Monday, September 10, 2007

At Its Core: The Story of My Apple

Despite my initial thoughts regarding the fruitiness of this particular assignment, I found myself walking down a wet road with loose gravel in pursuit of an apple. Before I began my journey, I had many concerns and reservations about my future apple. How would I choose it? What do I want from it? How would I connect with my apple? What would we do? What would we talk about? We would have nothing in common, the apple and I. "I'm more of an orange guy," I thought to myself as I walked out of the night's darkness into the florescent light of my neighborhood Town & Country.

The bananas caught my eye, as are the nature of bananas. They, unlike apples, have a life energy about them. They bring to mind thoughts of tropic rituals full of delight and exotic beauty. Below the bananas was the basket of apples, only bringing to mind thoughts of the oddly textured mush served to me during my early school years. I glanced over the apples, feeling like a prison warden arbitrarily choosing an inmate for parole. But I decided to be more thoughtful, and I made an effort to size up each apple based on its appearance, as we have all done to each other many times in our lives. There was the older, veteran apple with the scars of a tough life in the fields. Next was the unfortunately deformed apple: the hump standing tall on its side as if calling out to be ridiculed. Then, of course, there was the star apple, shining with its youth, its perfectly symmetrical build obtainable only via surgical means. Finally, I saw my apple hiding behind its own mundanity. There was nothing that stood out about this apple. It had no story written on its skin. But surrounding it was an aura of potential like electricity around a Tesla Coil. With the right opportunities, the right tools, this apple could do anything. And so, I brought it home with me, occasionally playing catch with the sky on the way.

My apple may look empty at first glance. It could be just one of many, so it would have you believe. But it's biding its time. Growing. Learning. Every day it improves a little bit. And, if it wasn't for the short lifespan of an apple, it could one day be entirely unstoppable by man or earthworm. Its outer coloration is neither bright nor dull, but a mild blend of simplicity and red. It has as many faces as there would be degrees on a sphere, each one giving a sense of its many talents and personas. This is no stereotypical apple. In its apparent emptiness of features, it holds the presence of them all.

Friday, August 31, 2007

The Black Dress

He didn't need a reason to do what he did.

Dr. William Rowley, who worked thirty years as a vascular surgeon and now works at the Institute for Alternative Futures, left the house, driving away in his shiny red Prius.

She remained on the floor, just as he had left her. Minutes seemed to pass, minutes not spent crying, not feeling sorrow, but rather devoid of any emotional bias. Her hand latched onto the countertop and she pulled herself up to her feet. Her knees wobbled for a moment, but soon she managed to gracefully walk into the bathroom. She tossed her torn, black dress onto the tile. It was an elegant dress, unworthy of such indifferent treatment.

The shower head spat out three quick bursts of water before handling a steady stream. A quick glance into the mirror turned into an intense stare. Her glistening eyes caught her attention and held tightly to it. They wanted to tell her something, to reveal a great truth that would free her from the slow digestion of her soul by this world. But there was nothing to protect her. The barrage of acidic juices would continuously splash onto her spirit and she would gradually erode away. And so her eyes relinquished their grasp. She stepped into the shower, washing away the venomous filth to give life a fresh target for its virulent rape.

Monday, August 27, 2007

The New Season

The new TV season is approaching, and is bringing with it the feeling of artistic renewal for me. I had started writing blog posts regularly around August of last year, and especially in January when I started various Heroes blogs. And now the season 2 premiere of Heroes is only weeks away.

The new season of Heroes should bring with it inspiration; new plots, new characters and new ideas for me and others to play with online. So, it would seem, I am prepared to begin writing regularly once again on character web logs such as Mr. Bennet's. But what of my personal web log, the one you're reading right now?

Not long ago I posted a short tidbit expressing my desire to get back into the swing of writing blog posts on my MySpace blog (Which runs as a semi-syndicated version of this one). But days have passed without any new posts.

I have found myself with ideas, thoughts which I have scribbled onto paper. And even some thoughts that became a paragraph or two. But so far, no post-worthy works. Where is my inspiration?

When I had been posting regularly, it was during the height of goings-on in my life. I had a job to report to every weekday. Heroes was the new big thing on TV and the internet was buzzing about it. My own Heroes-themed websites brought constant activity. But that all changed.

I became unemployed and the first season of Heroes came to an end. Without those, there was nothing much happening in my life. I was passively letting time go by.

Most of my few months of unemployment was spent watching TV and movies. I DVRed everything; I had a constant flow of movies from Blockbuster online. I rarely had to involve myself in the world. Could this escape from worldly interaction have wasted away my inspiration?

Recently, my life has completely turned around. I had previously been contented financially with a job I only had to show up for and pass the time away. And now I am forced into doing something about my financial situation. Before, I had no friends, with the exception of online people and shallow work aquaintance, bringing about an absense of a realistic social life. Now, I regularly hang out with a friend and my sister, and occasionally a few others. I even have found myself going to Rodeos for an entire weekend, and activity my family does often in which I chose not to participate. And the biggest turn around is that I am back in college. I have signed up for 12 credit hours at the Junior College to be considered full time. This allows me to have health insurance via my mother's job, which I need for corrective jaw surgery and had planned on having when I had my own health insurance through employment with the City of Hobbs. So am I now inspired?

You could say that this post is perhaps proof that I am. But will this continue regularly? I can't say that I had felt truly inspired when I wrote this. I am however reading To Kill a Mockingbird and going to college, so intellectual stimulation exists. And at school I see people, on the weekends I see family and friends, and so I have social stimulation as well. Is that the combination that leads to inspiration, to the ability to change? Does it bring a sense of purpose and meaning that allows one to regain their place in the world and interact with it, rather than react? Perhaps I'll know soon. And when I know, you'll know.

Wednesday, July 04, 2007


On this day over 200 years ago, a group of men sent their ruler a letter saying that they have had enough. They said, "No, you're not doing it right," and declared their independence.

The importance of this wasn't that it gave way to the birth of America. It wasn't even that it brought about the formation of a Republic in the New World. It was a birth of awareness, and there lied the significance. People became aware that the government is subject to their rule, that the government is allowed to exist because the people allow it to.

We are not subjects of our government. It is our employee. We hired it do the job, and when it fails to meet our standards, it can be fired.

However, the citizens of the United States have increasingly given up their right to rule. We sit idly by as the government takes more power, makes decisions in total secrecy and advances its own agenda over that of the people.

So on this Independence Day what can we celebrate? We're no longer independent. We've given away our freedom and sovereignty. Those not apathetic merely bicker between two extremes, and while the populace is distracted by the illusion of choice presented to us, the government maintains its control.

There is no cause to celebrate America this year. Independence Day isn't about the birth of our nation, it's about the birth of the idea that the government is ruled by its people, and that idea has since faded away. Until we can demand accountability, fairness, disclosure and good service from our government, we will be its subjects.

Don't be distracted by the fireworks, by their sinister sense of patriotism. They should remind you of the idea over which we first fought. They should remind you of the Revolutionary War, where we battled for a government controlled by the people. Today fireworks should symbolize that we still battle for control, that we have not surrendered completely to those in power, that we will not be fooled by their rhetorical masquerade and that we are truly independent.

Sunday, March 18, 2007

Miracle Grow

Hey, who's that girl?
Which girl?
She'll save the world.
But how?
We don't know
She's Miracle Grow!

Sticks and stones
won't break her bones.
And she's the key
To stopping everything.

A branch in the head?
Oh, no!
Wait, she's not dead!
Oh, yay!
Don't you know
She's Miracle Grow!

Sticks and stones
won't break her bones.
All the guys crave her
Sylar wants to shave her
Someone better save her

Hit by a car?
Oh, my!
Doesn't leave a scar
Cuz we know
She's Miracle Grow!

Sticks and stones
won't break her bones.
She's the cheerleader
Not the mind-reader That's Matt!

Staple in the hand?
Poor thing
Don't you understand?
Don't know
It's her TV show,
She's Miracle Grow!

Saturday, February 17, 2007

The Handicapable Woman

Oh, no! Criminals!
But wait look there.
Who's that approaching
via wheelchair?

na-na-na-na-na It's
The Handicapable Woman
Criminals will surely be caught
The Handicapable Woman
Don't dare park in her spot

She won't kick you in the face
But you better listen up, champ
Wherever you go, she'll find you
So long as there's a wheelchair ramp!

na-na-na-na-na It's
The Handicapable Woman!

Saturday, January 20, 2007

Wobbley Cheeks and Mr. Nobody

Look! Up in the sky!
Is it a bird? No!
Is it a plane? No!
Actually it is a plane! Oh
Wobbley Cheeks is on it! Whoa!
And Mr. Nobody! So?

He's a time bender
He'll never surrender
Cheats cowboys out
of legal tender
Never in doubt
About his mission
And in addition
He's a space bender
Not a magician
A public defender
Who's on a quest
Which you may have guessed
Is to save the world
So he's doing his best
To find this girl
Who may be the key
And Mr. Nobody
Came along too
He has no ability
He's just like you!

Come on, Wobbley Cheeks
Wobble those cheeks!
Subtitled from Japanese
is how he speaks
Working makes him ill at ease
He doesn't do nine to five
His Sidekick has to drive
When and where he poofs
Isn't under his control
The biggest of his goofs
Took him back six months ago
He'll never forget
The pretty girl he met
At a little delicatessen
Though it made him upset
He learned a tragic lesson
He can't change the past
To protect Charlie's ass.
Can he change the future
to prevent the blast?

Tuesday, January 16, 2007

Sweet Freak

This has moved to my new blog.

The vermin have determined
Their sermon, their vital regulations
"Evil!" they all will call
and squall such noxious castigations.

Shut you out as they lounge about
In the doubt of their covert questions.
Knowing I would rather die
Than abide by their dubious suggestions

I ignore their pointless war
Fought only for recognition
And choose to loot their forbidden fruit
In pursuit of my mind's volition

Isn't it sweet to be a freak?
To seek your life's greatest passions?
Nobody cares if you do dare
Declare your very own heart's fashions.

They aim to convert but only hurt
Throwing dirt in your direction
Fully expecting to be correcting
You by injecting their own perfection

They spread pain disguised as gain
To obtain your dedication
Hoping you'll subscribe to their sacred tribe
Taking their bribe of spiritual salvation

I can refuse their deluded ruse
and choose my own destination
They will deceive and blindly believe
While I achieve self-realization

Isn't it sweet to be a freak?
To seek your life's greatest passions?
Nobody cares if you do dare
Declare your very own heart's fashions.

Their hate won't cease in the least
Like a beast bringing devastation.
They attack in a ferocious pack
Without a lack of condemnation

I'll take their stones and break their bones
Killing moans with strangulation
You can bet I'll make them regret
But never forget the causation

They messed with me, unfortunately
Because they see an abomination
They liked to sneer, called me queer
Time to hear my refutation

Isn't it sweet to be a freak?
To reap vengeance as your bloody reparations.
God unaware of their prayers
Nor their body parts' locations.

Saturday, January 13, 2007

Kat Skinner

You shone in my life
Right through the clouds of despair
A lovely creature
In my eyes, walking on air
Sternly clutch the knife
And slide it into my heart
My lovely teacher,
And imaginary part,

Giving me the will
To continue until
A mythological creature
Moved in for the kill

And you destroyed me
Disappointment and regret
Cloud your odious soul
Now only a silhouette
Stands in mocking view
Holding that very same knife
Meant to sustain hope
Removing it removes life

Ending the story
Without bringing glory
To my logical teacher
Without caring for me.

Thursday, January 11, 2007

I Was High, Dawg

I was chillin' in my crib
Brushing and strokin'
And the urge called to me
So I started pokin'
The needle in my arm
Gave me a joyous retreat
To the clouds in the sky
Damn, man, it was neat.
I soared through the air
Like a common fruit fly
Witnessed it all unfold
Oh, yeah. I was high.

Yeah....I was high.
I was high, dawg.

I woke up and saw
The crap I had painted
It must have all happened
When I had fainted
Watching the news
I was aquainted
With a news man who knew
The paintings were tainted

He spoke of disaster
The disaster was in my art
And my most recent piece
Matched the weather man's chart
I reached for my drugs
There was a pain in my heart
My paintings told the future
And it was falling apart.

Yeah...I was high.
I was high, dawg.


Be sure to visit the Burnt Toast Diner for tasty waffles, great coffee and Heroes fun.