My day, everyday

*I understand the language, I'm not obligated to this, however it is necessary.*

Basically they said if you try stating your own opinion, if you try to be different from anyone else, it won't happen. No matter what, you must be what we want you to be. You don't have a Choice, because we said so, and we are stronger than you. They still control us, no matter what we say. If I had said that, they would have said try again, for them there is only one correct answer… "Ok you are right." It's the world, it's the dammed future we all have in the American working world. I guess you could say that our day of independents just came sooner than everyone else's, and that is why we are justified for it. I told my mom I hated her yesterday, on her birthday, and to come to school and get talked to about things like "not doing my work in math class one day and not participating. To sit and lie to myself in front of a bored of people! Our future is NOT written by our victors!

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Look, you see? That, that is what it looks like. And, it looks like something so big,  something so strong, yet something so small. Look, you see? But you don't see! You don't know how it feels, you don't know shaking, frozen with fear. Waiting, waiting. And when the lights go on you feel dizzy, confused, asleep, yet you are still walking. Look, you see? You see them crying, nuzzled together helpless, unable to fix anything. Then within seconds gone. Gone like a flash of lightning. Look, you see the hands on the clock turning seconds still, but the metal hand spinning and telling you. Today, today, today, today. And, when those lights turn on, whether you can see or not, walk. Walk. And I'll hold your hand.

"I'm Happy"

I wear a mask,

It smiles and grins,

It hides my face,

It has no taste,

I had a face:

It smiled, and frowned;

But now it lies,

Wearing a mask.

Raise A Glass

*The other night I watched a movie called V for Vendetta. It was stunning! It's about the future of the world and its corruption. It takes place in Britain, and it shows that we depend on our Government (Big Brother) far to much. It almost controls us, it make the rules whether we like it or not. This is tragic and by the end of the movie you could easily see the irony. So I wrote this poem.*

Let's have a toast,

A toast for the man.

The man with striking hope;

Hope grown from such a small man.

Who now sleeps in the sky alone.

Let's have a toast,

A toast for ourselves.

For we could not see this;

Coming quickly from that man.

And we regret not acting sooner.

The people should not fear their government.

The government should fear its people.

However it is still tragic,

And we regret not acting sooner.

Let's have a toast.

The Love in his Eye

*When someone reads a poem, at least when I read a poem, I really do sometimes struggle to understand what it's about. I'm still learning to rhyme a poem and make sense with it at the same time. Sometimes it's a struggle, sometimes it comes to me rather quickly. This one was slow. It felt different, especially writing it with boundaries.*


His love for her, it's burnt like dust,
It runs without a spark, or gust;
His heart is thrust, his courage spent,
His soul is virtuously bent.
Send my regards to a man,
A silent, steady regard to this man.

Beyond this, in his noble heart,
A gap, for a favored new start:
He appears to them a star night,
From the darkness he shines, so bright!

Again, beyond this light there stands,
From the long dark, his shaking hands.
Around him are old people new:
No good sign, like a cold winter dew,
And yet it's quite another thing,
Past the winter, there sleeps spring.

Then hug himself and reason this,
Death was his heart sleeping in bliss.

This is my Desire

*If you are disciplined enough to read this entire piece congratulations. I must say as this progresses you may get lost. When I wrote this, I wrote this from my eyes. My objective was to target your inner sorrow towards people and relationships.*

 

Perhaps you remember the crooked smile on your uncle's teeth, that is if you can remember at such a young age. Beyond the smile. Beyond that ragged, juvenile smile there was a flame of rage rising in his mind. Maybe it is envy, maybe sadness, or it was the sheer imperfectness he saw in you. The line that stood between the two of you. Although such a young age and incapable of comprehending this. Your happy who Ville in your little how town burnt and ripped the smile from your face, as just past its valleys you saw his own little who Ville coming at your happy how town. As your town is burned, you are engulfed by a black smoke that simply won't disappear.

My name is Ned Willows. For my job, I was a fireman. I was skinny as could be, and I loved children. My shift was only during day eight to ten, and I had Saturdays off. My work has made it to a point where money seems pointless. The pay is absolutely horrid, but I save for things, and I look forward to things and this is what keeps me alive. In my mind. I spend the rest of the money on rent. It's worth it though, because without this. I would be dead, in my heart.  I averaged one call a week, I have watched two of my close friends crushed under rubble and debris. I have saved eighteen lives. I have cheated death 277 times. Let me tell you a thing or two of fear. Blindness. If I couldn't see the world, I might as well be dead. A sense is a sense. One you can't afford to forget.

At six thirty-five Ray would awake yawning, and be silenced as he slowly rose from his bed on the stairs and turned right. Ray would stand up, take precisely 13 paces right, then 7 paces to the right again. He would then continue down the stairs guiding himself with his right hand on the rail. At the bottom of the stairs was a beautiful doorknob with textures of crumpled paper melted into metal. Beyond the numbers, beyond the rotations, stood Ray. His hand rested upon that door handle, like a king on his thrown. The slightest of a grin would spread across his face, but from there the door would be opened precisely 75 degrees and Ray Smith Groughs would take a deep breath and inhale the fresh air. The door would shut, and soon he would begin singing a hymn. This is my Desire. That was my wake up call and I'd be out of bed and begin to work.

Ray Smith Groughs, an old man unmarried in the dawns of his seventies, still barely past five feet. Could always be found sitting upon his stairway counting the footsteps of passing people. For him it was a struggle to fit in, for as he sat upon those stairs the rest of those footsteps would look at him as imperfect. What does he see? Ray Smith Groughs, a man whom everyone in the city knew for five seconds at a time in a careless appeal, had an immense grin as I would say hello walking past him on the stairs to my room. Yet past this smile, past his good nature, I always saw an unpleasant darkness in his eyes. It took me at least three weeks to truly understand, but when I looked into his face I would see that vision of the deepest most darkest memories and dreams of man, like what you see when you look straight into your own eyes through a mirror for a reasonable amount of time.

Even occasionally I would tap him on the shoulder as he sung his hymn, and ask him if he wanted to take a stroll with me down to the market, or to a small pub. The one time he opted to join me, he was attacked by two men carrying knives, and stripped of the 85 cents in his pocket as I ran from him doing nothing. Every Friday now I stroll past him on the stares choking out when I say hello, for he gives me a full hearted blessing and a half opened grin from his mouth. The other half cut.

Sometimes I'll sit in the stairway with him and talk about pleasant child memories. But every time he'll tell me a story of his brothers playing with him in a colorful pasture filled with life and wonders. Ray gave to me and asked for nothing in return. Such an innocent man counting foot steps from the darkness of the stairs. 

"Back when I was four my two older brothers ran up and down Mama's garden until there wasn't a breath left in 'em. The smell of mama's biscuits cookin' in the oven and dad's cheerful laughter. Everyday I'd run fast as I could behind Lemar and Jonah, but every supper they'd lock me right out of cabin. I would turn and turn this here door knob right here until they'd open it. One day I was locked out, and a voice from behind began shoutin 'negro boy tell your father and your mama to get out here now, they've got some business to attend to.' My mama took me in her arms and brought her tears across my face, as she began to sing. The angel rays are here to stay, when the sun smiles in my face, I can't complain, but hey, I still miss you. And when the mountains smile, they make me smile for quite some time, I know I'll be fine, but hey, I still miss you. And for now, I haven't felt, a way to feel okay, and I know that, we all hail, to go our own ways, but hey, I still miss you. And I still miss you. She told me and my brothers to run out the back door and run 85 steps without turnin around. I heard gunshots and screams, but my brothers ran past me leavin me alone. I turned around and saw the cabin blazin. I fell to the ground as my eyes watered, filled with smoke and darkness. I didn't blink for twelve days, until finally I rested, opened my eyes. And saw nothin."

Ray a seventy-one year old man sitting on the stairs, laying on the stairs, singing on the stairs. Ray a seventy-one year old man sitting on the stairs with the most heart warming beautiful voice you could imagine. Beyond the dark. There was always light shining in from that stairway. Not light illuminated from the ceiling, not light from the sun, but Rays of light streaming through that crack in my door. In such a dark part of New York, such a dangerous area, never once did I lock my door. Because in my faith from the last thirty years, that light has never gone out. The angel rays are here to stay, when the sun smiles in my face, I can't complain, but hey, I still miss you. And when the mountains smile, they make me smile for quite some time, I know I'll be fine, but hey, I still miss you. And for now, I haven't felt, a way to feel okay, and I know that, we all hail, to go our own ways, but hey, I still miss you. And I still miss you.

I walk down the creaking stairs on my way to work. "Later Ray!" "God bless you. Good luck." Ray would say in the kindest way. At work I take a cigarette, light it in my mouth, and watch people walk past our garage. One young boy walked past and looked into my eyes. He was fascinated, I was even more fascinated by how large is eyes could become. That's when the alarm sounded and I threw on my gear. With my heart racing now, I jumped into the truck with five other men with the same expression. The one you can't honestly see, because you are in the dark. Out the window I watched the road and soon realized this was the way I walk to work. The smoke grew bigger and bigger, as did my fear. The truck stopped and Captain Lee ordered us out. He ran to the other group of men and nodded. He looked at me and suddenly saw my despair. He and two other men tried to stop me, as my glove pressed against a beautiful doorknob. The door swung open and I ran up two flights of stairs screaming "Ray!" There he lay on the ground where he always is, curled into a ball. I grabbed his arm. "We have to go!" "I'm just gonna stay here." "We have to go!" Tears pored down my cheaks and streamed into my sweat. "I still miss her." He said to me, as he felt my face. "Why are crying? Rejoice, I'm gonna see her again Ned! I'm gonna see her!" "I won't let you die! I won't let you die!" Falling to the ground, my eyes water, filled with smoke and darkness. My name is Ned Willows. For my job, I am a fireman. I'm skinny as can be, and greatly love children. My shift's during day eight to ten, with Saturdays off. My work has made it to a point where money is nothing. The pay is absolutely horrid, but I save for things, and I look forward to things. In my mind. I spend the rest of the money on rent. In my heart, I am dead. I average one call a week, I have watched two of my close friends crushed under rubble and debris. I have saved eighteen lives. I have cheated death 277 times. Let me tell you a thing or two of fear. Losing your heart in a fire that lasts fifteen minutes. The angel rays are here to stay, when the sun smiles in my face, I can't complain, but hey, I still miss you. And when the mountains smile, they make me smile for quite some time, I know I'll be fine, but hey, I still miss you. And for now, I haven't felt, a way to feel okay, and I know that, we all hail, to go our own ways, but hey, I still miss you. And I still miss you.

A Racing, Crashing, Red, Monster of a Car

*This is a satirical response to a proclaimed writer Jonathan Swift. I have much respect for this writer, however the mood I was in today called for some fun. So here it is, my satirical mirror to Jonathan Swift's poem A Satirical Elegy on a Late Famous General.*

His car! So beautiful! and, red!

So fast it flew, that's what he said!

And could that wondrous vehicle crash,

In such a massive crazy silver ash?

Well, since it's gone, with such a wow,

The next new car must drive up now;

And, trust me, as its rumble grows louder,

It will crash and become slender powder.

Although this beast is so bold,

Its burning tire will one day fold.

His car, I think, is pretty nice,

Is being sold at such a low price!

I thought there must be something this car lacks,

That's why I said, show me the car fax.

Valley of a Lion

As the sheep passed through the pastures of despair,

There stood a wolf high in the air.

Although only three knew their demise,

They rested warmed by lies.

Waiting, waiting for one soul,

There came a lion with a mane the size of a troll.

But from this troll there came a king,

With a heart stronger than anything.

And with no breath of shame and no remiss,

what the lion said was this.

I have seen these sheep moved by their shepherds

And I have seen these shepherds' starved by leopards.

But never have I seen a fool of a wolf in the dark,

Scared to tears by such a little bark.

Oh, but what a bark I have in the darkness!

Yelled the wolf with eyes of dispense,

Behind a strong silver fence

Slowly came the sheep,

From a long dying sleep.

And began to see the wolf standing up high,

That was when the lion leapt into the sky.

Suddenly he was struck by a fence,

However this was only his heart screaming in hence.

The lion lay solemn in the pastures of death,

Watching the tears in the sheep dry from each breath.

But the tears from three sheep did not leave,

For they only began to sieve.

Past the wolf they ran,

Then they saw a man.

This man was a shepherd and so he stood,

Strong and noble though he dropped his wood.

Although he had to keep the sheep,

His hate for the wolf was more deep.

As the fence was broke,

The lion awoke.

Again he leapt into the air,

So high the depths were a scare.

 With the wolf hard in his jaws,

He falls back to the cause.

Together they hit the valley,

And a light pours into its alley.

For as the sheep rejoice the wolf is dead,

Lay the lion in a golden rose bed.

Hole and I

I was born in the grieving outskirts of Siberia. So lonely so cold. I have a permanent scar outstretched across my entire calf from my encounter with a Siberian Tiger. (Slit the back of my leg across a jagged rock after I saw a log in the distance shaped like a beast.) My father Sergey, (of Jewish religion) once known as Dr. S. Martell when he was a doctor for Soviet Russia near the end of World War I in 1918. My Mother Nataliya who  passed away from my younger sister's birth. She died before I was old enough to know her. After my father's death, Elena and I were sent to live in an orphanage in Vienna, Austria. At 17 I was privileged to study at St. Patrick's Cathedral in Dublin, Ireland for one year. That was when World War II had erupted I returned to Austria only to find ashes where my sister's orphanage once was, this was the last I ever saw of Elena. My grieving confused me and made me entirely drop my Jewish Religion. From Europe to America I settled. From New York to Arizona. This is where I maintained my researches and received many acknowledgements. As I find myself near death, I humor myself; because this piece was supposed to be an autobiography of myself. It turned out to be a psychology for myself.

I find myself in a gloomy state of my life, for at the age of 78 I am still questioning my faith. To sidetrack and disorient this composer I have conducted various researches on governmental conspiracies. After attending the University of Phoenix I succeeded in a triple-major Bachelor's degree. These degrees were the studies of religion, evolution, and astrophysics. My fourth year thesis for evolution concerned many different conceptions towards the evolutionary theory of Jean Baptiste de Lamarck, from France. The astrophysics thesis was the many controversies cast upon the theory of extra terrestrial life. My religion thesis was involved with Isaac Luria's philosophies on the Universe itself. I didn't choose these three aspects for a light headed fool dependent on the well being of himself, but because these three ideologies; evolution, extra terrestrial life, and the Universe had something in common like a triangle. A triangle that wouldn't stop spinning.

A Gibbon, an Orangutan, a Chimpanzee, a Gorilla, and Man have the same skeletal structure. Built to protect its vitals, built to move, and built for life. They have all grown and adopted the traits of earth. What separates man from these other four traits is faith. Is it because he was the first to take a flower and consider ripping it to pieces, or eat it? Truth, Faith, and What is Real; these three dignify man from anything else in the Universe. I despise the word "fact," because there is no such true statement as to fact. Fact itself is condemned to faith. My faith on these five species is God's philosophy, but life itself may not be imitated or manipulated ever. For how was God's life brought fourth. Life is not a fact, it is faith. God is not real he is the world's faith. Once again what separates man from all four is his faith.

In the end my studies of astrophysics has taken me absolutely nowhere in my faith. Did you know the "Pluto-bound New Horizons probe" used Jupiter's gravity to increase its speed? The concept of extra terrestrial life is purely childish in faith's hands. Life is an organism. Whatever that is? Is man himself a living creature? Or is a star a living creature. A star has no brain, no organisms, no fluids; but isn't it scary that any non man made object could suddenly turn on us and live, although it is already living? Isaac Luria has a faith and philosophy that describes every act of Evil tearing apart the fabrics of the universe, however he has another belief that every act of Love mends the fabrics of the Universe. No matter how far into the Universe man can see, or how much man can discover about the Universe; the deepest subjection of Universe is the faith of itself. Yet it is so much different from Life. What would Life be without death? Life would be nothing. If this is so, how is it the Universe can't die, yet it doesn’t scare us. It presents itself perfectly, but it has no balance. Is this why man considers the Universe unlimited? Infinity is not real, it is a paradox , so this is my triangle. Life (Evolution), Death (Astrophysics), and Universe (Religion).

Area 51 is real. It is located 83 miles north of Las Vegas, Nevada. It is a large complex located on the southern shore of Groom Lake. Area 51 is divided into four sectors; Air force training which contains 18 buildings (37 rooms total), Airspace Research/ Missile Development 23 buildings (23 rooms total), flight testing centers 1 flight strip, and a deep steel door one room total. I would be an instant felon to the United States government if I had spoke of any actual details within 25 feet of this door. I was invited to visit Area 51 due to my extreme researches and successes, although every single bit of my research depended behind that one door. It was almost as if they were teasing me by bringing me right before my life question and throwing me round like foolish monkeys. If at any one time had I suspected their requests to keep secret about this one sector incongruous, I would have been crucified for the depth of my teachings.

 It is fascinating, the urge man feels when he is not allowed something; whether it is to keep secret about the most simple things, or whether what one must wonder when he isn't allowed to look on the other side of a door. Yet it is instinct again. Just as if it was a flower torn to bits. Torn to bits just like the fabric of the Universe. I don't quite question what was behind that doorway as much as I did then, but that is only because of my faith. No matter how much I run from the chains of agnosticism, it follows me. I'm not running through the empty universal triangle to get away from something, but to find a hole. When I find this, which I am determined to, I will jump; I will jump without looking back!

Response to Life of Pi

The way Mr. Kumar avowedly presents himself and his faith to others is fascinating. His way of life and the way he sees it. Such a strong way to look at reality in your imagination. "If the watch doesn't work properly, it must be fixed here and now by us." (Mr. Satish Kumar) Atheism is faith just as much as any other faith. This quote exemplifies himself and the way the world is in his eyes, yet somehow it influences other faiths. For example the respect Pi has gathered for all atheists. As long as these drive us, as long is this is how we collect ourselves, as long as our leap of faith is by ourselves and no one else! The knowledge I gather from this book has influenced the entire way I look at the world itself. Yes it's normal to have that sense that you are the only real thing, and everything around you isn't. That's because we can't see the world through anyone else's faith, truth and what They believe in. This is what makes a human so sacred. "they go as far as their legs of reason will carry them - and then they leap." (Pi) Next time an adult asks you that repetitive, arrogant question, "If everybody jumped off a cliff, would you?" As if they're above you, as if they can just change the way you look at things with just eight pathetic words! If it was my faith, sure I would and so I present my look at reality ever so elegantly - "Yeah, but you go first." (Ryan Harris)

The Last Spartan

Like a child he reaches, but he cannot touch. Like a child he crawls, but he cannot move.  Like a child he watches, but cannot see. The despair flowing through his mind, like a leaf in the wind. The unexplainable sense, the drop of death in his eyes. As the last drop of sweat plunges from his head. The last single unlawful creed that he must endure. Death without mercy, like a child in arms. The dark despair he feels when the dark silhouettes crescent the cliffs like wolves. The arrows stretch and the men with burning souls take a bow. "Is he ready to die like a gentleman?" Generals bloody and putrid sneak grins with the blazing glare in their eyes. A Spartan is a Spartan not Jonathon or James, for what would Spartans be with names? The oath he took to die a  nobleman, but it all comes to a sense; a sense unlike any other. The sense of the last Spartan. He crawls ever so painfully, as his swollen open cuts crease against the sharp jagged rocks. The Spartan reaches for his shield, defiant and determined not to look up. One last gasp, one last breath before a blanket of darkness; tens of thousands of arrows cast upon him inch to inch. The desolation, the fear, the myth he knows he will become.  The Spartan looks for a man to hold his hand. A man to give him one last step, one last breath of hope. Like a child he lay naked in the arms of God. His fortune leaps to an unbearable sense. Not fire, nor ice; but the abrupt lonesome feeling of death. Like a child he cries, but no one ever hears him. A child named Spartan and nothing else.

Send my Regards

The despair, the tragedy man faces when he sheds a tear. The sensible love he shares in his heart, like the way a dog gives itself to a passionate owner. Was it to hard to understand one man? Was it to hard for one man to try? Two men together like a dog and its owner. Dogs age and grow. It is the owners job to put that dog out of its misery. It is not a term, nor a law; but the sensible love two men share in their hearts. Send my regards to two men who's souls died one night. The night a tragedy came upon itself. Send my regards to Lennie and George, as two men with an unbreakable passion corrupt. What had Lennie done? So I say once again send my regards to his dream, to his ever so little; delightful dream. They had known one another since one. Since they themselves were puppies in a sense. Two puppies playing ever so handsomely in a patch of alfalfa.