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Sunday, May 25, 2014

Every Breath I Draw

And you, cast me off. With just one cough.
Say goodbye to your flesh and blood, guess now I grudge thru the mud. 
And there I go, You’re a cruel friend. 
Well there’s the end of anything I could have been. For one misstep, and one foul sin.
You bestowed on me your fatherly kiss.
From the very start, I thought I shared a place in your heart.
But now your vile tongue, throws out your only young!
I thought I was going to be Aristotle, but now all my hopes and dreams might as well be locked up in a bottle.
My voice is gone from the atmosphere,
And my footsteps no longer appear.
You toss me aside and every time I try to change your mind.
You come back with even more loathing, while this rage is boding.
I’m nothing but a fool who loiters in the atmosphere of self loathing.
And as my father spews , my heart just lies boding.
And now your tender touch has exceeded my grasp,
And at long last, you can throw me into your past.
Fate is a cruel friend if he would sentence me to this life,
Haven’t I had enough god damn strife!?!
Forgive me for the tears that stream from my cheeks,
Because I can’t seem to find a bandage for this heart that leaks.
How much longer will I draw breath,
What demons walk in mortal skin,
To create you a creature of sin.
You cast off the only child of
For some this world’s a palace, but I'm locked in a prison. 
Just got evicted from the only home I’ve ever known.
Cold hearts and cretins is the world I was born into.
I’ve been cast out like a unwanted dog.
And nobody thinks this is wrong?
Nobody wants hear my song?
Praying my silent innovations that alas, we can put these troubles in the past. 

Harlem Angels

I live in South Central, the gangster’s metropolis.
It’s a poet’s apocalypse.
Just a sixteen year old boy,
with a glock in my sock.    
But I'm not one for Capone, 
I be chillin, with Whitman. 
More kindred to the words of Buddha. 
Cuz when I look in the mirror all I see is Neruda. 
While the rest of the homies, roll up blunts to blaze. 
I'm watching the Tonys, cuz I want to write plays. 
Me and my plokes, we slingin coke, thats no joke.
I just do what I do, cuz you survive with a crew. 
I'm not hard thru and thru, but I keep a gun in my shoe. 
Don't think me gestapo, I'm one for Picasso. 
Langston Hughes, is my muse. It's Plato, I'll choose. 
Though I'll go for some Homer, and soft rock blues.  
I think Rob Frost is my boss, in Poe I get lost. 
When you lower the curtain, the page is my purpose. 
And I'll keep rapping and rhyming, again and again.
To shove of the pain, and break from these chains!

Thursday, May 22, 2014

Shakespeare's Disciples - Darla's Commentary

Basic Summaries TV Show Concepts:

American Shaman
 We pair two hosts together to travel the world together to study different cultures. Two hosts, one a college educated individual with a PhD in cultural anthropology, and the other, a semi-well known stand-up comedian who can bring a light hardheartedness to an otherwise rather, documentary-style reality tv series. (Imagine someone like Kevin Hart traveling to the temples of Burma to pray alongside the monks. LOL, right? The show can practically write itself). Or from a different angle, we can have a different comedian traveling to a different place every week. 

Shakespeare's Disciples
A competition style show where young playwrights are pitted against one another. In the end the season winner will receive cash prize as well as a chance to see one of their full length plays performed in an Off-Broadway Production. On each week's episode the contestants are given new assignments (similar to the show, "The Apprentice") to write a short scene in the genre of the host's choosing. The contestants must write their scene, cast their scene and direct their scene, and eventually at the end of the week, present their scene to the judges. The contestant with the weakest scene will be eliminated. Much of the intrigue of the show can come from watching the playwrights during rehearsal, working with the actors and the directors. Maybe there’s some tensions between the young playwrights and there actors, maybe we have to script some of the arguments to create more drama for our contestants during the rehearsal process.  
Examples: The Apprentice, Face-Off, The Biggest Loser, Ink Master

American Mythology
Each episode dives into a new and exciting legend, folk tale, myth or conspiracy theory that derived from North America. Each episode will be scripted similar to a History Channel program like Ancient Aliens or MythBusters.
This can include a wide range of topics: Free Masons, Area 51, WaterGate Scandal, JFK Assassination, Church of Scientology, Church of Latter Day Saints, Illuminati, Anton Lavey and the Church of Satanism, did the Mafia rig JFK’s election, Roswell Landings, Black Panther’s, Malcolm X Assassination, Jehovah’s Witnesses, Salem Witch Trials, Was Abraham Lincoln gay, cowboys in the wild west, Big Foot, Jackalope, Marilyn Monroe’s death, Tupac’s death, Santa Claus, Christopher Columbus,        

Where are they now?
A reality television program in which we take a look at some old washed up movie stars, holocaust survivors, war veterans, one hit wonders, child actors or even presidents/politicians who once served in public office. 

Darla Marasco’s Commentary

American Shaman
I do love both of these ideas. The American Shomen - is basically a travel show with a comedic edge right? It may have to have another twist or hook in the show for people to keep interested. Can there be another hook? Visit their hometown or where their ancestors were from? Will it book high end comics each show for sure.

Shakespeare’s Disciples
On the Shakespeare's disciples that is a writer's dream show totally. I just want to make sure there is no lag time while the writers write. Because it is not a visually or interactive process the days or nights the writer is writing....the scenes producing and directing can be super fun to watch!

An Adolescent Boy

Let me bestow on you a story of an adolescent boy without a strain of confidence.
But one day he learned to use his toys, and his life's been different since. 
Deemed a virgin, that much seemed certain.  
But on his first day of his sophomore year, 
the boy swallowed a strand of his childish fears.
He proclaimed, he would find a girl to take to the Winter Forum.
She didn't have to be adorable just average and every day normal. 
And though it was already late November, 
He still had to find a date by December.  
Finally in Biology class, he had found his hope at last. 
A shy shell of a woman stepped into his life.
A lie to claim that she one day became his wife.
And for the duration of their High School career. 
They kissed with bliss and shared some beers. 
They sought out knowledge, in the halls of college.
For a time they shared an apartment in Upper Manhattan. 
He studied law while she learned Latin. 
Rarely did they ever fight, cause he always knew she was right. 
But when they did they never faltered to make love that very night. 
They often went out on the town, 
in her best blue dress or a red ball gown. 
Two song birds in a pool of affection. 
Before one day he threw it into dissension.  
After one night at the bar, 
he took home a blonde in his convertible car. 
Bringing a horrible ruin, to a once great union.  
And once his girl, discovered his other twirl. 
Down from the wall came a once beautiful mural.  
Decades have since past, 
and he now knows happiness at long last. 
Now he's married and has three children.
A lawyer who lives in a two story building. 
But every once in a while his memories bring him back to his long pasted Mom. 
And the good old days, when she dressed him up for Prom. 
And as he flipped through the pages of his old Yearbook. 
he remembers the Biology girl and the time she took.

Tattoos Across my Heart

Nothing but a fool who loiters in the atmosphere of adulation.
Praying my silent invocations that alas, her allure will return to my arms.
Same as it once was, in what felt like centuries ago, our providence will intertwine once more.
If only you stood a candle, so that I may capture every drip of wax upon my fingertips.
A passion beneath the sheets as our hands interlock as your kisses ran across my chest.
What other angels walk in mortal skin but the one that I know, none of name that come to mind but your own.
Now your tender touch has exceeded my grasp for not even my great affections can follow you to your coffin.
If only you still drew breath, but fate is a cruel friend and forever your initials shall remain tattooed across my heart until the day I finally join you in paradise.  

The Friend Zone

You told me you cared for me like a brother.
But I think the truth is we loved each other.

One summer on the beach.
Your kiss exceeded my reach.

One night at your front door.
We shared a kiss.
I wanted more.

One night at the park.
It was getting dark.

You held me close pressed up against you.
Made the most of that too.

We rode the Ferris wheel.
And now you know how I feel.
Our perfection was real.

Raised in the shadow of my father.
My happiness, he wouldn’t bother.

I had to fit into his legacy.
It was his misconstrued fantasy.

Because we make two.
And the truth is, I love You.

It never was my choice.
To fall for your angel voice.

I fell for you.
You fell for me.

The magic was there.
But it wasn’t fair.
How fate didn’t seem to care.

Hearts produced a love so true.
But we never followed through.
And so, cupid never saw me to you.

I was too blind to see.

It was always you and me.

Sugarbash Mountains

Here lies the shrapnel of a plane…
Above Sugarbash Mountains laid gravel and grain.
And blood and bones after the crash of a plane.
And their greed is but a corporate testament.
That Delta only cries for its lost investment.

Sunday, May 18, 2014

The Resurrection Album

“Darkened Halls”
{feat. Robert Gold}

There’s a knocking at the door
What’s this light of bright allure
Have I finally found the cure
Can I once again be pure

What does it mean to be a man
I cant begin to understand
No one’s ever held my hand
Through the raindrops of this land

All I ever see is storm
 Will the sunshine every form
And I’m always found so torn
Thru rock n rubble trees and thorn

And there’s writing on the wall
As the angels scream and call
What’s the meaning of it all
As I walked these darkened hall

This world’s twisted and unfair
So I wear and I tare
Do the angels even care
About the weight that I bare

And I’m always found so torn
Thru rock n rubble trees and thorn
For my soul I often mourn
Can I find myself reborn

Where my heart is sinking under
As my mind begins to wonder
I hear the roaring of the thunder
Where are the spoils of my blunder

And there’s writing on the wall
As the angels scream and call
What’s the meaning of it all
As I walked these darkened hall

And there’s writing on the wall
As the angels scream and call
What’s the meaning of it all
As I walked these darkened hall

Sunday, May 11, 2014

The Chronicles of Jacqueline Weisbaum

             As Courtney, a girl who sat behind Jacqueline in her Chemistry class, came strutting down the hallway, as Jacqueline was busy sticking papers in her locker. The first thing Jacqueline noticed was Courtney’s fresh;y dyed blue hair. What was Courtney, the notorious pom-pom popular cheerleader chick, doing sporting Jacqueline’s classical baby blue?
              She was the only girl in the school with baby blue. Nobody else had baby blue. What was this A-Class high heeled whore doing with Jacqueline’s hair? It was even styled in the same fashion as Jacqueline’s. With the bangs in the front and the single scrunchie strapped ponytail in the back. This Brentwood bitch with her Chanel bags and her Abercrombie perfumes.
              Courtney embraced Jacqueline in a warm snuggly hug. Jacqueline’s sapphire eyes turned to vicious flames as the anaconda squeezed the patience out of her. This blonde headed snake with her ass hanging halfway out of her booty shorts and her high pitched cackly valley girl voice, as her spaghetti straps barely kept her chest in place, Jacqueline was smothered in a face full of sweaty sun basked breasts.
               Jacqueline had nothing against cheerleaders and she held no grievances against preppy school girls, she didn’t particularly enjoy their company but this walking cliché that this bimbo embodied was not the reason that Jacqueline has a strong distaste for this petulant creature.
               One of Jacqueline’s best friends, Paige Clemens, a girl with similar depression symptoms who also suffered from weight issues often found herself the brunt of Courtney and her group of friends cruel sense of humor.   
                 Everyone in Courtney’s English class could admit that their nicknames for Paige were quite clever and evoked well-deserved laughter. Cookie monster, blubber, pig, cow, whale, the names were endless. And why not, Paige was hilariously huge? Didn’t she deserve to be ridiculed for her poor eating habits. Maybe all the verbal taunting would get her to change her eating habits, at least that was the way Courtney justified it.
              “You know if you really think about it, I’m really doing her a favor,” Jacqueline once over heard Courtney say.
              When Paige made her first suicide attempt, Courtney was the first to break words with her at school when she got out of the hospital.
             “It must be really embarrassing to fail at everything you do,” Courtney taunted. As Courtney stood with her arms wrapped around Jacqueline, a dark grimace lay painted across her face. 
             This damn lying two faced serpent, who did she think she was, pretending to be nice to Jacqueline. All in a play to rob Jacqueline of her individuality. 
              Jacqueline couldn’t stand this disgusting rodent. She released herself from the Titan’s grip, Courtney stumbled back, hitting the green lockers behind her. Jacqueline stuck her daggered finger at Courtney marble pale face.
              “You’re an attention whore Courtney! Your just like every other wasted soul in this repugnant generation!” Jacqueline thought. The thundering words boomed through Jacqueline’s head but she never let the words escape her lips.
               Instead she said, “Courtney I’m having a bad day. Please, just for today. I need my space.” Courtney’s eyes went watery, “Oh you poor baby,” she cried. Courtney put her hands around Jacqueline, suffocating her once again, “I’m always here for you if you need to talk.” Then the pampered princess fluttered away, hopefully never to return, Jacqueline thought. 
                Jacqueline remembered a couple weeks ago when Courtney had first gone blue, a piece of Jacqueline’s individuality died that day.
               Courtney strutted down the hallway stealing the only thing that set Jacqueline from the masses, the only thing that separated her from this God-awful generation of Prozac pumping spoiled ingrates.
               A few days passed. Jacqueline finally worked up the courage to confront Courtney about her hair. She tapped on Courtney’s shoulder, who sat in front of her in Algebra.
              “Courtney,” Jacqueline whispered, Courtney turned to face Jacqueline. Courtney smiled, “What’s up Jacqueline?”
              “I was just thinking. I’m kind of like, the girl at school known for having blue hair. I don’t think the school really needs two blue haired girls,” Jacqueline tried to explain.
              Courtney smiled her devilish smile, “Well then maybe its time to get a new look Jacqueline,” Courtney giggled, “I mean, you have to admit, I think I rock it better then anyone.”
              Courtney turned back around, as a volcanic eruption exploded across Jacqueline’s face. She began huffing and puffing like a hound dog. Her passive aggressive breathing snagged Courtney’s attention once again. Courtney nudged her friend Jessica, who was sitting right next to her, to get a load of smoke fuming from Jacqueline’s nostrils.
             “What a freak,” Jessica whispered. “I know right,” Courtney replied. “She looks like she should be in the Mental Hospital.”
             That same day, as Courtney was walking home from a party she got home at about 11:30pm. Her parents were already asleep but a charcoaled silhouette stricken with a sinister grin sat patiently on Courtney’s porch.
             Courtney called out to the silhouette as she approached the house, “Who…who are…are you?”
             The voice answered back, “In order to truly live. We have to scream, we have to cry. I’ve had my fair share, now it’s your turn Courtney.”    
             Courtney was stricken with utter fear as her legs began to lock. She was trembling and tripping over her own words. “What…what are you…what are you…tal…talk…talking about?”
             “I don’t know when I’m going to meet my maker, none of us do. So we’ll have to live like everyday was our last and today, its time to stop feeling sorry for myself. Its time for me to stop living with regret,” the voice explained.
               Courtney began to reach for her wallet, “Is it money? Do you want money?” Courtney took off the bag from her shoulder as she nervously stammered over to the silhouette, “This bag is worth a lot of money. Please take it, just let me….”
               Courtney’s words were cut off by a cinder block to the head, chucked at her by the silhouette.
               Courtney lay grumbling on the ground with her hands clutched around her forehead as Jacqueline stood over her with the bloodied brick tightened in her dainty black nailed polished finger tips, innocent virgins to such violence until this moment, a moment that would change Jacqueline Weisbaum’s life forever.
               Jacqueline's heart began to race, her blood flowed through her veins with a rush of adrenaline like never before. Jacqueline pounced on Courtney as the brick came down upon her head, over and over gain, until Courtney's face was unrecognizable. Over the shrieking screams of Courtney's agony, Jacqueline could, with much satisfaction, hear the sound of the skull bone breaking and breaking and breaking.
               It sounded like a hammer hitting in a lose nail on a railroad track over and over and over again.
              Finally the nailed popped into place, and the screaming stopped. You could see Jacqueline’s breath steaming from her lungs in the cold night. Her whole body moved with every breath.                
              Her heart was still jogging. She put her ear to Courtney’s chest, nothing. Absolutely nothing. Perfect silence. And with that silence, serenity. Jacqueline was happy, for the first time in her life, she was happy.
              The next day Jacqueline came to school elated, with a skip in her step. As she pranced down the hallway and made her way to Biology class, Paige stopped her to find out what had her best friend in such a good mood, “What’s got you all star struck, did Simon finally ask you to be his girlfriend?”
              Jacqueline shook her head, “Guess again,” she playfully taunted. Paige put her finger on her cheek, shifting his eyes up to act as if she was going into deep thought, “Oh…um…I don’t know…Jacqueline. Did you get one of your short stories published?”
              Jacqueline shook her head once again, “Wrong again Paige.” Paige crossed her arms, “Well I know there’s gotta be something that’s got you all giddy. I can see there’s something different about you. I just can’t put my finger on it.”
              Paige wagged he finger in Jacqueline’s face as she said this. Jacqueline grabbed Paige’s finger inside her fist and lowered it away from her face.
              Jacqueline shifted in close to Paige, with her eyes glowing, “I’ve discovered how to cure depression.”
              But rather then act surprised or astonished, Paige just laughed and pushed Jacqueline away from her, “Jacqueline,” Paige giggled, “I told you to stop messing with me. And now you’re just being creepy.”
              But now Jacqueline was the one who got the chance to laugh, “You think I’m joking don’t you Paige?”
              Paige had a look of puzzlement drawn across her complection, “What would you say? What would you say if someone just came up to you and said something ridiculous like that.”
              Jacqueline brought her lips to Paige’s ear and whispered, “I can cure you too Paige. All you need is to do, as I do.”
              As Paige and Jacqueline trotted through the forest, they could smell the maple leaves of autumn. They could hear the chirping of the finches and the crowing of the mocking jays. As they moved deeper and deeper through the forest they could hear the birds as well.
              The infinite emerald green were all the eyes could see. The tree bark nested wood peckers. The uproarious banter of their relentless wood chipping filled the forest with constant clicking, annoying Paige to no end but Jacqueline had made this place her sanctuary and the chirping was poetry to her ears.
              It was her home away from home. The day was hot and humid, with sticky sweat dripping down the sides of Paige’s face.
              The gnats began fluttering around her face as they drank from the river of perspiration drooling from Paige’s forehead. She voiced her discomfort to Jacqueline, “Where are you going? We’ve been walking for hours.”
              Paige was never the most active girl. She’d rather run after the ice cream trucks then run in a marathon. Jacqueline ignored her belly aching all the same.
              As they walked through the forest, in the distance, a faint hollering could be heard. It sounded like someone calling out for help. As Jacqueline and Paige drew closer and closer, they could hear the voice more clearly, it was a woman’s voice.  
              “Somebody! Please, anybody help me!” the voice cried out. The two girls discovered the owner of the hollering voice as they neared the stream. Across the river bank, a girl was tied up to a tree with rope.
               As they approached her Paige quickly recognized the girl as Jessica, the pompous brunette from her Algebra class, one of Courtney Kellison’s friends.
               This skinny twig bitch with her anorexic arms and her skeletal legs, another walking cliché that gave women o this generation a bad name. Jacqueline duck taped Jessica’s mouth, she no longer cared to hear her pathetic cried for help. Jacqueline picked up a small jagged sable colored rock of the ground and put it in Paige’s hand as she whispered in her friend’s ear, “Now’s your chance Paige. Now’s your chance to finally right the wrongs done to you.”
                “You’re a psychopath Jacqueline! You’re a fucking nut job!” Paige said as she pointed to the girl strapped to the tree. “A psychopath?” Jacqueline giggled, “I’m offended Paige. I’m anything but psychopath. I’m a liberator and I’m here to set you free.”
                 Jacqueline pulled out a .44 Magnum from her bag, slowly placing it in Paige's hand. Jacqueline whispered her malevolent enticements once more, "You remember everything they did, everything they said…..Pig, cow, whale, fatty."
                 Paige's eyes began to overflow with the waterfall of grief from all those years of taunting. She grabbed the firearm from Jacqueline's hand, ready to put a permeant end to one of the great perpetrators of her life's pain.
                But Jacqueline's taunting continued, "fatty, fatty, fat burger, freak, your a freak. There'll never let you forget, your a freak. To them you'll always be a fr…"
                Paige's figure pressed the trigger and the forest went silent for but a moment. A flock of sparrows hit the sky as the echoing of the bullet invaded their sanctuary. The birds were gone as was Jessica, blown away with the whistling wind that brisked through the forest and took with it any purity that Paige still knew.  

Saturday, May 10, 2014


From the heavens I hail.
To greet a world gone stale.
When the flowers of peace,
have slumped and deceased.
You were but a fool, of infinite cruel.
The Father, need not have bothered.
Because in the breakneck blink of an eclipse.
You've walked the road of your own apocalypse.  


Bullets berated, brought death to a dream.
Simply sedated, in the distance it gleams.
Forever fighting for the flames of the rotten.
For a world turned sour, and a people forgotten.

This is the House that LBJ Built

This is the war of LBJ

Cold war crusade
This is the war of LBJ

A thousand boys lost their lives today
Cold war crusade
This is the war of LBJ

No matter what the politician's say
A thousand boys lost their lives today
Cold war crusade
This is the war of LBJ

Red rivers of may
No matter what the politician's say
A thousand boys lost their lives today
Cold war crusade
This is the war of LBJ

With My Honey

So I went, on the beach, with my honey.
Pretzels, ice cream, and some money.
Went out to, have some fun.
And basking in, the sun.
Me, myself and honey, my bunny.

Old King Henry

Old King Henry, he made a decree.
And no pet, could be, tubby as me.
Oh yes, he was quite fat.
But no less, of a cat.
Sprinkles, heart broken, plain to see. 

Wednesday, May 7, 2014

Sapphire Eyes

Colonel Alexander Cromwell glanced over the horrific spectacle that was Verdun, Paris in the unfortunate year of 1916. The French ruins of a once majestic city, was now a dour sigh to see. In the entirety of The Great War Alexander had never shed a single tear but now the sullen raindrops of despair flowed down the sides of his freckled pinkish Irish cheeks. As Alexander, one of the last surviving French cavalry men, limped across the battlefield with a bullet in his thin boyish seventeen year old thigh, his eyes ascertained the remains of Terence Winter, a youthful lad only two years in seniority to Alexander. The two boys had grown up on the country side in Bordeaux in the same vicinity, though they had never known each other as children, not until the war. It wasn’t until this moment, seeing Terence’s lifeless body with his blue sapphire pupils still staring up at the sky as if he was going to blink at any second that he had fallen asleep with his eyes open, that a cavalcade of mournful flooding flowed his freckled face. Alexander bent down and let his fingers run across his friend’s face, he was not an eminent man during his lifetime but maybe he would have grown up to be if he had, had a chance. But though he was not worthy of note or prestige, he was a radiant fellow who always knew how to make Alexander laugh and smile. Alexander grabbed Terence’s dog tags and stood back on his feet. What he held in his hand were the belongings of a once virtuous man, whose innocence was stolen by war.