Maybe I Should Scream

(a poem)

Dunno why you whine
Like a spoiled little child
Spoiled children, people love them
Relations anyway
But
Love counts
But not much
When, like me, all that you can get is what you've
Scraped off the sidewalk
And pulled out of the gutter
Then life starts to look up
With this shiny refurbished love in your hands
When the owner comes along and recognizes it
Pulls it from your hands with words of thanks
The miserable bum
Maybe I'm a poet and a lover
But not a very good one
Maybe I should cry
Maybe I should scream

Sitting here typing or Why the world was round

Hm. I wonder why I'm doing this. I have things to do, chores, mostly. I have to clean like crazy because my sister's baptisim is tomorrow,and the house is a mess. Then tonight I'm serving at church, and after that I have to quick eat so I can get to the party I'm going to tonight before it ends.
Why am I typing? I'd better stop.

Wondering about things or Things about wondering

Hm. Well, I'll have to face it. Tonight I killed Jack. Captain Jack Sparrow. My friends and family will know what I mean. But for the rest of you, I'll explain. I used to do a Captain Jack impression that rivaled Johnny Depp's (or I like to think it did.) But anyway, this night I was in full flow. I had a bandanna, tri-corner hat, unmarked bottle full of cider and a cork stuck into the bottle. But then certain of my "friends" started to knock me down and steal the hat, the bandanna, the bottle and the cork. After a while I had had enough of their harassment, and I tried to make them stop, but they refused to. I made a fatal decision. I decided to kill Jack. I took a plastic pirate gun, put to my temple, said my last goodbye in Jack's voice, walked away and shot myself. I fell to the ground, then got up and Jack was no more. Maybe some day, when the third movie comes out, and I see how and if he comes back, I'll wake him up, but for now... Goodbye Jack. It was fun.

Strange really. You don't think about life until it nails you in the face, knocks you to the ground and spits on you. But when it does, you get up, and realize that there's no going back. It's all over really. If your life before was great, or if it was horrible, it's gone. The change can be a "good" or "bad" thing, but it will still turn you upside down. Meeting someone that catches your heart and won't let go, even though you've already dedicated it to someone else. Finding out a friend is in the hospital with a terminal illness. Change. It happens. And you better flow with the punches or you'll be lying on the ground gasping, and you may never get up. Change. It kills. It kills the old you, and you can't do a single %@#$ thing about it. Makes a new you, sure, but that takes a while to get used to. Makes you want to lie down in the grass and close your eyes and let the sunshine wash over you, while the sunflowers nod their pretty heads above you, and you talk with the person you love, and tell them how you feel with words of beauty... Yeah, like that'll ever happen. A more realistic paradise would be sitting on the curb at night while a cold wind blows, with the street light glowing above you, sitting with the person who doesn't know you love her, and talking about anything but what you want to. Sometimes your view of the world can change everything, most often the world just goes on and doesn't give a dime or even a penny for your thoughts and views. Pretty useless, in a pretty way. Angst is real; deal with it.

I got you roses or Dead boy's dying gift

(this is a song I wrote last night)

Girl, I got you roses/Your favorites/Blue and white/Or that's how they look to me/I'm fading/But girl I got you roses/Picked them myself/Got pricked by a thorn/I'm bleeding/Hey girl, roses/I wanted to show you my love with roses/Hey girl, I got you roses/I'm dying

It is, as far as I can make out, about a shy boy with a terminal illness, and on the day when he is certain, absolutely certain, that he will die, he goes out and picks some roses for the girl he loved, and he can only do that on his dying day because he was too shy to tell her he loved her before.

On bitterness and love or occupational hazards of having emotions

As I was walking my dog something occured to me. It is interesting how when you love someone, and offer your heart to them, but they refuse or don't even notice, you don't become bitter. You may have bitterness inside you, but you never show it to your beloved, because she is your beloved. The bitter feelings, anger, sadness, bitterness and confusion, grow inside you, but you would not harm the person you love with them. Instead they come spinning out at the people you know, and at the world. You blame the world for your troubles, and blast it with your hate. Then the hate is spent, the world is angry at you, and it all starts over again. Gotta find a way to break the cycle, otherwise you'll end up on the bad side of depression. Hm. Yup. Depression stinks. All those emotions, spinning around, crashing into each other and causing nasty messups... Wow... Kinda shocking, but it doesn't really matter. After all, this is just a philosophical babble that may not have any real-world purpose.

Well well well.

If what I think is correct, you cannot post audio files to your blog using blogger. This has made me sad. Oh well. I can still show off my pics and poems. Hm. It's sad though. Not being able to show everyone my audio shows. I can do some mean stuff with Garageband.


Below I will post an improvisational poem. Mine, all mine! No stealing got it?


Makes ya wonder don't it
Wonder how I live
All alone, as far as you know
All alone, by himself
Well I do
Live alone
By myself
Not the way I would have it, oh no
I would have my life bursting with love, sound and color
But
Not the way it panned out
Makes me wonder, ya know
Wonder if it's the world, or if it's just me

A couple thoughts on food or Foud Fore the Idiot's Thouht

It occurs it me that food is really wonderful. If you go down to the bottom of the issue, food is just atoms, making up molecules, which make up compounds and such. If just a couple proteins and molecules were changed, your lunch could be a poisonous substance that would cause instant death. But if you boil a mushroom, it no longer is poisonous. If you cook meat, our stomachs can handle it. Molecular changes happen on the stove. In the oven. Microwaves are powerful strong science, allowing us to heat water molecules in our food to cook it without flame. Food is scientific.

But on the other hand, food can have a negative effect. Soda and Cheetos are food, but if you live on a diet of prepackaged, preserved, flavored souless food, you're probably going to turn out dumb. Your brain can't thrive on cardboard and air. Hm. Cardboard and air. A lot like stage props in plays. You shouldn't eat those either. Yes, almost everything has the potential to be food, but almost everything isn't.

Bright Flowers

I took this pic on vacation. It looked kind of average on the camera, but when I loaded it onto the computer it became really cool. I added the antique setting to it with iPhoto.

Well... This is cool.

Well... This is cool. I have a blog! Never thought this would happen... Well, anyway, this is where I will show off my poems, photographs, song lyrics, audio projects and occasionally babble incoherently, or, as I like to think of it, give my learned thoughts on a variety of subjects. Hey, that made me think of something. Wouldn't it be lovely if we all didn't have to go to work each day, if we just each had to do an hour of work, and then we could simply create all kinds of beauty and art. Think of just making music all day, or writing poetry, or writing stories. Wouldn't the world be a better place if all the soldiers could lay down their swords, become poets, and pick up pens?

Hhhhmmmm. Food for thought, I guess. Like fish. Food for your brain. Although, is that just a bit of old advice that doesn't really work? Cause there's mercury in big fishes, and that can mess with a child's development. Hhhmmm. Maybe just a variety of healthy food is brain food. Oh well. With that interesting interlude, it's back to rubbing your nose against the grindstone, or what ever industrious people do.