YOU NAME IT

2008-03-14T11:14:00.000-04:00

Check These Out

2008-03-04T11:47:00.003-05:00

2008-02-29T14:35:00.000-05:00

2008-02-29T14:28:00.000-05:00

Something to think about...

2008-01-29T13:45:00.001-05:00

"That is not dead which can eternal lie,
And with strange aeons even death may die."

~H.P. Lovecraft (The Call of Cthulhu)

For now, I will leave you with this couplet and the previous poems, but as an interesting side note, did you know that George Lucas based Obi Wan Kenobi on Carlos Castaneda's literary works involving a Yaqui Indian known as Don Juan? An interesting author if you get a chance.

Another awesome poem...Not by me.

2008-01-29T13:42:00.000-05:00

Glove

If in this word
Is love itself
Then love is bone
And blood inside
The form that warms
Your lovely hand-
Your hand is love
And mine that takes
Your love in mine
Without your hand
Is nothing but
An empty word.
Bruce Guernsey (b. 1944)

Who can argue with such ambiguous yet concise writing? Plus, it can not be easy to compare love to something as ordinary as a glove.

Temerpance

2008-01-29T13:37:00.000-05:00

Your sinful blue eyes',
Fail to see me.
For my true intention;
Love's blasphemy.

An established couplet,
Or so you seem.
As one lies near,
The other in a dream.

Time spent with one,
Dispels my thoughts.
Together at once,
My love is caught.

For as one has,
Not both can partake.
One hand in one hand,
The other I antiquate.

And at last,
My open eyes can see...
The struggle is endless,
The decider is me.

I hope this new poem makes up for my absence...I am sure overtime my small break from writing will seem as if it was a necessary excursion.

2006-04-21T17:01:00.000-04:00

The Three Little Domestic Farm Mammals

2006-03-16T11:04:00.000-05:00

Adhering to what is politically correct is a major issue in American culture today as it dominates the business and political worlds. Superiors and subordinates, in government and businesses, on every level are trained and expected to constrain from making comments that can be seen as not politically correct. In using the term politically correct I mean abstaining from using derogative language or actions that are aimed at the opposite sex, lower classes, or another race. A basic example of the politically correct concept can be seen when you compare old English fairy tales to their politically correct remakes.
The old English fairytale The Three Little Pigs and the politically correct bedtime story of the same name are both similar in many aspects, but slightly different in some aspects. The message intertwined in the stories remains the same even after the story is politically corrected. The wolf represents an imperialistic entity that attempts to commandeer a possession of the pigs.
The literal characteristics of the two stories also remain the same. For instance, the number of pigs involved does not differ from the original to the politically correct remake. The materials that comprised the three houses did not change either. The houses are still built out of straw, clay and bricks. A slight variation in how the house of bricks is described is a negligible difference. The old English fairytale version simply states that the third pig’s house was built using bricks. The politically correct bedtime story version illustrates the house by stating, “…a house of dung, clay and creeper vines shaped into bricks and baked in a small kiln.” The fact remains that the third house was comprised of bricks, but the politically correct version entails much more detail.
Among the similar attributes of both stories, a significant difference can be found. In each story the wolf has varying motives as to what he wants to attain from the pigs. In the old English fairytale, it can be inferred that the wolf is attempting to eat the pigs. The politically correct adaptation portrays the wolf as an expansionist determined to take the land from the pigs and reap the benefits.
The effects of political correctness in the fairytale alter the reading ease as well, as larger more complex words are incorporated to modernize the message. Essentially, by adapting the story in politically correct terms, the author dissolves any language from the original story that may have appeared derogative or hurtful. The pigs, for example, are depicted as idealistic and nature friendly as they use, “…materials that were indigenous to the area,” to build their houses and, “…settled back to live in peace and self-determination.” The old English edition is considerably starker and characterizes the pigs as poor fortune seekers who beg men for the materials needed to build their primitive dwellings. The politically correct story describes the pigs is such a way as to remove the assumption that the pigs are low class and thus, avoids any degradation of the pigs. Besides being included in businesses and government practices, as you can see, political correctness is also used in modern literature. I exemplified the ongoing usage of politically correct language by comparing it to two versions of an old English fairytale to show how much the concept has impeded on American culture in the modern world.

2006-03-16T11:01:00.000-05:00

How dope is this....

2006-01-14T13:48:00.000-05:00

My new ball. Word.

2005-11-12T13:50:00.000-05:00

Sweet

2005-11-10T14:16:00.000-05:00

Sweet serenade
The presence of a
Ghostly infatuation.
The pull of levers
Thrusting a heart
Into unknown territory;
I'm sorry.
The mind may crack the body.
Tied between two emotions,
Drawing out my inside thoughts.
These feelings define me,
But do not become me.
Sweet serenity,
The agony,
It's controlling.
The image of a sin,
Influenced by those around,
Staggers within.
Red on my hands,
Shows weakness,
It redefines us.
A damaged definition
Cut from the pages
Thrown behind us.
Sweet unkindness.

The Death of Mae

2005-11-09T15:45:00.000-05:00

Her death only came as a shock, because the memory of infidelity and unfinished affairs remained behind Bernard's eyes. After three years he continued to dwell on their time together and perfect the intimate moments they had regrettably not shared. Mae's passing, therefore, vanquished the hope of an accidental reunion Bernard hid in his thoughts.
Allowing his head to rest against the wall, Bernard circled then underlined a word in his mind. Chance; he had missed his chance and the ugliness of that thought surpassed the coldness of her death in his mind. Though he mourned for his regrets, Bernard did not allow himself to acknowledge his place in Mae's life since their seperation. Hearing about her death through a friend rather than from her family should have signaled his position in her heart, but he took no notice.
Now, standing infront of a mirror, he adjusted his tie for the funeral. He concentrated on what the service was going to entail, but he also imagined that her parents will probably lean on him for support. He always was their favorite he thought, stifling back a grin. The burial was in the Sadence cementary in the neighboring town. It was only a fifteen minute ride, but Bernard locked his front and started his car out of anticipation an hour before the service was supposed to start.
Arriving at the cementary, Bernard parked his car at the entrance gate and walked the hundred yard stretch to where he spotted a congregation of people dressed in black. Taking his place amongst the crowd, Bernard began to sense a strange unwelcoming feeling, but shrugged it off as the priest stepped forward.
Listening to the priest eulogize Mae, Bernard was awed as to the life she had lived and the things he had not known about her. Volunteer work, job opportunities, friends and acquiantances all were included in the story of her short life. Changing his gaze from the priest, Bernard fixed his attention on Mae's parents and older brother. Her father had gained alot of weight since he had last seen him and his hair was almost entirley grey. Her brother was standing with his arm around his mother, consoling her as she seemed to shed a single tear for every word in the eulogy.
After the prayers had been recited, the casket was lowered into the fresh dug plot. During the lowering, he caught eyes with Mae's brother Adam, who quickly averted his attention back to his sister. The crowd slowly dispersed as each person stopped to give their sympathy to the grieving family. Bernard stood as the far end of the grave site and waited to be approached and showered with affection from her family.
After watching Mae's parents and brother speak to the priest then gather their belongings, Bernard was struck with an awful thought. They did not remember him. Me, he thought, the guy who was at their house every weekend for two years and they do not remember who I am.
After that thought passed, Bernard turned and stared down into the grave. Bernard found, staring blankly into the grave, that he had suffered two deaths that day; one of an old friend and the lose of the delusion that after three years, she still had not moved on either.
Bernard stayed staring at the gravestone for what seemed like an hour, mouring both of his loses. Soon after deciding to leave, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Turning around, Bernard was greeted by a mildly heavyset man with greying hair. They caught eyes for a moment then the man spoke. "Did you know her?" he asked trying to console the tears running down Bernards face. "No, I didn't," Bernard said as he turned from the man and walked towards his, wondering why he had come to this strangers funeral.
(2005)

The New Stories

2005-11-07T12:23:00.000-05:00

New stories and/or poems should be posted this week. Their length has caused their delay, because it takes a while to retype them onto the computer. Anyone who may want to comment on any of the works on this page, should use the email link in my profile. I would rather read comments personally than to have them posted for the world to see if they wanted to. Thank you.

Warning: Horrible Movie

2005-10-30T12:45:00.000-05:00

For anyone who broweses or reads this site...do not watch the movie HOUSE OF THE DEAD. It is by far the worst movie I have ever seen. I even had to shut it off about a half hour in, because it was so bad.

Untitled

2005-10-20T16:56:00.000-04:00

The rocking chair swaying on my front porch banged against the only window in my house. A crimson sunset now faded to black as the night swallowed the last light of day. Settling in for the last night of October, I lit a fire then layed down on my bed, which overlooked the entire room. Shifting positions, I faced the wall, allowing the radiating heat from the fire to warm my back.
A malicious air veiled the room behind me causing all the hairs on my body to stand end up. My body layed perfectly still as my mind envisioned what could be behind my back. I turned slowly around knowing that the apparition would cease to be once my eyes brought the room into view.
Only shadows dancing with the fire and resting in the corners of the small room stared back at me. Outwardly I renounced the fear, but my heart did not slow in my chest. I returned to laying on my side and allowed my eyes to close, only to realize the malevolent feeling had filled the room again.
I sat straight up in bed and scanned the tiny room. The fire had faded down to glowing embers, which let the shadows cover all but a small circle of the room. Attempting to calm my mind, which visualized my fear in a solid form, I pulled the wool blanket over my head. With an unnatural feel of assurance, I drifted wearily to sleep to the steady knocking of the rocking chair on the window.

New Feature: Movies of the Month

2005-10-20T16:43:00.000-04:00

These are the best movies I have seen this month. I work at a video store so my access to all types of movies is huge.

1. Primer- Directed by Shane Carruth-a well made B-SciFi movie

2. Employee of the Month- Directed by Mitch Rouse- very funny

3. A Day Without A Mexican- Directed by Sergio Arau- an informative look at what California would be like if one day all the Mexicans disappeared. An awesome movie.

4. Clockwork Orange- Directed by Stanely Kubrick- Made in 1971 and won several awards, the movie is about as entertaining and awesome as the book.

5. Tales From the Crypt- Directed by Freddie Francis- Made in 1972, its almost like an episode of the Twilight Zone. Its just as twisted and ironically creepy.

More coming soon.....

2005-10-19T18:52:00.000-04:00

This week is already starting out wrong. A trip to the ER on tuesday has set me back, but new stories and poems should be posted soon.

Scarlet Splendor

2005-10-17T13:08:00.000-04:00

Blessed is he who created red things-
Pristine and pretty ready lips;
To blushing cheeks.
A crimson hued moon is setting,
To touch the frest Autumn leaf litter
On a sailors warning day break.

Honor as dye, savor, or bled.
Drink in claret or rose.
Comb incarnadine wavy, curly, straight.
Watch the cherry blossoms bloom
eager to elate.

blindsight

2005-10-17T13:00:00.000-04:00

Crushed and smoothered embers
lay behind us in this life.
A well kept path stands behind us
As a jungle spreads before us

We trip and fall on unseen rocks
that loiter in our way
I pick you up, you pick me up
Together we will find the way

Although you may not trust may word
As once I set the rock in your path
I never meant to make you fall
but came at once when you called

This road we take we go together
with strides and leaps at last
as my sorrowfulness and the leaf litter
Linger in the past.

Thank you

2005-10-15T19:12:00.000-04:00

For the two of you who have already posted good comments about my blog, thank you. Any criticism or ideas are also very welcomed anytime.

Windward is Wayward

2005-10-15T18:08:00.000-04:00

The sound of browned fall leaves rubbing together can have a hypnotizing effect. Wind itself does not make a noise, but blows into the orchestra of nature creatinga symphony of whooshes and creaks. Dust and foliage drift on unseen paths, some becoming trapped in the spider webs that box in my front door.
It was this season that stirred foreign emotions in me. The type of emotions that create a tingling between your shoulder blades. Nature called out, but how could I answer?
I let the screen door close slowly behind me while I shut the thick, wooden inside door that gave a shriek as the hinges collapsed for the night. The smell of a cold breeze and crisp leaves hung around my jacket, which warmed near the fire.
Any light still breaking through a window, only made the dark corners seem darker and unpleasant. I could faintly hear my grandfather reciting an old poem in the back of my mind:

"The leaves trapped in the spider webs

shake and shiver it appears

and though the howling wind my blow

they seem to tremble with fear."

The words sat hard in my chest, as my mind considered the possibility. Could the wind and trapped, quivering foliage be harbingers of an unsettling night? The fear began to creep through my body, making my hands and knees throb. Shadows stirred in corners as I began to lock all the windows and doors in the house, which faded but did not silence the wind outside.

The Skeleton Leaf

2005-10-15T17:26:00.000-04:00

Night revealed no other reminder
of the trodden path that I will take
Than the framework left behind
by this leaf beside my feet.

Once an emerald king
now brown and wilting
Among a thousand other brothers
Buried until spring.

Crisp and fragile wire outline
of a life that now retreats
to a grave and final place
In the soil beneath our feet.

A weary fate we all shall share
man and leaf
under the soil
Beneath our feet.

Genesis

2005-10-15T17:14:00.000-04:00

A whole page just for me. This may be a futile attempt to post writing and recieve feedback, but at least it gives me something to do.

And we will get there...

2005-10-15T05:57:00.000-04:00

Together we stand before a sunlit path
Together we share an enormous task

To find our way amongst a sea of possibility
In a land of opportunity and eternity

Renounce our names and disbeliefs
As we stroll along the leaves

The thoughts we make may move
The mountains in our way

A strand of hope and absolute faith
Is all it takes to find the way

And we will get there someday
And we will get there someday