Thursday, September 30

Just a Boy

Today was a Reasonable Doubt, Ready to Die, Life after Death, Blueprint, Me Against the World, Marshall Mathers LP, 2001, Straight Outta Compton, Capital Punishment, Lifestylez Ov Da Poor And Dangerous, Black on Both Sides, Illmatic day. Someone tell 'em what real hip hop is, because I Used to Love H.E.R. Wayne is weak, but the old Jay and Em are Renegades and Notorious Thugs. "So what's the difference between us? We can start at the penis, or we can scream, "I just don't give a fuck," and see who means it!"

On another note, today was also the last day of rehearsals. God I'm going to miss cracking intellectual jokes, loosely stated. Everyone was extra funny tonight, shoutout to them. Tomorrow is opening day/night!!! I am not uber confident but here goes nothing. The journey continues. Man I hope Nansay finds that dancing class. AHEM!

New piece that is not as serious as it sounds. Here it is:

I’m just a boy
a keeper of arrogance
subject to impure peer influence
proudly impulsive
briskly defensive
with misplaced loyalty next to the bad mannerism

I’m just a boy
a believer of self-centric ideology
conceived stubborn
completing competitive superiority
constantly inebriated
with colloquial conversations and broken sentence fragments

I’m just a boy
An attempt of an oppressed artist
Disorderly conducting
center finger toting
misunderstood prisoner
with condemnation immunity alongside relentless violence

I’m just a boy
A nonpolitical voting
second-rated citizen
objectively biased
revolting persecutor
with subtlety nitpicking from underdeveloped judgment skills

I’m just a boy
A debt practicing poor finance manager
calculating consolidations
splurge convinced customer
cosigning bankruptcy
with illegible penmanship for outstanding balances

I’m just a boy
A resentful scapegoat
Psychological tyrant
Slyly belittling
Discontent mutineer
With suspicious gestures accompanying persuasive manipulations

I’m just a boy
a blissfully ignorant based
carelessly overzealous
Religiously apathetic
indistinct infiltrator
with overconfident youth in addition to the faithless, humanistic atheism

Despite the age, titles, facial features, educational background, career occupation, and achievements,

I AM… just a boy.


Forgiving you will be the hardest thing I'll never do.

Sunday, September 19

Trick (Travis) lud the kids

Only kids and my mom hold the softest part of my heart, in the most masculine way. Lol. Kids age 4+ though; I sort of kind of don't prefer babies at all. As long as they can talk and retain that purity, I'll love 'em. Two of my most favorite/preferred are pictured here. On another note, I am my mother's son. Sorry for the laziness, referencing the sideways videos.


















Did her laundry, cleaned her car, went grocery shopping, sent an e-mail, and probably have a beer with her later. Simply Things.

I gave away $210 today. Feeling good.

Thursday, September 16

An Issue for the Ages

Hate having to scrutinize my monologue, so many emotions to depict. Hmmmm... to do this or not: http://www.groupon.com/deals/the-new-movement-theater-new-orleans?utm_campaign=UserReferral&utm_medium=email&utm_source=anonymous. If time permits I just might. God these fillers are killing me, but here is the next novella regardless. This one is all over the place, maybe purposely.

They sit outside of a coffee shop. He has, in hand, his guilty pleasured caramel macchiato, and she has her usual water. Past due is time for them to converse about their lives up-to-date. However, one’s always needs to be comforted and the other one is there for comforting. In this particular predicament, he’s the comforter like bed sheets. Well he’s always been the headstrong type, but never understanding the misunderstood. General questioning, such as how are you doing, absorb approximately 5 minutes before she makes an offer. She then pulls out a sheet a paper seemingly to be primarily filled with words instead of white spaces.

She opens with, “Would you like to hear something that I’ve written?”

He proceeded, “Hit me with it, but what’s it about?”

Looking down in shame and regret, she whispered, “Him.”

“Oh, I guess. Go ahead," he expresses with his sarcastic excitement. Then, he looks at his watch.

She reads, “Sometimes, I wonder if he knows.”

He kindly asks, “What doesn’t he know?”

She answers with a question, “Is it fair that I never told him that I loved him?”

“People love things all the time but are afraid to say so. It’s permitted and sometimes because it becomes problematic. It’s just the man in you,” he says trying to reassure her decision.

“Although I did, I swore that it would not leave the vicinity of my brain, never composed in the form of words. Those notes, for so long, that held a dark figurine, the ones I played best, were attempts to foreshadow and mask my sediments.

He sees if trying to change subject will sway her mind away from this treacherous sleet of parchment. He inquires, “Do you still play or have the passion to?”

Funny that he should ask that, as the answer inhibits the next section to her paper. Reading aloud in confidence no one around would analyze, “The passion slowly fades, but ominous tones seem only appropriate for such an ominous stature. Those elongated, melancholic keys accompanying a reoccurring sharp F would be the soundtrack to my very existence. Where melody and harmony synchronized never became familiar landscape for him and me. I feel, as each note passes, to remember upcoming notes as they approach, as they seem more vital to my completion. The endeavors to hyperextend the phalanges beyond my own physical capability made apparent that I should stick within a smaller, comfortable range.”

“Are you talking literally or hypothetically now?”

She sips her water bottle as she knows when large paragraph are vastly approaching. “Metaphorically.” Continuing, “Already forgotten are the individuals that stand for notes struck only once. Often I traveled through different octaves of similar keys in attempt to put me over this hill and somewhere over that rainbow. However, he was that God damned F sharp key. Oh, how we came into contact time after time. As if contact were informal conversations, it came with ease and effortlessness. Repetition is the father of retention, but retention without commitment left me in search of simpler keys.”

“You mean different people right?”

“Yeah, I do.”

He exclaimed “It’s always so hard to keep up with you with all these metaphors and sayings. I mean I love the way you talk though, or speak as you would say it. No one “speaks” like that anymore, especially guys.”

“I’ll continue, this time without interruption please. Just need to get this off my chest,” she politely requests. So continuing she does, “With so many notes and multiple pieces, one could only imagine how easily it would be to naturally forget, especially with one’s curiosity. He was one of my loves, but only when love couldn’t suffice. I longed to be able to love long enough to no longer love other loves. He was better than the rest at one point, even better than the first cut. He was the nicest person I knew until I met others, but compassion he knew best of.”

Just to add in a bit of emphasis on her current sentiment she looks up and adds in, “Now when I request for anything, I always asks for a few instead of a couple, even if I means to get two items. It’s because I doesn’t believe in “a couple” anymore, as lame as it seem. It holds sentiment value.”

She constantly questions why she didn’t seize it when she could have. She frequently listen to songs to remember her exes.

Thinking that her last subject may have lost his attention, she rapidly continues so he cannot comment on her lameness. She cries out, “So often I there are renege of promises on his defense. As strangers approach with such blatant criticism at his expense, I felt I could no longer protect him as a newly estranged person. However, I vowed to counter the slurs regardless, but I’ve misplaced that role alongside notes struck only once. Fully exposed in the rawest form of weakness is what he was fortunate to watch, and I apologize for that. He never permitted any apologetic gestures, never seeing me outside my true self. He defended me even when my only accompany was my friends and their faithlessness that I know what I’m doing. Who could read me as well as he could? So he was my attorney during prosecution, master notes to broken pieces, counterpart for a couple, solution to the most tedious equation, and everything I couldn’t utilize. But you see I never needed them or was allowed to. He shall never know that he was once one of my loves. How I love the person he is.”

She places her paper into her hello kitty backpack in hopes that he doesn’t ask for it and rapidly says, “That’s it. I consider them issues. They’re issues making up a magazine of my issues.That’s just another issue for the ages. It’s just in my drafts folder in my e-mail account pending to be sent. However, the email replaces “you” where I stated he/him.”

“You should tell “him” that instead of sending it.”

“But I can hide behind what I write. Plus, I don’t know if I still love him or can love him. I’m sorry to say but I’m still living in the past.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s all good.”

“That’s exactly what he would say.”

The minority of the conversation was then concluded with a bunch of “It’ll be okay” and “It’s just trial and error,” common advice she no longer believed in. Why does she even bother asking what to do? She willingly agrees to propositions just to terminate the whole process as she knows no one understands her completely, maybe the guy she’s written about. However, he’s long gone by now. Presently, she walks around consciously wondering if people stare because they see the deposits of what left of the wasteful heart, possibly on a silver platter for the world to see. She contemplates if her actions are backed by an organ or an attempt to unravel a solution to a problem, which mathematicians and engineers couldn’t resolve. Parts of her heart are occupied with different people. She only questions to which one does others see is suitable for her versus the one she see herself suitable with.

Monday, September 13

The Wanderer

A lot of the time I am allotted a lot of time to be less and less sensible, particularly through self-expression by means of creative writing. This will be the sixth post in September alone, getting a bit carried away are we? How is anyone supposed to keep up? Additional, recent compliments and comments were well appreciated. Interview in Baton Rouge tomorrow at 9 A.M., nervous much?

And he proposed her two things: forever and a day. When light would turn dark and light again pearls arise in the velvet sky, night began. Dwelling in a realm of a new dawn, among hot gases in space in time. Smelling the dew in the morning, the aroma awakening the soul. Whimsical posture and acute impairment of his limbs. Wandering about in quest of reflection of self in the spirit of others. Wheezing in despair of lack of restlessness through perseverance. Where colors connect lines on the circumference of Mother Nature, the only kin he knows of. Shadows and debris foregoes. Already forgotten are the moving images plastered and its beauty, as beauty devalues with age.Specific heat capacity of liquid sets as a precursor to outside conditions. Scenic appreciation depreciates with the descending sun. Reoccurring thoughts hidden beneath breaths of questioning dissipates more rapidly than the next oncoming idea. Trying to find the keys to his organ, notes to his heart.

Saturday, September 11

What's Old is New

Performance day is rapidly approach. Here’s another requested blog that probably was waited for or forgotten about. It’s not specific or great by any standards, but this is all that I could conjure up. Wish I could’ve written it better, because you would have deserved that. Damn, guess I’m getting lazier.

I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember. Back in the day when my loyalty to you was so immense that I would often withhold myself. Times weren’t much simpler and it’s just as complicated as it has always been. I can’t recall how we got so close. Everyone routed for me, but I wasn’t anything special for anyone to adore, so below normal I remained. Because of you I got myself more involved. Back then I was more social, so I spoke with everyone about it. I remember when there were different instances where I turned down people’s interest because it felt like I was cheating on you. Everyone saw what I had for you; it was undeniably evident. Time spent was recorded by the second. I was trying to be the best and exhibited kindness. Till this day I can still recollect moments I store deep in my treasure chest holding my heart. We did the little, everyday things. I still have pieces that I wrote that bear your name across the metaphors. I remember the day that you reach out to me wanting to reciprocate. I was already with someone that treated me like shit, but still I stayed with her. It could be classified as the worst timing one could ever have. I guess 2006 was the year I shut the door of opportunities. Being with me isn’t as special as an opportunity, but I guess I gave up by then. Don’t we wish time and place would coincide like is should, but I’m a bit glad it didn’t. It would’ve been the death of me and I would search no further. We progressed, so I learned to live my own life eventually. I gained my independence. We share an astronomical amount of commonalities, but there are days I us as black and white, sometimes with shades of gray. Since then I guess I’ve taken you down from the pedestal, no longer seeing you as flawless. However, you’re better than most people I know and always present. I do a lot for you, and I’ll never stop at it. You’ve done tons of things for me as well. I don’t talk to you about a lot of problems with you anymore, but I guess that’s from learning to keep it to myself. I don’t see a future for us in terms of boyfriend/girlfriend relationship, but there are still those moments where you shine like gold. Although we get along so effortlessly I didn’t retain any of those “in love” feelings. I tried to get them back, but just like all things forced, they’re forced. People still route for us, but I don’t. When people say something over and over, we learn to do the opposite. Guess I’m experiencing specificity when it comes to personalities and attributes I prefer. I’m not “exploring;” I just know that kind of relationship is not what I want for us. God I’m feeling a bit nostalgic from writing this. You’ll be one of the greatest friends never heard of. I’ll love you till the hands of time are too tired to revolve, maybe even longer than that.

Moral Fiber

Here’s another request, an odd one at that. I have to define moral fiber. I’ve been told that phrase is subjective in terms of connotation. Sorry if it’s not as interesting as you thought it would be. Lol. It feels good having blogs saved in drafts to publish. Doesn’t feel as much pressure to hurry and publish the next.

Mor·al Fi·ber (mawr-uhl fahy-be)
-noun

When I think of fiber I think of bettering the digestive system and peristalsis. So fiber is basically a helper for incessant actions, so fiber could metaphorically be anything of aid. Next, morals ethically determine right and wrong behaviors. So it’s subjective within itself, which people personally set in stone. They should abide by it, but slippage or forgetfulness does occur.

Anyways, the collective term of moral fiber, to me, is any phrase or an action that exemplifies good use of morals. However, it doesn’t stop there, only when one witnesses it and then practices it is it defined as moral fiber. Hopefully, you practice your own morals day in and day out. So when you’re experiencing slippage and notice someone else practicing good deeds or good use of decision making, it becomes more than just an aid. It become a necessity like fiber, or else everything will come out as bad shit instead of that good, firm, healthy, and well flowing shit. For example, when someone tells you good advice, as known as moral fiber, you should digest it so your shit, morals, are intact and goods are returned. Keep the bowel movements coming.

Not feeling the new Maroon 5 songs. Still listen to Songs about Jane religiously. Random thought: If anyone could listen to a band/group religiously wouldn’t the one best suit be Judest Priest. Hahaha. Dry, lame humor.

Friday, September 10

He versus She

Sorry Tap, I’m going to do the one you requested next blog. I thought of this one and ran with it. I left some comments of others’ blogs but don’t see them. Anyone else having the same problem? The calls are the cause for my eyes to ball. Hmm… was going to write something personal, but ef it, maybe another day. Here's my next piece in Brave New Voices. If you ask why I have that label, then search it up and see the young poets perform on youtube. BTW I know the he/she stuff gets redundant here, but that's just the capacity of my creative juices. This is made on various rhyme schemes and would probably sound better if I performed it live. I'm always thinking of new ways and what to write, but c'est la vie, such is life.

He would roam and roam, a rolling stone; she was home alone Macaulay Culkin’s role.
She’s leans towards logical, he’s epitomizes emotional

He searched for the love of life; she was the working type: home is life, husband wife.

He wanted to plan weekend ventures; cause she never planned doesn’t mean she never took pleasure
He believed so, but she needed no explanation, either or ever.

He’s a popular people’s person.
She’s a serene, civil servant.
He’s friendly; she’s family.
He’s sadistic and pessimistic; she artistically persistent

He travels; she cooks and cleans.
He’s mobile; she’s concrete.
He carries his baggage with his luggage on the plane.
She carries her head higher, hopeful, and full of faith.
He doesn’t see eye to eye, guess because he’s always looking down.
She’s always looking up, but I guess it’s not enough.

He wanted money and control, but that’s something you can’t control.
She doesn’t parade with her degree, but he always feels beneath.
He splurges for his memories; she’s 401k and pension for her kid’s degrees.

He wants to prove his importance in the world, so she watches and observes, never judges or slurs a word.
She’s consoling; he’s controlling and self-loathing.

Her fidelity is unconditional; there’s plenty in the sea, he grabs his fishing pole.
She found her religion; he found his women.


He stayed stern and stood firm, but she live and let learn.
He expects shit and regrets it; she accepts it and forgets it.
He always passes judgment; she’s passive.
She loves with a passion; he feels high above it.

He always nitpick at shit, doesn’t make her life a picnic bitch.

He wants to keep up with the Jones’, she doesn’t care who the Jones is.
He wants to show off all he’s done, she shows heart is where the home is.

She accepted simple life, he wanted extravagance to display, trophy-type.
He blames teammates; she blames herself.
He wants to coach; she teaches help.
He wants and flaunts to be the best, seeing losing is pointless.
She was always so content, competition is grotesque, only playing for her enjoyment.

He wants medium-rare lifestyle; she just likes hers well done, right ground.

Her humble meets his disgruntled.
She tried. He didn’t and searching for the new.
Good riddance, have I got myself in two?

Wednesday, September 8

Time's almost up for me

It's becoming harder to keep up with my blog. I have 2 computers and a phone where I scribble thoughts down, but I have 4 files all together labeled blog. They're all scattered around.

I’m taking it step by step, making contact with the asphalt with edges covered in tan weeds. It is primarily composed of bits of tar and white shells in plain sight. Whose idea was it to put shells in the walkway anyways? Bumps in the track lets me know that there were once heat pockets underneath it escaping, creating crack I now have to avoid. The basic process of one foot in front of the other in a comfortable pace isn’t so simple. Much thought goes into it. I mustn’t be too aggressive and hasty from the start, even though my legs encourage that I can. My tendency of only lightly stretching seems to be my nemesis, but oh how old habits die hard. I can feel it, my heart thumping especially in the lower region. That’s only momentarily, while I know that if I continue it will not be so bothersome. It’s true. After that feeling settles, I become aware of the sharp pain in my left ankle, soreness of my calves, and the pounding of knees, as I know running on asphalt is not the best for ligaments and tendons. It maybe my fairly wore down basketball shoes that cause such pains, but I continue to wear them. Perspiration is secreted through my enlarged pores, especially the ones created from acne on my face, falling or seeping into multiple garments. My brows engulf what they can, and I have to wipe away with my already moist shirt any drops of liquid that cause me any discomfort. The salty sweat the reaches my lip would probably taste better if sodium chloride wasn’t in its composition. I blow some of it away orally while I inhale through the nose and exhale through the mouth. That’s a breathing exercise I’ve been accustomed to through all sports. The New Orleans’ humidity doesn’t help either, only aiding in my demise. Barely any wind as it is still technically the summer season. With every mile, 5-8 ounces of water are consumed from bottles. There are 4-16.9 ounces bottles reserved on the bench for me as a marker of the distance traveled. I could sweat out the most severe fever under such conditions. What am I trying to prove? There isn’t a goal set.

When will I hit the wall or an inanimate object? When my right legs move forwards so does my left arm cocked in sort of this 90 degree angle altering from horizontal to vertical positions. Those appendages become subject to pendulum-like motions. My empty palms are loosely clenched onto hope, without worrying about holding onto my phone or keys. My mobile device serves as my stopwatch music player. As I get text or calls I disregard them, but I’m rapid to respond when a distasteful song comes on. Trip or trance music seems to be most effective to persistence. “High on Life” by DJ Burnz is a personal favorite track on this track. Funny is the term track record. It seems like I’m ignoring the fact that others are also on the same journey as I courteously pass them, sometimes one by one and other in groups. Strangers on the track with a common purpose. If conversation were to arise, they'd probably tell me how they're trying to lose weight. Then, they shall proceed asking what's my purpose with my already underweight physique. So typical conversation I must resist to indulge in. I selfishly progress as if I'm more fit than they. However, I know it may all be over if I come into contact with that theoretical wall. So this is no competitive sport in my honest opinion. Jogging, all the while I’m contemplating if my intake of carbohydrates is adequate for me to continue this indefinite journey. The banana used to prevent any cramping is living up to its purpose. I look at the ground 5 feet in front because seeing the continuous track seems to discouraging. This sport in more mental than it is physical. Elevated levels of adrenaline beyond the threshold is not necessary, just the will in heart and determination in the mind. Such nerd-like thoughts of the muscle contractions from the use of ATP and exchange of calcium are in the back of my brain. As I continue, my body begins to breaks down causing me to hit the brakes. Without a goal failure is inevitable, despite the amount of songs, nutrition digested, quality of attire, or whether the weather is perfect. So I stop and walk to my car with my head down as it’s been the duration of the journey. I might feel the feeling of accomplishment one day. I’ll conquer you one day Avondale’s walking track, but failure is evitable

Tuesday, September 7

A Proposition for the Ages

It's almost that time that I've talked about a couple months ago. My clock is running out. I’m going to do a descriptive piece next. My writing is getting lazy and it shows. The idea and content are present, but the flow and scrutiny is slowly fading. Oh wells. I wrote parts of a song, that won’t probably be published.. If I were instrumentally inclined then I wouldn’t have it any other way then to play it. *clears throat* “A 5, 6, 7, 8.” Lol. Here is an untypical, one-sided conversation novella. These novellas are in demand. I’ll abide by the trend, for now.

They’re 4 months into a semi-relationship. She still doesn’t properly appreciate him enough. I’m not going to sugar-coat anything; they have their fair share of problems. Fights arise here and there due to their own uncertainty and lack of confidence. She’s cleaned his room for him. He doesn’t know, but she’s about to leave him in an uncanny way. She made sure that she’s taken away everything that’s her or resembles her by organizing his stuff. Into her little pink hello kitty backpack it all goes.

“Thank you for cleaning my room bay,” he says. She ponders on the thought of the time when they created pet names. She remembers that it was just about, never. “That’s a first. She questions, “Why’d you call me babe?” His explanation went on, “Isn’t that what you are? I mean I know that we never established whether we’re together or not. I kind of assumed, it being so long since we started talking and everyone sees us together now. Since we’re a little bit of public now I thought I’d slip it in unnoticeably. Fail.” He chuckles. He’s a bit glad that she does show him off and allows her friends to meet him. Such 3 lettered words for him to spew would be so difficult. She expresses, “I'm kind of confused?” He then inquires, “Sorry, you don’t like bay do you? Should I say hun? Or is it that we’re not boyfriend/girlfriend yet?” “I wanted to you talk about that,” she exclaimed. You could just see his eye lids raise duly out of excitement. Was this the declaration that he had awaited for? Would the months that he’s invested finally prosper? He has recently asked his friends and they came to a consensus that she should be his girlfriend by now. What is she waiting on? Her next eight words would change his life forever, “I have a proposition, one for the ages.” And so her one-sided conversation began.

“I’m going away for awhile, maybe more than just awhile for an indefinite amount of time. Years, decades, or half centuries will go by. I’m just not ready as of now. I’ll try to forget about you, supposedly move on. I’ll make consecutive mistakes with an array of guys from the modestly kindest to the most slyly arrogant, but they’ll all be given sufficient chances. I’m fair because some of them will be nicer and more talented than you and other won’t be. Oh will there be good looking, charming ones all in the convenience of our very own city. A little deviation from the ideal is something that I’m comfortable indulging in. There’s going to be a trend of a bad boyfriend which I hate to love, and then a good one I don’t love that gives me comfort and security. Some will treat me like a princess; others will treat me like a peon. Some will show me the world, and I won’t occupy any space besides a bedroom for others.”

“I’ll be used and abused or use and abuse. Slates will be wiped clean each time, without speaking of any past relations. I won’t attach one’s mistake onto another man’s innocence. There’s going to be days when I make it through and days when I can’t. This would be a pivotal time of my life. Boys or men, depending on their level of maturity, will be my independent variable in my own experiment where time is constant. This is all under the hypothesis (impression) that there is more out there for me. If you try to contact me, I’ll genuinely respond politely. Our conversations will be sweet but short, because I don’t want to get attached or for you to. After we break, please don’t make any last minutes efforts as I will see them as desperate and pathetic acts. I don’t mean to be so mean. “

“One day in the distant future I’ll come to my senses and return to you. I’ll admit my faults and fall to your mercy. I’ll be frank and tell you I’ve met others. However, say that you were the most suitable, but I’ll mean perfect, one for me. I won’t be lying. You were never overly nice, obnoxiously mean, the cutest, or most gifted. I liked how we were so comfortable and it didn’t need for you to take me anywhere to be content. You never took me to extraordinary places or been uber romantic, but what could I expect within the 4 month window. There are numerous attributes that I won’t be able to pinpoint your masterpieceness. I’ll cater to you this time around. You’ll definitely be doubtful, but I’ll be subject to your ever need. I’ll even propose marriage and profess my undying fidelity. By that time our careers will have been established. All of our dreams will fulfilled or in its motion, we’ll be ready to settle. Knowing all of that, will you wait for me unconditionally? Will you call me bay then?” Breathless and awestruck is he. Is he supposed to be excited or discouraged? Either way, he opens his mouth.