a show we can sink our teeth into. Netflix has answered our prayers with three simple words, House of Cards.

       House of Cards is a political drama about a sly Congressman named Frank Underwood played by Kevin Spacey, with scheming ambitions towards the White House. Through an entire first season of murder, deception and backstabbing at every twist and turn, Congressman Underwood successfully secures himself the Vice Presidency, putting him only a heartbeat away from the Oval Office he oh so desires.

      Haven't audiences had enough of the buddy cop show routine? Isn't the classic dysfunctional family sitcom shtick getting a little old? How many Real Housewives are out there? How many spin-offs of the Jersey Shore does society really need? From Snooki and JWoww to The Pauly D Project, are we purposely drowning ourselves in utter filth?

      Audiences want something new. Something they haven’t seen before. Where has orginality ran off too, he was a cool guy, I miss him? Where else but The Walking Dead have you seen a character-driven drama set in the apocylpse about the struggles to keep your morality in a world without morals? Where else but Homeland have you seen a character-driven drama about a bi-polar CIA agent who's fallen in love with a US Marine who's been brainwashed by Al-Qaeda?

     Why does MTV need to shove more cameras into the faces of pregnant 16 year old girls when we can sit with our butter-basked popcorn and watch AMC show us a chemistry teacher's transformation into an international crime kingpin?

     We immerse ourselves into a study of power, what it does to us and how far we are willing to go to take it. ¨Chemistry is the study of change," says Walter White in the first episode of Breaking Bad. When the show first came out, nobody batted an eye for it, now it's the most talked about show on television.    

        But these shows continues to surprise audiences and critics alike. House of Cards walked away with 4 nominations at the recent Golden Globes Awards. Robin Wright, playing the Congressman’s wife, won Best Performance by an Actress in a Television Series.

       Without the censorship restrictions placed upon major networks like Fox and CBS, Netflix writers are free to take risks that would otherwise refuse them their right to make a character like Frank Underwood, who isn’t likable and can easily be disdained for his sense of moral ambiguity.

      But audiences have proved that it can be just as riveting to watch a villain’s journey as it is to watch a hero’s journey. House of Cards may have a strong lacking of dragons, but its Game of Thrones set in modern-day DC. Its Downtown Abbey with just as many strategic political marriages and surreptitious chess games only less corsets.


       As human beings in this lifetime aren't we always searching to better our lives? To strive for to reach our greatest potential and we sub-consciously ask ourselves what we would do in those same situations? Its pyschologically thrilling and it leaves you with something to think about even after the screen's gone dark. These shows romanticize the concept of pushing the boundaries and for 60 magic cinematic minutes, we don't mind being romanced.  

PRINT MEDIA: A Dying Art

      Currently the traditional institutions of media are faced with the new era. They are faced with new technology that makes information more accessible. The public of printed newspapers faces them with a growing disinterest. They are faced with TV shows like Vice that are willing to cover the more grotesque stories that traditional news publications refuse to touch. Basically what I’m trying to say is, publications like the New York Times will soon fade away to the ashes of history.
       Traditional news publications like the New York Times haven’t utilized the potential that online advertising offers. The New York Times hasn’t taken advantage of the online social networking site Facebook, which provides mass untapped audience. The new york times hasn’t taken advantage of the wondrous possibilities of tumlbr and twitter; two social networking sites which are currently corning the market in terms of how people decide to spend their leisure time. Whereas the New York Times used to be the free time activity that you came home to. You used to come home and there would be a paper waiting for you on the front porch. Do you want to know what’s waiting on the front porch of the 2013 American? Ten likes on your Facebook status. Four new messages on your Snap Chat and six new followers on your Instagram.
      The traditional media outlets can start taking lessons from major news corporations. As well as the news outlets like Vice, a popular HBO TV series. These outlets that are willing to use sex, drugs and rock n’ roll to grab the attention of the people. While the self-righteous newspaper like the New York Times believe itself to be to classy or to professional to show the same R-Rated Content as a TV series like Vice. While the TV news corporations focus on what stories may sell and what demographics they need to appeal to, the new york times is to stuck up trying to stick to quality over quantity of their viewership.
       The quality of reporting has weakened in modern times. Internet rumors are prevalent in today’s society. False reports of celebrity deaths and fraud election results are recurring instances within our news outlets. In 2000 Americans were convinced al gore had won the election because the major news corporations falsely reported that Florida’s 25 electoral votes had gone to vice president al gore. When in fact governor George w. bush had legitimately taken Florida and the liberal media became trigger-happy and eagerly announced the election of the tree hugger al gore as the 43rd president of the United States.
       Traditional journalist publications like the New York Times cant prevent the apocalyptic destruction that is awaiting them. Their demise is inevitable and baby sharks like The Onion are slowly nipping at their feet. They can smell the blood in the water and their hungry to devour the traditional institutions of media. I know it. The onion knows it. But regretfully the New York Times is still in everlasting denial of the darkness that awaits them at the end of the tunnel.   

Sunday, March 16, 2014

Broken Glass

The quiet child at the end of the hall.
Holds a bullet in his bag for every and all.

He's upset, and depressed.
It needed no more or no less.

He's a mess.
With malevolence in his quest.

Infuriation in his chest.
Its human nature at its best.

Fear struck the students, as he entered the class.
And as the shots fired the ground laid with glass.

From being excluded from soccer,
and pushed into lockers.

Nobody cared for the loner in the back of the bus.
No hand on his shoulder to say, "Your one of us."

And before he popped his own head, with led,
These were the words that he had said...

"In school I was the boy who had never spoken,
but your the culprits who made me broken."

Dawn of the Dahmer

Knock knock...as Midnight Strikes the Clock
One to the two...nobody knew.
What was waiting...waiting for you.

Three to the four...heart full of gore.
Better lock when I knock...knock at your door.

Five to the six...throw knives in the mix.
Bloodlusts like a drug...gotta get my next fix.

Seven to the eight...don't fight your fate.
Your to late...your already in ah comma conjured state.

Nine to the ten...so I pick up the pen.
And I feel so zen...your death was ah ten out of ten.