So its cold inside. But then its cold outside.
Is your exterior lonesome for warmth or is it merely your mind.
Ah, if only I could remember sweet summer
wishing that it was cool once again,
now I merely wait for the warmer of temperatures
like
a
wise
owl
stalking its prey.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Friday, October 22, 2010
A mistake and a premintion
Its 4:30 am, we just finished a group singing rendition of the Fugees killing me softly, got yelled at by neighbors, and decided it was time to "relax" on our porch, smoking cigarettes and the like. Passing around an amulet, we basked in the moons glory and told of times past.
And just then Steven proclaims, "ew whens the last time this water was cleaned" and he begins to screw off the amulets top piece. As he does, much to his dismay, his fingers slip and the piece falls onto the balcony below, which just happens to be a childrens daycare center. Forget the good stuff, we get yelled at when the wind blows an occasional butt down there.
Without skipping a beat Steven says, "oh, damn. Dont worry, I had a dream about this last night," goes inside and pulls out a step ladder and hands it to me.
"Lets see if it'll reach"
so we lower it down, and were a good three and a half feet short.
"Get my bedsheet, were going medieval!" orders Roberto and I dash into the bedroom and retrieve a blue bedsheet. With the utmost precision and care (equivalent to that of a four year old) we tie the most complicated double knot the world has ever seen.
Lowering down the ladder is not as easy as it seemed to be. We had to dodge three laundry lines, the side of our porch (which we kept clanging the ladder into, making our operation oh-so-not-incognito) and then there was the question of opening it up into its full breadth without:
1. breaking our fingers
2. dropping the ladder
3. waking up the neighbors, whom were already awoken by a faint chant of, "strumming my pain with his with my fingers, singing my life in his words......."
nevertheless, we got the job done. With the ladder in place and its lifeline (bedsheet) attaching it to us, we could abort the mission at any moment. But it was now a question of who.
My dear friend Hassan, stepped foward and in his most characteristic Californian non-nonchalance said, "yo man, im the smallest one here, I weigh 130 fucking pounds man, I'm going down"
Mind you, Hassan had just poured himself close to three full inches of some "fine" (7.50 euro bottle of) vodka into his glass con zumo, and he was pretty loose, judging by his break-dancing and cartwheel stints earlier in the night.
But, there was a task at hand, and we had a ready and willing volunteer. I took his drink from him, he pulled up his jeans and readied himself to hop over the railing when he was stopped by Joshua, who very confidently and oh-so-soberly said, "No Hassan your not going over"
"its fine man, seriously"
"no hassan really"
"dude, im going"
"no Hassan"
"fuck you"
and in a feat of calisthenic perfection Hassan hopped over the railing in one fell swoop. He then (i really have no idea how) shimmied his body down the spindles until his elbows were supporting his dangling feet, frantically searching for the ladder, which was haphazardly placed too far away for his feet to reach, so he JUMPED!
the .3 seconds of his descent went by like shutters in a broken projector in the school classroom i was never in in the 1970s.
but he landed with the finesse of a cat- scratch that, a panther; a devious predator on the loose, he combed the tile patio, but he was blind in the dark
"yo, somebody give me some light, or my cell phone, i don't know where it is"
of course it was in my hand. 'hassan!!' i yelled and immediately got his attention and turned on the blinding flashlight all of the pre paid phones here have (a great invention, but more on that later) and threw it down to him with only one warm-up fake throw.
With his hands raised he saw the blinding light and it hit the crook of his neck with the grotesque sound of flat plastic hitting flesh.
'ooooooohhhh' we all yelled, followed by the flashes of someones camera (so much for the clandestine rescue) and the annoyance of an abundance of ssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhh' s
but there was a problem: Hasaan couldnt find the top-piece.
'top right!'
'no its not there, its just dirt'
'fuck'
then just in that instant i saw a little black dot at the bottom right hand corner of the patio, being that Hus had looked everywhere else, this was our only hope, summoning courage from within I bellowed to my brethren below
"Bottom right hus, right here dude"
success!
'alright put it in your pocket and get the fuck up here!'
with the finesse of a tai chi master he climbed up the sketchy ladder and standing on its platform he extended his hands upwards to us. Just like in the movies we grabbed his arms as he braced our own and we pulled him up. the celebrating began prematurely, as once he was on his feet (on the wrong side of the railing) we started to jump with joy and grab him, to which he replied,
"get the fuck off me, seriously guys im fine, get the fuck off me"
as soon as we removed our embrace, he hopped over the railing and was home-safe.
teamwork, dedication, commitment, and fulfillment.
Jose Santa Anna Maria Luiz
And just then Steven proclaims, "ew whens the last time this water was cleaned" and he begins to screw off the amulets top piece. As he does, much to his dismay, his fingers slip and the piece falls onto the balcony below, which just happens to be a childrens daycare center. Forget the good stuff, we get yelled at when the wind blows an occasional butt down there.
Without skipping a beat Steven says, "oh, damn. Dont worry, I had a dream about this last night," goes inside and pulls out a step ladder and hands it to me.
"Lets see if it'll reach"
so we lower it down, and were a good three and a half feet short.
"Get my bedsheet, were going medieval!" orders Roberto and I dash into the bedroom and retrieve a blue bedsheet. With the utmost precision and care (equivalent to that of a four year old) we tie the most complicated double knot the world has ever seen.
Lowering down the ladder is not as easy as it seemed to be. We had to dodge three laundry lines, the side of our porch (which we kept clanging the ladder into, making our operation oh-so-not-incognito) and then there was the question of opening it up into its full breadth without:
1. breaking our fingers
2. dropping the ladder
3. waking up the neighbors, whom were already awoken by a faint chant of, "strumming my pain with his with my fingers, singing my life in his words......."
nevertheless, we got the job done. With the ladder in place and its lifeline (bedsheet) attaching it to us, we could abort the mission at any moment. But it was now a question of who.
My dear friend Hassan, stepped foward and in his most characteristic Californian non-nonchalance said, "yo man, im the smallest one here, I weigh 130 fucking pounds man, I'm going down"
Mind you, Hassan had just poured himself close to three full inches of some "fine" (7.50 euro bottle of) vodka into his glass con zumo, and he was pretty loose, judging by his break-dancing and cartwheel stints earlier in the night.
But, there was a task at hand, and we had a ready and willing volunteer. I took his drink from him, he pulled up his jeans and readied himself to hop over the railing when he was stopped by Joshua, who very confidently and oh-so-soberly said, "No Hassan your not going over"
"its fine man, seriously"
"no hassan really"
"dude, im going"
"no Hassan"
"fuck you"
and in a feat of calisthenic perfection Hassan hopped over the railing in one fell swoop. He then (i really have no idea how) shimmied his body down the spindles until his elbows were supporting his dangling feet, frantically searching for the ladder, which was haphazardly placed too far away for his feet to reach, so he JUMPED!
the .3 seconds of his descent went by like shutters in a broken projector in the school classroom i was never in in the 1970s.
but he landed with the finesse of a cat- scratch that, a panther; a devious predator on the loose, he combed the tile patio, but he was blind in the dark
"yo, somebody give me some light, or my cell phone, i don't know where it is"
of course it was in my hand. 'hassan!!' i yelled and immediately got his attention and turned on the blinding flashlight all of the pre paid phones here have (a great invention, but more on that later) and threw it down to him with only one warm-up fake throw.
With his hands raised he saw the blinding light and it hit the crook of his neck with the grotesque sound of flat plastic hitting flesh.
'ooooooohhhh' we all yelled, followed by the flashes of someones camera (so much for the clandestine rescue) and the annoyance of an abundance of ssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhh' s
but there was a problem: Hasaan couldnt find the top-piece.
'top right!'
'no its not there, its just dirt'
'fuck'
then just in that instant i saw a little black dot at the bottom right hand corner of the patio, being that Hus had looked everywhere else, this was our only hope, summoning courage from within I bellowed to my brethren below
"Bottom right hus, right here dude"
success!
'alright put it in your pocket and get the fuck up here!'
with the finesse of a tai chi master he climbed up the sketchy ladder and standing on its platform he extended his hands upwards to us. Just like in the movies we grabbed his arms as he braced our own and we pulled him up. the celebrating began prematurely, as once he was on his feet (on the wrong side of the railing) we started to jump with joy and grab him, to which he replied,
"get the fuck off me, seriously guys im fine, get the fuck off me"
as soon as we removed our embrace, he hopped over the railing and was home-safe.
teamwork, dedication, commitment, and fulfillment.
Jose Santa Anna Maria Luiz
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
The General Strike
Today is a Wednesday, the atrociously hard day to spell, signifying the middle "camels hump" of the week. But here in beautiful Spain (Catalunya, really) there was a general strike. A large portion of the cities institutions closed down in hopes for changes in retirement age, wages, and to generally protest the countries 20% unemployment rate and overall terrible economic situation. "The Scene" was unsafe for Jonny and Linda Lue to walk through to get to class, so we got to "party" last night and ditch on indoor fluorescent-light lectures today. After all, this afternoon protesters lit a cop car on fire, smashed through a Levi's storefront window, tagged up a shopping mall, and ran wild in the streets.
after summoning the powers of the cosmos to get out of bed, I was struck with an excellent and chillingly defiant urge; to go to the protest. no, no, no, no, five emails had informed me from my "study abroad program" but I wanted to check it out, from a distance at least.
But it was never enough, venturing out of my cave I meandered down Avinguda diagonal (a diagonal road) to the intersection with Passieg De Gracia, the swank shopping mecca for desperate, disillusioned, broken hearted people all around the city. There I found a wonderful collage of people tall, thin, fat, big, and small peppered with differing flags of the factions, but they were together, hanging out in the middle of the road. My journey continued down the entirety of the "Passeig" to the cities center square where I saw SWAT trucks and cops with riot gear looking angry.
I knew something was up when I saw all of the burned debris casually pushed to the side of the road, little did we know what we were getting ourselves into. "Man this thing is really over-hyped" "yeah wheres all the ACTION man?" be careful what you wish for it might just come true....
We walked up a block and saw a very large younger contingency; with the young age and reckless psyches came several people standing in front of a lot of people, throwing rocks at an advertisement. "what?" i proclaimed and proceed to walk to the opposite corner and then I saw the moment where a person turns off the "I give a fuck" button in their head.
A backpacking hippie, with long hair and Earth-tone clothes, stood in front of a Levis store dropping his two bricks repeatedly on top of one another. He opens up his cell phone, tells his cronies to come hither, and violently hangs up. He then picked up his rock as if God himself had told him to do it. (Both hands over his head holding the rock as a sacrifice and a means to an end for the great destiny he was about to fulfill) and hurled it into a very large plate glass display window of the Levi's jean store.
I thought, "hey, I always thought Levi jeans were cool man"
apparently not.
Shortly after heroically flicking his brick(s) at the window several times, he managed to gather some disciples, in fact a whole horde of youngsters with wild-west style bananas wrapped over there faces. They poked and prodded until you heard the jaw dropping sound of lots of heavy broken glass.
But where are the police?!!! I kept wondering, very soon they should be here with dogs, horses, helicopters, trucks, shields, helmets, gas masks-but wait, I don't want to be the paranoid American.....again.
So I got a little closer, and saw they were looting the place, literally taking the manikins down from the window, ripping there clothes off and dispersing them into the crowd. Taking a break from the pictures I saw a man giggle, literally maniacally chuckle like a child as he stuffed a brand new pair of jeans in his blazer (they must have been the right size).
Then the inevitable happened, some jackass decided to yell, "Policia" and everyone broke into a mad dash, i was headed straight for a large burning dumpster, so I decided to bail through the bushes, across the street, and then look back at the others who stayed behind.
Nothing, absolutely nothing, we were deceived. But, there was a much better view of the ruckus, so like every budding mischievous mind, we just had to go back. As we returned there was more looting, and this time we could actually hear the police coming. So again we ran. Then, like scared little children confronting a haunting shadow, we moseyed back over to the circle where the Police just drove in circles with their sirens ablaze.
My roommate Josh begins to take a video as a Cataluñian Anarchist steps in between us and hurls a rather large sized rock straight for the police Trucks windshield. But never fear, the police truck had a metal grate over the glass to protect it from shattering, from eggs, paint-balls, tomatoes, and now.............rocks. But in the short moment of "wow, did that really just happen" my mind couldn't help but notice the giant blue and black Mercedes Benz police truck heading straight towards us with its engine roaring.
"OOOOOOOOHHHHH SHHHHIIITT" you can hear me scream as we dart off the street onto the sidewalk as the truck passes us by, but now the deed has been done, the police all rush to the "hot zone" where were standing and it is absolute and total chaos.
I put my hand on a bike stand and swing my body over it one fell swoop. Landing, I break into a full sprint, along with 40 or so others. Shielded by giant white, covered vending tents, I could only hear what was going on in the street 30 or so feet to my right. I felt like I was in a war-zone; armed with my camera and fueled by my fear, I pressed on. Periodically (my mind was in super-duper slow-motion-survival mode) there was a break in the large tents and I got a glimpse of the passing Police trucks and SWAT men with their tear gas guns. But the sound of the Tear Gas being fired was enough to keep me on the move, out of harms way.
As we come to the next corner we see that people are walking around us, and the police truck comes screaming behind us chasing a bunch of blacked-out teenagers down a side street. We had gotten out, and we reassured as the 12 or so other SWAT trucks terrifyingly pulled right up to the intersection we were in and promptly turned around,
"Lets Get Out Of Here," and we certainly did.
Jose Santa Anna Maria Luiz
after summoning the powers of the cosmos to get out of bed, I was struck with an excellent and chillingly defiant urge; to go to the protest. no, no, no, no, five emails had informed me from my "study abroad program" but I wanted to check it out, from a distance at least.
But it was never enough, venturing out of my cave I meandered down Avinguda diagonal (a diagonal road) to the intersection with Passieg De Gracia, the swank shopping mecca for desperate, disillusioned, broken hearted people all around the city. There I found a wonderful collage of people tall, thin, fat, big, and small peppered with differing flags of the factions, but they were together, hanging out in the middle of the road. My journey continued down the entirety of the "Passeig" to the cities center square where I saw SWAT trucks and cops with riot gear looking angry.
I knew something was up when I saw all of the burned debris casually pushed to the side of the road, little did we know what we were getting ourselves into. "Man this thing is really over-hyped" "yeah wheres all the ACTION man?" be careful what you wish for it might just come true....
We walked up a block and saw a very large younger contingency; with the young age and reckless psyches came several people standing in front of a lot of people, throwing rocks at an advertisement. "what?" i proclaimed and proceed to walk to the opposite corner and then I saw the moment where a person turns off the "I give a fuck" button in their head.
A backpacking hippie, with long hair and Earth-tone clothes, stood in front of a Levis store dropping his two bricks repeatedly on top of one another. He opens up his cell phone, tells his cronies to come hither, and violently hangs up. He then picked up his rock as if God himself had told him to do it. (Both hands over his head holding the rock as a sacrifice and a means to an end for the great destiny he was about to fulfill) and hurled it into a very large plate glass display window of the Levi's jean store.
I thought, "hey, I always thought Levi jeans were cool man"
apparently not.
Shortly after heroically flicking his brick(s) at the window several times, he managed to gather some disciples, in fact a whole horde of youngsters with wild-west style bananas wrapped over there faces. They poked and prodded until you heard the jaw dropping sound of lots of heavy broken glass.
But where are the police?!!! I kept wondering, very soon they should be here with dogs, horses, helicopters, trucks, shields, helmets, gas masks-but wait, I don't want to be the paranoid American.....again.
So I got a little closer, and saw they were looting the place, literally taking the manikins down from the window, ripping there clothes off and dispersing them into the crowd. Taking a break from the pictures I saw a man giggle, literally maniacally chuckle like a child as he stuffed a brand new pair of jeans in his blazer (they must have been the right size).
Then the inevitable happened, some jackass decided to yell, "Policia" and everyone broke into a mad dash, i was headed straight for a large burning dumpster, so I decided to bail through the bushes, across the street, and then look back at the others who stayed behind.
Nothing, absolutely nothing, we were deceived. But, there was a much better view of the ruckus, so like every budding mischievous mind, we just had to go back. As we returned there was more looting, and this time we could actually hear the police coming. So again we ran. Then, like scared little children confronting a haunting shadow, we moseyed back over to the circle where the Police just drove in circles with their sirens ablaze.
My roommate Josh begins to take a video as a Cataluñian Anarchist steps in between us and hurls a rather large sized rock straight for the police Trucks windshield. But never fear, the police truck had a metal grate over the glass to protect it from shattering, from eggs, paint-balls, tomatoes, and now.............rocks. But in the short moment of "wow, did that really just happen" my mind couldn't help but notice the giant blue and black Mercedes Benz police truck heading straight towards us with its engine roaring.
"OOOOOOOOHHHHH SHHHHIIITT" you can hear me scream as we dart off the street onto the sidewalk as the truck passes us by, but now the deed has been done, the police all rush to the "hot zone" where were standing and it is absolute and total chaos.
I put my hand on a bike stand and swing my body over it one fell swoop. Landing, I break into a full sprint, along with 40 or so others. Shielded by giant white, covered vending tents, I could only hear what was going on in the street 30 or so feet to my right. I felt like I was in a war-zone; armed with my camera and fueled by my fear, I pressed on. Periodically (my mind was in super-duper slow-motion-survival mode) there was a break in the large tents and I got a glimpse of the passing Police trucks and SWAT men with their tear gas guns. But the sound of the Tear Gas being fired was enough to keep me on the move, out of harms way.
As we come to the next corner we see that people are walking around us, and the police truck comes screaming behind us chasing a bunch of blacked-out teenagers down a side street. We had gotten out, and we reassured as the 12 or so other SWAT trucks terrifyingly pulled right up to the intersection we were in and promptly turned around,
"Lets Get Out Of Here," and we certainly did.
Jose Santa Anna Maria Luiz
Friday, September 10, 2010
Europendence
many of us Americans are familiar with the common stereotype that European culture is "higher" "more refined" and "better" than that of America's. However, upon my ninth day of my near 180 day stay in the beautiful, hot sticky, and debaucherus city of Barcelona, Spain I came across a rather contrary discovery.
I was perusing through el raval, a seedy seemingly endless maze of narrow streets, boutiques, museums, and passers by when I began to realize all of the "hip" clothing stores selling (to my great dismay) obnoxiously colored Nike dunks. I thought to myself, "what the fuck is this 2007 or something?"
Then I went to a record store, "inter-pop" (international pop music) was their biggest section, and guess what it had?!!! David Bowie, Pink Floyd, (7) Lynard Skynard Albums, Abba, Madonna, and the list goes horribly on. Why was it that the 20 x 3 foot main display was all American music and then a 2 x 2 wooden box hidden behind the cashier contained the native Catalonian music.
It only got worse......I went strolling through three guitar stores, guess what brands they worship? Yup, all American ones. Rather odd. After correcting (which was, after a week and a half of being brutally tortured by Spaniards by my linguistic errors, OH SO ENJOYABLE) the "salesperson" on the pronunciation of humming bird, from whoooooommmmmeng beeeiiird, I promptly said thank you and left. Scratch that, I "peaced the fuck out".
I then had an epiphany and a great one at that, amongst the pain of walking, the sweltering sun, and the pangs of hunger, that maybe, just maybe American culture might be something to be reckoned with.
For starters, American's are known as "ugly" and "fat" because quite honestly we consume the most, and thus need the most natural resources, but the really terrible, grim reality is that we can.
And why is that you may ask?
Oh well, remember the 20th century? Ah yes, the "World Wars". But let us first remind ourselves who started them. America? Cuba? Taliban Terrorist fraternities? no, EUROPEANS. So Europe(ans) started both world Wars, and guess what, us Americans came out on top, cause they needed us good ole' farming boys to whoop the asses of those nasty jerries that seemed to so clandestinely infiltrate and destroy half of the "most civilized" part of the world (western Europe).
So we emerged as a World Power, and now were gangsters of love, oil, money, greed, wealth, modern culture, and fame. But its just a little more complicated than that. Why is it that American movies, music, and celebrities all translate over seas, but yet we rarely ever hear of any Spanish, French, German, or Italian pop-culture on our side of the pond?
I am not sure yet, but I think that its because despite the stereotypes America has a very cohesive media-centric culture, that is easily viewed via the internet, movies, and (everyone knows) illegally obtaining music. So next time one of your rather snooty compatriots mentions they're "French" handbag, or Italian handmade leather space-age technology boots, snicker into the air with the highest of highest brows my friends, I have deemed the teenage years of the new millennium that of
EUROPENDENCE
Its time we start to realize that the intensely egotistical, proud, and pretentious value sets of "high brow" culture (be it European, or Hamptonesque American) are the very same values that perpetuate intolerance, bigotry, and hate throughout the world. As American's we should know that we are the bosses of our territory, but there is a whole big bad world out there, and to many a hicks greatest horror, Budwieser may not be the "greatest beer to ever grace the Earth with its presence"
My fellow compatriots, I ask you to get out there, live your lives, and never be ashamed of where you were born, whether it was the soils of kings of past, or on the back of a greyhound bus headed for Alabama.
Jose Santa Anna Maria Luiz
I was perusing through el raval, a seedy seemingly endless maze of narrow streets, boutiques, museums, and passers by when I began to realize all of the "hip" clothing stores selling (to my great dismay) obnoxiously colored Nike dunks. I thought to myself, "what the fuck is this 2007 or something?"
Then I went to a record store, "inter-pop" (international pop music) was their biggest section, and guess what it had?!!! David Bowie, Pink Floyd, (7) Lynard Skynard Albums, Abba, Madonna, and the list goes horribly on. Why was it that the 20 x 3 foot main display was all American music and then a 2 x 2 wooden box hidden behind the cashier contained the native Catalonian music.
It only got worse......I went strolling through three guitar stores, guess what brands they worship? Yup, all American ones. Rather odd. After correcting (which was, after a week and a half of being brutally tortured by Spaniards by my linguistic errors, OH SO ENJOYABLE) the "salesperson" on the pronunciation of humming bird, from whoooooommmmmeng beeeiiird, I promptly said thank you and left. Scratch that, I "peaced the fuck out".
I then had an epiphany and a great one at that, amongst the pain of walking, the sweltering sun, and the pangs of hunger, that maybe, just maybe American culture might be something to be reckoned with.
For starters, American's are known as "ugly" and "fat" because quite honestly we consume the most, and thus need the most natural resources, but the really terrible, grim reality is that we can.
And why is that you may ask?
Oh well, remember the 20th century? Ah yes, the "World Wars". But let us first remind ourselves who started them. America? Cuba? Taliban Terrorist fraternities? no, EUROPEANS. So Europe(ans) started both world Wars, and guess what, us Americans came out on top, cause they needed us good ole' farming boys to whoop the asses of those nasty jerries that seemed to so clandestinely infiltrate and destroy half of the "most civilized" part of the world (western Europe).
So we emerged as a World Power, and now were gangsters of love, oil, money, greed, wealth, modern culture, and fame. But its just a little more complicated than that. Why is it that American movies, music, and celebrities all translate over seas, but yet we rarely ever hear of any Spanish, French, German, or Italian pop-culture on our side of the pond?
I am not sure yet, but I think that its because despite the stereotypes America has a very cohesive media-centric culture, that is easily viewed via the internet, movies, and (everyone knows) illegally obtaining music. So next time one of your rather snooty compatriots mentions they're "French" handbag, or Italian handmade leather space-age technology boots, snicker into the air with the highest of highest brows my friends, I have deemed the teenage years of the new millennium that of
EUROPENDENCE
Its time we start to realize that the intensely egotistical, proud, and pretentious value sets of "high brow" culture (be it European, or Hamptonesque American) are the very same values that perpetuate intolerance, bigotry, and hate throughout the world. As American's we should know that we are the bosses of our territory, but there is a whole big bad world out there, and to many a hicks greatest horror, Budwieser may not be the "greatest beer to ever grace the Earth with its presence"
My fellow compatriots, I ask you to get out there, live your lives, and never be ashamed of where you were born, whether it was the soils of kings of past, or on the back of a greyhound bus headed for Alabama.
Jose Santa Anna Maria Luiz
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
sitting in the courtyard
ah, its a warm summer afternoon and you decide to spend sometime pondering your blunderous activities amongst the peace and serenity of your courtyard garden. Attended around the clock, complete with a security task force, a live-in groundskeeper, and a slave, it seems as if all is well in the little mini- society you've created in your very own backyard.
but as you meander towards your pinnacle of personal gratification you notice things just aren't quite what you thought they might be. As you grow closer you hear from the woods, "mira, i think that's the queen bitch" and you hear what seem to be small overgrown wildebeests clearing from the woods. and the smell.....oh the smell. can you even imagine what they were smoking back there.
upon your arrival to the quadrangle you see something rather suspicious. a maiden.
now, your once most dearly trusted employee, Spartacus has now become the wielder of some nefarious activities on YOUR lawn.
.....what to do
.......what to do
what to do.....
what to do.....
your mind ponders as you wander pacing back and forth in asymmetrical semi-circles letting the rage, hate, and betrayal billow out amongst your luscious gold locks. what to do...............
but you dont do anything. you cant step out from your caste. you must remain dignified, upright, and utterly pompous. "Sparty my dear?" you howl into the flat humid air.
"yes?"
"a will hyou get me a glhass of hwater?"
"right away"
ah. the gratification of indentured servitude.
but as you meander towards your pinnacle of personal gratification you notice things just aren't quite what you thought they might be. As you grow closer you hear from the woods, "mira, i think that's the queen bitch" and you hear what seem to be small overgrown wildebeests clearing from the woods. and the smell.....oh the smell. can you even imagine what they were smoking back there.
upon your arrival to the quadrangle you see something rather suspicious. a maiden.
now, your once most dearly trusted employee, Spartacus has now become the wielder of some nefarious activities on YOUR lawn.
.....what to do
.......what to do
what to do.....
what to do.....
your mind ponders as you wander pacing back and forth in asymmetrical semi-circles letting the rage, hate, and betrayal billow out amongst your luscious gold locks. what to do...............
but you dont do anything. you cant step out from your caste. you must remain dignified, upright, and utterly pompous. "Sparty my dear?" you howl into the flat humid air.
"yes?"
"a will hyou get me a glhass of hwater?"
"right away"
ah. the gratification of indentured servitude.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Awkward Over Enthusiasm
Politely you ask a stranger a favor, maybe its the time, asking them to skooch over and take a seat next to them, or maybe just plain asking them to watch the fuck out. but it is incomprehensibly awkward (and stereotypically white) to answer in an elevated tone with rises on the ends of your words over-enthusiastically........to the point of stomach aches.
Is this in stark contrast to my beliefs of mutual respect, honesty, and the well being of your neighbors? I think not. Awkward-over-enthusiasm is a quintessential clue to deep trifling problems of the psyche of man, woman, child, or wildebeest.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Sometimes you fail
There are points amongst every maiden voyage that there has ever been, where the captain fails and terror, destruction, and utter chaos runs amok, a small stage hand delivers a message, "you are a morose motherfucker"
Monday, March 1, 2010
Sunday, February 7, 2010
To Our Unknown Countrymen Fighting Overseas
Rattling down the highway cruising past mile markers, the road runs red today underneath the hot July Sun. Blood from the soldiers so many miles away. Fighting for freedom, but theres seems to have gone away. Lost in a tangle of corruption and greed our countries in ruins and needs help indeed. Going nowhere. But further, who knows when we shall return, Solemn and lonely are the wives and familes of those thatll never return.
But inequality is an indecipherable shameful truth. As some of us youngsters meddle stateside in our laziness, others of the same age fight off "insurgents" in a far off land with no name.
When will we embrace peace, realizing we are one, humans, just from distant places in an already too small rock spiraling through space at ludicrous speeds. Fighting, killing, and psychologically suppressive drugs try and send us back in the overall evolutionary time line. For the most advanced global civilization of our time its odd to think we still kill another like savages.
Jose Luiz
But inequality is an indecipherable shameful truth. As some of us youngsters meddle stateside in our laziness, others of the same age fight off "insurgents" in a far off land with no name.
When will we embrace peace, realizing we are one, humans, just from distant places in an already too small rock spiraling through space at ludicrous speeds. Fighting, killing, and psychologically suppressive drugs try and send us back in the overall evolutionary time line. For the most advanced global civilization of our time its odd to think we still kill another like savages.
Jose Luiz
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
