Agnostic or Atheist?

So this is how I have chosen to spend Christmas Eve...hopefully some of you find this as humorous as me. 

I started thinking tonight...you know, "what am I? technically?"  I had to find out which one I am classified as because I hear people say they are one or the other and most of the time I don't trust that the person is really smart enough to know the difference...especially since I didn't know....UNTIL NOW!!

SO...lots of people identify themselves as 'agnostics' meaning that they are doubters in the existence of god.  Someone like this (like me) holds this position because REASON compels them to doubt god's existence; however, even though REASON causes this person to doubt the claims of theists REASON also keeps this person open-minded to the possibility that they may in fact be wrong.  Now, the word "theism" simply means a belief in a 'god'.  So, in turn, someone who doubts a belief in a 'god' is an "A-theist." Atheist!

Apparently many people misinterpret what an Atheist actually is and that is why it has become more of a common practice for truly Atheist people to say and believe they are Agnostic.  So what does Agnostic really mean?  WELL...I found that gnosticism is the belief that a person can possess knowledge about a 'god.'  So to be an agnostic actually has more to do with a person having no possibility of obtaining knowledge about 'god' than having something to do with belief in a god's existence.  And actually there are AGNOSTIC CHRISTIANS...that's right!!...People who believe in god and Jesus but also believe that it is impossible for a human being to actually obtain concrete knowledge about a god. 

SO apparently what I am, technically, is an Agnostic Atheist...through REASON I doubt god's existence, but I am not ruling out the possibility (however slight I believe that possibility to be) that I am indeed wrong...and I also cannot see how it is possible for a human being to have any sort of concrete knowledge about a god's existence...THEREFORE...Agnostic Atheist.

WOW...I really applaud anyone who made it through this whole thing; but, really is a question that had been bugging me and I had to put a bit of research into finding all of this out...So not only do I applaud your dedication to my opinion but I appreciate it as well because this actually took me a while.

A very Merry Happy Holidays to all.

~The Man in the Cave

Existence (Poem)

Limbs planted,

they are veins in the ground

pumping life and some throbbing

out,

still attached.

And with all your strength reaching up

a fall will bring you back down

and in suffocating realization

myself along with you;

but even in a tired state

you allow my breadth--

and I remember holding

your arm connecting

the dots from freckle to freckle,

each separated by pores…

In this remembrance,

out of jealousy

I wish to be an angel,

so that in an instant,

like a trick

I could manage

meaning.

***Sorry it has been a while but life has been a little hectic and a bit overwhelming; but, I am over that exhausting hump that I was creating for myself and I will get back to posting some poems and thoughts.

I'm trying to capture some feeling of regret in this poem...(like regretting not writing and posting a bunch of thought cleansing poetry for the past month and a half.)...Let me know if you feel it.

~The Man in the Cave

Rally Part II

Jon Stewart's rally really was amazing...To know that there are that many people who are not taken in by fear from media and do not believe the lies spewed out from extremist pundits, is a good feeling.  Jon showed us that he is not a man who takes sides, but is a person that will question everybody (left or right) fairly, and he is trying to teach us to do the same, but also keeping in mind to not chastise that person.  Neither the left nor the right is evil...it's just the extremists from either side that cause us to go bananas.


Here was his final speech of the rally.  It is worth listening to...I don't care which side you affiliate yourself with.  He is not telling us to oppose one another...or that our country needs saving and must find Jesus (like mr. glenn beck)...but instead to be reasonable and compromise with each other.

PLEASE WATCH THIS.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Cj_cY4Tgcs&feature=related

Rally to Restore Sanity

This weekend I will be in DC to see the Rally to Restore Sanity...hosted by Jon Steward and Stephen Colbert.  I really believe it is important that Americans hear what Stewart is trying to get across. This country is so caught up in name-calling and my side vs your side that we really need to calm down and focus on our problems and ourselves. Sure Stewart is looked at as being part of the liberal media but you can tell that he is more of a level-headed person than the beck's and the o'reilly's of this world.  He is the only one that calls things like they are and doesn't oversell.  There is a reason why he was named the most influential man in America...because he actually looks out for the interests of this country and tries to help...instead of scare.


These are my favorite Stewart moments.
The 9/11 speech...this was the best speech given by absolutely anyone after 9/11.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mqY3_0RSAXY

Jon Stewart appearing on CNN's crossfire and managing to get the show pulled off the air.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aFQFB5YpDZE

Jon Stewart tearing up William Kristol on Healthcare.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HpnYvRZ2NxM

Jon Stewart's job is to entertain us...but he takes it a step further and entertains while he is actively trying to fix this country.

Fall and Winter (poem)

Fall

Shriveled. Cracked; breaking lips
slowly decomposing. Flakes brush
off with fingertips, float to the ground
and become dust; but deep pieces
stay planted until the lower lip folds
back. Once pulled by teeth: blood,
a slicing pain, feels like a nerve
was torn out. And all around me
leaves turn a bright yellow and fall.

Winter

Car windshields glazed with an icy frost.
A forest of ice-tipped trees catch light
and throw it back. A beautiful wood
made of glass.
Clouds slide down through the mountains,
crisp air forces its way in, catching my breath
and invading my lungs. The coercion is refreshing.



*Sorry it's been a while...I've had a difficult time focusing. There are just days when you wake up and you got nothin'.

The Life and Death of a Snake (poem)

I am a snake, although I try not to be
alluring...eyes permanently fixated
on telling you the story of how you will die.
However poisonous, my tactics are not traditional,
you will not be crushed or swallowed,
injected or paralyzed, by some sort of free-flowing
toxin. My mouth opens but instead of being forked
you are knifed. One of the more human qualities
I possess, wounding with a passionate, invisible,
venom; slowly allowing me to slither in your head
until you die in mine…or until you thump it
with a shovel.

*I was in a special kind of mood today.

The Crooked Tile, The Destroyed Mosaic (poem)

I am the crooked tile in what could’ve been
art. A small, yet obvious, twist in normalcy.
Once realized, nothing but a degenerative force
shifting the foundations of the groundwork
strewn around. I believed this difference
beautiful: a wonderful wearing on sameness,
eroding the semblance of which we can grow
accustomed. I realize now my coil is a quirk,
curling others, a jerk to ruin a masterpiece.



*As always, let me know what you think.  I've also written this one in another form/style...let me know if you want to see it.

My Favorite Time of Year

Oh, I'm getting excited for the holidays.  They are going to be a little different this year because I will be away from home for a chunk of it, but I do plan on being home sometime around Christmas (my favorite holiday).

My family really makes the holidays special.  Thanksgiving is one of my favorites because only my family mixes American and Italian cuisine in just the right way. We have our Thanksgiving turkey and our Thanksgiving Lasagna.  Equally good.  After thanksgiving we immediately put up our Christmas tree, usually the day right after.  There is no time to think in between turkeys disappearing and Santa, Rudolph, frosty, and (in the case of my house) Mickey and Winnie the pooh dressed in Christmas garb popping out.  Every year I remember my home being decorated to the max, with lights inside and out, wreaths, garland and a tree that must be bigger than anyone else's (because my brother would never have it any other way).  Then Christmas eve arrives and my bro and I have to make it through a one hour evening church service...It's like the week of finals you have to go through before a summer vacation.  But, Christmas Day arrives and is celebrated with my brother, parents and my grandparents whom I was fortunate enough to live near my whole life.

Every year Christmas was a warm family celebration and something I could always look forward to. Each time I came away with good memories. There are a lot of differences between myself and my family, my parents...but one thing I know I got from them is the importance of being around family. I appreciate my family, even when they aren't around.  When I have my own family I know that Christmas, among many other things, is going to be done right. 

This year I want movies, a nikon dslr, a gretsch guitar or a healthy sum of money would be nice...little baby jesus knows my grad school applications aren't gonna buy themselves.
<3 everybody.

Cool Enough (poem)

A rigid night makes us all look like smokers;
the short drags of thin air collecting and tiring
us.  Causing coughing bouts.  But not me.
I took my time, slowly sauntering away,
my destination: a movie, two lovely ladies
and my smooth path glistening with slippery
smooth ice.

Arriving when I did was key; still early but
more late than my company.  I took the long
way around, so she (one in particular of the two)
would see my approach.  That slow saunter,
the cool, collective puffs, and of course my
glistening path. 

Dressed to impress, my new long black overcoat
draped dashingly down, fluttering flatteringly
around me.  And as my journey came to an end
I reached the portal of that glistening path,
my boot slid, slippery smooth, out and up.
Never in my life have I prayed, but in that moment
my mind sent a message to God to be vertical.

Happiness, Sadness and Mischievousness (poem)

Smile

    Creases at the corners of your lips let me know how colorful your face can get, and it’s warming that I’m able to distinguish between an honest formation, caused by my own words of thoughtful truth, and a moment captured when you are saying cheese.


The Camera

    To look through the lens is sometimes difficult.  Focus on the tragedy.  One hundred stills of awful lawlessness.  One thousand stiff with rigor mortis.  One relatively inexpensive tool capturing it all to digital memory.  One day something will find a lost culture, and won’t have to wonder why.


Ascension
   
    Rise up.  To an occasion.  That moment of self-realization where, upon recognizing the garbled nonsense dripping from an antagonist’s mouth, you know of your capabilities to abscond from frivolous argumentation and leave, quietly letting your footsteps do the talking.  But, fuck you, douche bag is just so much fun to say.





*I'm really trying to explore new worlds in the form of style and content with my poetry...I've never seen a poem written like this before, so I thought, why not.  It was fun to write, and I enjoyed creating the story that only this style could tell.

What Music am I Listening to?

As many of my friends and family know I have a few musicians that I love and I listen to often.  Right now some of their songs are stuck in my head.  I hope that some of you actually listen to and watch these videos...especially if you aren't familiar with the songs and their lyrics.  They are all great.

1.  First off Brandon Flowers...I love The Killers but I really think his best music is in his new solo album Flamingo.  He is one of the most poetic lyricists I've ever enjoyed listening to.  This is his new single from his new album.  Only The Young.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TiEADQhTtIA&ob=av2n 

2.  I've really been listening to Coldplay more and more, and I personally think that their song Fix You is the most beautiful love song.  It's honest.  It recognizes the shakiness in love and how you have to have the strength to get through those patches.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aeEEFKeGcTc&feature=related

3.  And what the hell kind of list would this be if I didn't put U2 on it.  Where the Streets Have No Name.  I'm not the type of person that is easily touched by music.  It takes something really special for my life to change after hearing a song...and I think this is the only song that has ever really changed me and I'll tell you how.  This is a song that preaches love in all of its glorious abstraction.  From the one on one to the collective mass of mankind.  I've been to A LOT of concerts and seen many many bands...there are very few that you can really tell enjoy what they are doing and actually know that they have something to teach you.  When you go to a concert lots of things can get you aggravated: traffic, people crowding you, people on top of you, how hot things can get, how expensive shit is...When this song plays live all of these anxieties that I have go away because it is so hard for me to not feel compassion for the person next to me.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eKC5qKTeJ9k&feature=fvst

A Humidor is an Odd Gift for a Wife Who has Been Cheating on You (poem)

It looked like it from the outside,
an odd present after ten years marriage.
Polished cedar.  Black and white
a waistband design around the box.
He lifts open the lid.  From the couch,
across the room, I see red velvet lining
and expect the smell of aged tobacco; but,
the aroma is never present.
His hand reaches in to grab my mystery prize.
It has weight, I can tell.  A short-sleeved polo
reveals slightly twitched muscles.
One more second I'll be able to guess...
From my new floored angle I think he knows.
I don't think he'll give me another shot.


*I'm quite interested to hear what people have to say about this.

Look Closer (poem)

Heel-to-toe a man made his way through an evening field.
Heel-to-toe a man made his way with an empty bucket in hand.

The old bucket swung forward and back on the trail to the well.
The old bucket swung forward and back ready to be filled.

The man filled the bucket out of routine and necessity.
The man filled the bucket and let it rest on the grassy ground.

The water caught the reflection of the full, bright moon.
The water caught the reflection clearly for the tired man to see.

To get a closer look at the moon, the man stuck his head in the bucket.
To get a closer look at the moon, he drowned.

*I'm not so sure I'm keen on the title.  Any thoughts?

The Drunk, the Intellect and the Universe (poem)

Slouching on a barstool sits a man, lamenting over the final few drops of his draft.  As he looks in the glass the universe shows his reflection. With sweaty fingers sliding into, and back out of, his pockets he fails to discover any remaining currency to set his situation right.  So, his loose arm reaches for the last drip, once again seeing himself, now with an empty glass.  His knees buckle when he tries to step off the robust stool.  Tipping the bartender I clasp the handle of my glass, savor my last sip and I see the universe.



*if it is at all possible I would like feedback, either by email or a comment on here about how this poem comes across to you.

Birth (poem) (not the real title, but it will be the working title as far as this blog is concerned)

To you, the noise may seem a bit muffled
today:  the clutter, the junk and constant
complications quieted, to make room
and time—stretching so that each moment
is captured.  A squirm, wince,
even a breath…treasured
because birth has brought life to happiness.

For all the yesterdays that meant nothing,
today she is,  from nothing
into everything
that is yours,
to hold in a perennial warmth.






***My cousin was born today.

My country makes me sad sometimes

Since I'm having some difficulty coming up with poems today I decided to comment briefly on the repeal that was blocked today on overturning the "Don't ask, Don't tell" policy in the military.

I believe that the gay/lesbian issue in this country is just as serious as the equal rights issue for African Americans and the civil rights issue for women that this country has seen in the past.  Our country, compared to some other is stuck in the past in some of its ways of thinking.  We cannot make the minority of our country's citizens into the majority, and we must see each other as equals.  It's sad to me that this has to be said over and over again.  But when we step back and look at the situation the gay community is no different from the rest of us.  They have chosen who they want to be and they are comfortable with it.  They are capable of all the same great things as we who happen to be in the majority.

We have issues that span globally...wars, tension with islamic countries...but as far as the problems we have within our own society, I believe that equal rights for the gay community is the most prevalent, because there is an intolerance that still is going on in our country towards a group of individuals who should be given everything that each and every American should have...equal freedoms.

I believe it to be shameful that we stand for equality, liberty, freedom, justice...and we seem to fail quite often in displaying these things.

I've been an advocate of the changes we made as a country with the executive branch of our government...but this is one of the most important areas I was hoping to see some change in, and I haven't yet.

The Eucharist (poem)

I am one at the tail of a line
linked with individual, hand-clasped,
notches.  My wrist slightly turned,
the bold face of my onyx watch glared
with hands that seemed incapable
of much movement.

On either side of me, pews,
wooden waves flowing with prayers
from huddled believers…and my brother
whose own head bowed from sleep,
apparently having grown tired
from his watch face.

I feel vile, a poison floating
amongst the calm of hope, a boy
whose putrid ignorance knows no fault
but somehow I’m still capable of rising
to the alter.  My father finished first.
He waited with a brazen smile.

The priest, peering right into me,
did not see the snake in the grass.
My head cocked, and while awaiting
body and blood, I connected with Christ’s
own eyes, high above the alter—nailed
to a cross; and, one thought escaped

If you were killed more recently
would I have a golden electric chair
around my neck?*

On my voyage back to the pews
mother’s lips beamed at me
probably because, on that day,
I chose to appease everyone.  




*A reference to comedian Lenny Bruce.


**Just wrote this today.

MY CATS

I could be bored out of my mind and they can entertain me.

Ladies and gentlement...the ladies of the Man Cave.
Isis and Harley.

Mostly (poem)

She is not a high school mistake,
my 'everything in common' or
my 'nothing at all.'  I've grown,
a bit.  Realized there is no center
where x and y meet in a fairytale

have children, live happily. 
And even after this, I am mostly
glee.  Mostly.  She can be tough
and sometimes ice, but my words
run a tad frosty at times,

but cold mistakes can be made,
and slept on bitterly, divided
by that stale space separating
our two bodies, but Mostly
we are twined,

however, if not for the twists;
the frown-causing melodramas,
we would be somehow less.




**Not quite sure if I like this one the way it is or not.

November 5, 2008 (poem)

***For those who don't know this was the date Obama was elected.  I was in Italy at the time and it was a day I wanted to remember.  Why?  Well, what I remember most about that day was how happy the Italians were.  That's right.  Our country has so much influence around the world that it actually made the Italian people happy that we chose to not torture the world for 4 more years.  You see, say what you want about our President...maybe he has not been Jesus in disguise, but, he has brought a good new image to our country and that is quite important, because, no matter what problems we have going on here, global relationships are probably the most important thing to have.  Let Iraq and the countless European countries our former president pissed off be the example of that.   Anyways...this is probably the worst poem I've ever written, but I had to get my feelings down quickly that day.  (I was in the basement of the Medici Chapel in Florence where Michelangelo hid from the Medici's because of his opposition to the new government).

In a very small basement with no place to sit,
a man hid alone from a corrupt government.
He drew on the ceilings and on the wall,
with endless amounts of charred black coal.
He sketched out his David and his Moses too
and passed time with other drawings he knew.

The artist left his hand print outlined in black
and I could actually see every line and every crack.
The tips of his fingers could bring forth a tear
knowing that this great artist was actually here
Before he left his friends and his home
and later went off to die in Rome.

I left the chapel where he was kept
and on the way out, saw the tombs where his enemies slept.
He brought change to his world for all people to see
giving some faith to those in Italy.
It was 6 in the morning when I came back outside
and there was an excitement my foreign friends couldn't hide.
They told me the news and my smile grew,
I could now have faith in my country too.

My Inspiration

It's gotta come from somewhere, right?  I guess for me it comes from Dante, at least partially.  I studied him for an entire semester and came to the conclusion that there exists no writer more talented...at least to me.  He taught me to take the hardest moments and hardest feelings in life and turn them into something great.  Dante was exiled from his home and spent a good portion of his life writing The Divine Comedy...a work that upon studying, one realizes that only a man put through the pain of being exiled could write a masterpiece such as that.  He took the horrible things he went through and taught everyone that read his work how to get through the journey of self-doubt.  You look back at what things made you, you and then build.  A lot of times certain terrible memories have crafted you into the person you've become and you have to reconcile with those and move past them.  You must go through hell to get to paradise. 

This is a picture of yours truly in front of a statue of Dante (il Sommo Poeta) in his home town of Florence, Italy.

Cross around my Neck

Anybody who knows me well could probably tell you that, for the majority of my life, I have worn a cross around my neck.  Which I guess is weird because if you know me well enough to know that, you also know that I am not at all a religious believer.  Somebody at work asked me a question today, that I have been asked before, and I finally think that I know the answer.  They asked me why, if I don't believe in it, do I wear the cross around my neck?

I think there are 2 reasons why I do this.  Reason 1:  I was brought up to be Christian...I say Christian because, let's face it, I was brought up around 2 churches that believed the exact same things just were too stubborn to admit it...but nonetheless both Christian so I've had a cross my whole life and started wearing it because when I was younger I did believe in it.  Then I guess I got used to wearing it.

Reason 2:  Which I think is the most odd reason, but probably the most prevalent of the two.  I cannot, in my right mind, believe in Christianity...or Islam or Buddhism or Judaism or any other Godly religion I could name because I can't bring myself to logically believe that those things laid out in each one of those good religions could possibly have happened.  That is just the way that my mind works.  I can't believe something just to believe, or because my family and friends believe...or even because it would put me at ease about answering difficult questions in life.  There must be proof if I am to devote my life to a way of thinking.  But what does this have to do with that cross that is wrapped so lovingly around my neck?  It is there because I really do hope, every single day, that my belief is wrong...even if I don't think it is.

I find that I constantly get lost in my thoughts, trying to answer life's unanswerable questions...I don't understand why I try because I know it's in vain, but it is who I am...and what I have found in trying to answer these questions, besides my occasional sleepless night, is that I am able to connect dots about myself...I'm able to discover a new feeling that I didn't know I had...I will never answer those tough questions but maybe one day I'll have the solution to who I actually am.

The Mess is Gone (poem)

After the sliding door of the mini van closed
I remember feeling my heart twist.
My eyes followed the car until it was no longer.
An empty room now, was all I had
with white walls, bare, waiting to be smothered

using posters to cover an emptiness; meaninglessness
never meant so much. 
Bands, supposed heroes…stuck
to shield me from the pale blocks which I laid up against,
curled.  Having clutched my phone—my last connection

to what filled me.  Parents replaced by teachers
in crescent shaped cathedrals of knowing
and I had related. 
A brother swapped for friends
whose stamina ran on alcohol.  Boys who made sure
that a weekend elevator ride back to a poster-covered room
was vomit-soaked and I was left to question

if this was better.  Each weekend spent in a desk chair
rotating from xbox to computer to phone
all the while thinking of that mini van’s door closing
and picturing the concrete driveway where it would stop,
the door torn by the scratches of frenzied dogs waiting
impatiently for it to be thrown open, the stairs
leading to a room made warm by pictures, and books,
and memories of fist fights and arguments over toys
that still rest in the closet.  A room that was finally
clean to a mother’s liking.

And while my new friends howled songs drunkenly
I wondered if someone was in that old warm room,
wishing it was a mess again.

Who the hell am I?

I met with a Professor here at Syracuse last week who gave me some advice on getting into a creative writing masters program.  He said that what he looks for in poetry is "voice."  He looks for the author to be present in his/her poetry.  He looks to see if the themes obviously mean something to the author and that he is being genuine about what's being written.  He wants to see the poet having chose his direction and is moving down that path.

I know that I have a few themes I like to write about (my quirks, my need to solve every problem and be correct, my home life, my views on religion..etc.) but I don't know if I show through in my work or not.  I hope that people can see me in my poems...and perhaps see something in themselves because what good is writing if you are the only person that you are writing for?

Anyways just contemplating as to whether or not I come off as genuine or fraudulent, and also if I'm good enough to do what this professor is asking.

*I am going to be totally late for work now.

The Bond (poem thingy...not sure what to call this or if it's done)

Thoughts make us similar; not that they are the same in all, but only that they are had by all—the stem of every idea rooted through a thought.  However, a thought cannot be if it remains hidden in the dark, never surfacing, because of a frightening appearance or the timid nature of the beholder.  Release.  Thoughts connect us with one another, causing us to confide, creating a tangibility of both: originalities from the mind and new physical interaction.  This sharing makes a person readable, relatable; letting loose what is available within…to bond.


*Not really sure what I was trying to do here...just kinda thinking out loud and typing.

Monotony (poem)

Routine is nothing more than repetition.
Whether it begins with the best of intentions
or starts out of necessary convention,
it always leads you in the same direction
and devolves from sure procession
into a chaotic depression.

A quiet collapsing
of
your own world
around you.
It's a sneaking
claustrophobia,
slowly stealing
your breath
to the point where quiet screams
can't even escape
and only
your thoughts
are left.

Compassion

After reading some really disturbing things about what people are saying on the subject of mosques being built in this country (the particular one in NYC especially) I feel quite disheartened.  I am under the impression that Americans have lost all compassion towards fellow Americans and other members a part of their own human race.

The beautiful thing about this country is how open we COULD be with our beliefs.  If I were to slaughter an entire building full of people that would be wrong to just about everyone in this country.  However, if every "white" person who came after me walked into a building after that he should not receive hostility for my lack of respect towards life.  The people who killed thousands on 9/11 died in those planes...they are not building mosques in New York.  For us, as a people, to have a problem with this means that we as a collective nation do not stand for the beliefs that we say we do.  When we find out the horrible things other countries do to Christians, or women, or any other type of religion, we throw America in their faces.  BUT, here we can burn the Qur'an and believe that we are being patriotic and defending our country?

We as Americans have done just as many hateful injustices to the muslim people as they have done us...none of it forgettable...but at some time we must learn how to live with each other and make our past actions forgivable.

It grieves me that some people cannot feel for others.  That might sound lame, but it really does.  And I believe if you are one of those people who cannot then you have truly made decisions in your life to make yourself bitter and unhappy...and for that I am sorry for you.

A Pointless March (poem)

Are my looping lyrics worth a good read?  Nothing is worth the time and study if it doesn't, somehow, change you.  My words cannot compare to such things as war or any force that takes weight on a global scale.  Perhaps I am a General, my soldiers...my words.  Three come together to form a team, the opening of my poem, the lure I cast to cause your eyes to drift over to my territory.  If I make four sets of these I'll have a line, my first squad is complete.  With three more of those I'll have my first poetic platoon at full attention, the first stanza complete.  Onward, with a few flicks of the wrist and the point of my pen.  I stand now three stanzas in, a whole company waiting whimsically to grab hold a reader.  Just in case you aren't caught in my syntactical trap yet, let my battalion role through.  Twelve sets metered...beating you, boxing you in.  And if that isn't enough for your white flag, I still have my brigade; three times the amount of lineal language lifting your conscience, or perhaps making you feel as if doom looms within. 

At the end though, your choices pick the locks of my success, not my force.  I am a fool to think the war I've waged could mind fuck you as much as the real ones you've seen.

Estrogen Injection

Today was a kinda weird day.  It all started with my girlfriend and I taking our cat to the vet...harmless enough.  Then I went to go see Eat, Pray, Love.  I did not want to see this film at all but at the behest of my girlfriend I had to go (because I did not go see the Sex in the City movie...which I assure everyone I would have rather set fire to a puppy orphanage than watch that movie).  Anyways, to my complete surprise, I really enjoyed the movie.  After the movie was over we proceeded in going to the craft store, where we bought some frames, looked at fake flowers and cross-stitching patterns.  And then I came home to cook dinner for the two of us.

Ok doctor...I'm prepped and ready for my new vagina.


Tomorrow I am going to see The Expendables because I feel that I have to.

Bedtime Ritual (poem)

For the third night in a row I lie awake with heavy, blood-filled, eyes that, despite many long hours of sight, cannot be pulled shut; they are working overtime to keep images from becoming hazy videos, dreams, casting frightening projections left only up to me to interpret, because, nobody else could possibly understand the thoughts, that I am trying fervently to subdue from action, to rinse, wring and hang up...erased, so as not to be ashamed.  If I just bring my black thoughts to gray that would be progress.


***Finally another poem that I'm somewhat satisfied with.

Hopeless Devotion (poem)

Welcome me,
with your arms
embrace me,
and with your golden
dressings
impress me.
Send out your dove,
from an alabaster sun,
to meet me
and show me
your gilded throne.
Where you
will keep us,
your anxious guests,
waiting
for all time.





**Yet another new poem.


This is the image I was remembering when I wrote this.

Very many of my poems have somewhat of a religious underlying.  I've had a difficult time in my life accepting the validity of any specific view of faith.  I have issues with things that people do because of their faith and I try to express this in some of my poetry.

Life in New York

Well...there are a few awesome qualities I have noticed about Syracuse so far.

First off, you know those rednecks who drive those giant, american-made, pickups plastered with stickers that date as far back to Bush (first time elected) all the way to the inane bumper stickers supporting people like Sarah Palin?...Well today I was behind one of those trucks but it was littered with Obama stickers.  I was alive with happiness in my car and gave the gentlemen a well-deserved thumbs up.

Secondly, I found the supermarket that I will be using for everything here.  PRICE CHOPPER.  It is the most amazing chain of supermarkets ever...EVER.  "What makes this place of purchasing groceries so much better than any other you have found before it," one might ask.  Well you know the 10-20 items (depending on the store) or less signs that are up in every damn store?  They are all incorrect, and being the intelligent person that I am, I know that the sign should correctly say "10 items or fewer."  It should say that because the word "less" should be used only of uncountable things.  To make it easier...things that can be measured, but not separated into discrete units.  For example:  there is less brain activity in Sarah Palin's noodle than inside that of a toaster strudel, or it takes less gas to run that car.  "Fewer," however, almost always follows the rule of usage for counting of items.  For example:  there are fewer cars in that parking lot, or there are fewer teeth in a person from West Virginia's mouth as opposed to a normal person.  The point I am trying to make is that Price Chopper uses correct grammar on the permanent signs they have hanging over their registers; therefore, it is only logical that I can assume someone working for them is educated and is deserving of my money...in order to undoubtedly pay back the mass of students loans that he/she probably has.

And thirdly,  There is a really super cool comic book store here.

Here is one of the new poems I wrote this week.

Did I Frighten You?

Truth be told, it happens easily.

Sometimes a quick gust of wind could do it,

rattling the screen of an open window.

From one room over it sounds like a marauder

crafting a way into my own insecurity.

I’m on the second floor, but adding a basement

makes this kind of the third floor.

The second… third floor corridor leads to my door

and inside that another door to a cave.

I have boxed myself in with bookshelves

except for a small window,

my portal to whizzing cars and life I could call to.

Should I need it…to call out, holler out;

I hope to never find out if they would help out

if those creeks I think I hear upstairs are actually

in here.

All day, without as much as a whisper.

The cat’s purr became the only soothing vocal,

it served as an undertone to the cracking of floorboards

or to the crunching of the crust on my pizza,

until returning to my crude corner to read.

In silence I flipped open a book

to finally see the truth in one of my favorite lines:

“ The safest place to hide…is in sanity.”

And I looked up.

***For those who see this and may not know, I write a lot of poetry and I will be applying to go to school for it this year...So I'm looking to share a bit.

SOMEBODY HELP ME

Ok so...I'm trying to start a blog because I've ran into the last person today that is going to ask me if I have one with my response being no.  I have absolutely no friggin idea what I am doing and what I should put into all the little empty boxes I see on my user page....

ANYWAY...Hopefully I will make posts periodically to display some of the poetry I am writing and to just share the general nonsense that I think about with anybody who cares to read.