Posts Tagged ‘bloorain’

Men vs Man

 

Once there was a man with an idea
He didn’t know what to do with that idea

Then came a man who had a plan.
He didn’t know how to go about that plan.

Then came a man who could implement.
He didn’t know how to supervise others.

Then came a man who could supervise.
He didn’t know how to build.

then came a man who knew how to build.
he couldn’t build it all by himself.

Then came more men that could build,
And they worked until they were done.

When the idea materialized,
They were happy.

Then came a man who didn’t have any ideas;
He couldn’t plan. He couldn’t implement, nor supervise, nor build.

Out of anger, and on his own,
He destroyed the the building, and the dreams of the other men,

But he gave birth to the notion
That it’s easier to destroy than to build.

 

 

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Social Network

Gosh! I really hate facebook! Did I just say that out loud?  You know, actually, I can say that because I have two facebook accounts. Yea, so I have the right by association. Kinda like Jared from subway calling a fat person…… well… fat! and then in a non-apologetic apologetic way follows it by saying “I was fat once”. And he is totally excused. So I reinstate. I really, really hate facebook!
I just don’t like social networks at all. To me they are *thinks hard* Exaggerated Social Realities. At least it’s true in my case. It’s really a constant reminder of how sucky your life is. Yes I said sucky. So you find yourself trying to come up with something cool that happened during your day. And in doing so you may…not saying that I did, but you may have accidentally bumped into your sister in the morning on the way to the bathroom, and post on facebook that, I don’t know, you got into a physical confrontation with  her. And you somehow pray that your own sister find you cool enough to check your postings so that you can start a meaningful argument on the net. And people would think cool things about you, like “ Oooh, they are so dysfunctional!”. You know stuff like that.
Twitter is the worse of them all. I also have two twitter accounts, just so you know. It’s just so much pressure. And it’s not even peer pressure. Just random people that you’ve never met pressure. But for some reason, on some random day, you  find yourself very constipated in the bathroom, and while you’re not sure whether or not you will make it out alive from this………….shit, you…umm…, you’re thinking really hard whether this is one of those events in your life you should tweet about!
End.

Day 7: Grand Finale

Not Mickey, nor Pluto, he wanted to see the magic act! The waiting line wasn’t very long; still, I couldn’t understand why he would choose to go to a magic show instead of the rides. 

In a twist of event, I ended up enjoying myself more than him, except for the grand finale … continue reading this entry.

day 6: Emma

When we got in front of her parent’s apartment, she peered into my soul to weight the credibility of my words. I looked away. She smiled. “wait,” She said “ I got something to show you.” The door closed shut before I replied. I waited reluctantly.

Then a really loud angry male voice rumbled inside and fed fear to my heart. It only escalated from there. I heard banging and shattering glasses, but when I heard her yelling, I barged in the door. I found her bruised up on the floor and i wanted to swear then that I would never let anyone hurt her again, but as i held her tightly in my arms, a shiver more violent than her quiver went crawling down my back because when i walked in the house, Emma was alone in the room.

Day 5: Hush!

There was yet another growl in his stomach. He was folded on himself and his arms across his stomach, his nails digging deeper, clenching his ribs a little tighter. It’s just that the pain was too loud. Momma told him to stay with the teacher and the other kids. Momma told him not to stray away. It’s just that butterflies cheat when playing tag. … continue reading this entry.

Twitter challenge day 4> Sinners And Saviors : Destination Playground

We were now only 20,000 feet in the air. I was nervous. We were all nervous. What could possibly prepare us for a moment like this? … continue reading this entry.

Twitter Challenge day 3: Summer Lilies

Her face is dug in the dirt, her head in between her arms. The back of her neck tightens. She freezes. She warned me earlier about her disease. I hear the thump of my heart before I hear her sobbing. Or was she laughing? Her back rose along with her chest. I couldn’t see her eyes. … continue reading this entry.

twitter challenge day 2 : Under control

I slammed the door behind me. She has some nerves! How can two people that once fell so madly in love with each other come to hate one another. I hooked my jacket on the wooden coat rack. The walk from work was a wet 15 minutes. She didn’t know what’s it was like. She had the car. I walked in the kitchen. There were crumbs of bread all over the counter. And she calls me lazy! If I were to do that, it’d be another choir rehearsal. The fridge door was left open. And when I heard the footsteps … continue reading this entry.

sneaky!

The following post is preview of a short story that I’m working on. I am really excited to write it even tho I know it will take me a while. But I am trying something new with this. Instead of just writing it down, I am taking an active role as the character and recording what I say then writing it down so that it would sound more natural. I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep doing it, but i like that method. This part was actually “written” that way. What do you think?

sneak peek: Live a little

The following entries were recorded from the diary of the late Donovan Jameson.

Wednesday, May 20 2009

My name is Donovan jameson. I find myself having to remind me of who I am. I know that I wrote that I’ve been lost before, that I don’t know who I am, but this is different. This is way different. Is it possible that…you could lose yourself so much that it becomes a reality, that you start actually losing your identity? Some weird things have been going on lately and…I just need to make sure, I need to have it written down that…that I am me. My name is Donovan Jameson. The past two weeks…The past two weeks have been scary.

Eve. And Adam

She was still. Her naked chest rose in quick successions. She felt the heat coming out of her mouth as she exhaled. There was a fire burning inside of her like a volcano of pleasure ready to erupt. She breathe longer and deeper, and swallowed harder. The emotions rose higher, much higher, and overwhelmed. And she wept. Silence is insanity, she swore. She wept. Inside of her, she was alive. Inside of her was a beautiful war.

Her warm fingers ran alone her naked thigh and her body erected in million goosebumps. And prompted another wave … continue reading this entry.

After the storm

“Don’t do this to me! Not on valentines day!” I ran after her. She hurried to her blue beetle. She swung and launched her backpack full of her clothes on the backseat. I ran barefooted after her, my heart singing a dreadful tune. Everything said perky outside. It was sunny yet there was an on and off breeze that balanced it out. She would have been the one to mention just how perfect the weather was, but she was a storm. She suddenly turned around, and I waited for the thunder. I waited for her to stab me with her words-Some truths that I couldn’t accept. She said nothing. She just looked at me a little longer as if her tears blurred her vision and she wanted to get one last good look at me before she leaves forever.

That’s when I realized that maybe without knowing it she was giving me another chance. And I realized that whatever I … continue reading this entry.

The Caterpillar and The Butterfly

On the outskirts of braveness lays fear
that audacity and stupidity veneer

So lays the caterpillar on the brink of despair
his paradigm shifted in a world he thought fair
when they took his love away,
stop……..hear the violin play

they took her a millions stories afar,
so he solemnly declared war

hearts beat faster then reason
swords yearn for treason
and even evil didn’t deserve his wrath
blood trails and screams filled his path

he fought for her; he killed them all
but where death stands, there’s no man too tall
no cause too great, if it starts it ends
time kills what it mends

the wounds that sparkled his fury
are the same that induced him slowly
in a world far away
beyond the reach of the gods she’ll pray

in her arms, his life dwindles away
Butterfly, he manages to say,
I’ve done all of this… so you can fly away”

Recycled

Booom! Screams the gun. Thud! Says the body to the floor…

He scratched the back of his head, and internally freaked out. He found out that he was more relieved than afraid. The body on the floor jerked one last time. “That’s what you get for insulting me! Where’s your smart mouth now, huh? You thought I would ever forgive you?” He rejoiced in what he had just accomplished for two more seconds, then it hit him! The neighbor must have heard. That old lady saw them both come and she probably called the cops already. The gun was registered under his name, if there is a chance that the judge would find him innocent, the “streets” knew of their rivalry. He wouldn’t survive.

So he pointed the gun to his head and thought “ there’s no way I’m going to jail”. Then a crazy thought ran in his mind. He didn’t want his lifeless body to make him look like a bitch. He thought that if it laid there on the floor, he wouldn’t be any better than that loser over there. So his mind went on a little thinking trip. “If I lay down on my back on my bed, and wore a cool shirt and sunglasses, that would leave an impression, or if i sat down on my lazy boy chair and glued a cigar to my lips, that would bring a new meaning to going out with a bang! Or …” The wailing sirens shook him back to reality. He had to act quick.

He realized that it would take too long to find the Crazy Glue, so he went with the bed idea. He quickly changed to his favorite shirt, and found his glasses on his dresser. The banging on the door forced him to go over his plan one last time. He laid down on his squeaky bed and cycled through weird poses. The banging on the door got increasingly louder. He wasn’t sure whether he would put his legs close together or spread them to take up space. It was clear that the cops were now kicking the door. When they eventually walk in, they would find him dead, but in the most news worthy pose ever!  He had thought it all through. What he didn’t know, however, was that as soon as he shoots himself, both of the legs on the left side of the bed will give out, forcing his lifeless body to roll down all the way to floor.

The cops barged into the apartment…

Booom! Screams the gun. Thud! Says the body to the floor…

Where dreams go



I’ve always wanted to know what happens to dreams that don’t come true. Do they haunt their owners, a wandering stream of “if-onlys” floating in the back of their head? Are they flight proned, clogging the emptiness of space? Or do they simply stop to exist as soon as a complicated logarithm deems them unfeasible?

…And I wondered if I would find the answer if I wondered some more. That day I stopped wondering.

I volunteered to babysit my baby cousin who, at the time, was loosing his baby teeth. As soon as he felt asleep that night, I dressed up as a giant Mr. Potato Head and stood still. Hours went by, and surely a tiny tooth fairy cautiously appeared out of nowhere. You see, tooth fairies have the ability to turn invisible; they search the whole room for anything that could prove their existence. They can search for hours. Only, and I mean only, when they are sure that the area is clear do they show themselves. If they are caught, however, they can’t turn back invisible immediately. She mistook me for a giant toy, big mistake. I snuck up on her and grabbed her. I beat her to a pulse until she was willing to tell me everything. “ No, dreams that don’t come true don’t just disappear. But I don’t know where they store them, honest! She cried, I work for the moon goddess. She can tell you more.”

On the next full moon, I snuck into the city’s lab and got my hands on the multi billion dollars laser, a long time project that was nearing completion. I rotated it towards the sky and held it to the moon at gun point ( laser point). I called out to the moon goddess and demanded answers to my questions or the moon would get it. Surely she thought I was bluffing until I started the machine. Sooner than later she appeared to my eyes only, majestic in the moon-lit sky. She said “ you assaulted one of my fairies and now you’re threatening me and my prized possession. What do you want?” I told her that I just wanted to know where dreams go, those that don’t come true. “That’s all, she laughed, well we keep them in the back of the moon, on the side that’s never lit.” Apparently, only one side of the moon ever shines. She told me that for my persistence she would let me see it. She took me there.

I must say that I was disappointed when I got there. It was cold for one. But for all I thought it would be, it was nothing more than a field filled with working men and women. They all had a long wooden stick in their hands and they were beating on some small creatures. The lady of the moon told one of her workers to explain to me what they were doing. With that, she left. “ well son, these little creatures are you people’s dead dreams. Only they’re stubborn; they don’t want to believe that they’re dead. That’s why they keep surfacing back in your memories from time to time. So our job…well, our job is to kill them.” I was shocked, so I asked him, “ wouldn’t it be better,then, for us to stop dreaming”. He looked at me as if I were stupid. “ Hell nah, kid. Then I wouldn’t have a freaking job. I got kids to raise, and a family to feed” He turned his back, and took out his frustration on one of the small creatures.

So for you dreamers out there; those who, like me, ask “what if…” or wonder “ If only…” or think “One day…” I tell you to keep dreaming, keep living in your parallel universe; if not just for the sake of dreaming, then remember that by dreaming you are somehow helping to feed children who live on the unlit side of the moon.

the couch

She came out of her room crying . I wonder how she ever found her way in the dark, and how she knew I was awake. She climbed on the couch, where I was sitting in front of the quiet color breathing TV. She pretended not to hear me tell her to go back to bed. She laid her head on my lap and fell asleep. she was three.

the next morning, she hurried to the couch where she left her backpack from studying the night before. she had a delicious wrap in one hand, and my mother’s mouth running in the back of her head. She was going to be late for school. She fixed her book on the couch where I was sitting. my father left the house first, he always grumpy in the morning. My mother followed him screaming one last thing as she walked out. She ran after her two minutes later. She waived at me and slammed the front door behind her

Later that evening, she stormed in through that door. she had that smile in her face. you know, the one that stains your mind for a while, like a pin on a small thread of your lifetime. She ran past me, and the couch, leaving a trail of joy behind. She ran to my parents, her diploma tucked under her arm. She ran through the house, my parents parading behind her. She ran to me and give me a quick, but rough hug.

The phone rang and rang that evening. I reached over, on the coffee table, in front of the couch, and I picked up the receiver. It was her, the most happy I’ve ever heard her. her words flowed like the fabric of time. She only stopped to giggled, then time stopped. she was telling me about her trip to Greece. It seems the flight alone was an adventure on it’s own. It seems the rest of her honeymoon promised to be nothing but amazing.

It seems that amazing is all she ever was. And I’m not just saying that because tonight she is sleeping over there, not too far away from the couch where I sit. Or because there is so much people gathered here in the living room. Or even that I don’t recognize most of them. My sister really is an amazing person. Even if she is not here to hear me say it. She has three kids. Her two sons are crying on her casket. The youngest is thirty years old, she has her eyes. I hold her in my arms; she tells me stories of her mother as she cries.

…and I cry too because this story isn’t about her.

The painting

The doctor’s office is a dark place and it’s not because of lighting issues. A warm smile is creepy, more so when it’s sincere. This is where I am, my prison of choice. It’s time like this when freedom doesn’t sound so rewarding. I start coughing. Ironically, I always get sick when I go to the doctors. It doesn’t help when others start coughing with me. I hold my breath until I can’t no longer, then I do it again, and again.

The room clears, and the creepy assistant lady tells me that I’ll be next. I freak out internally. She notices. She smiles and leaves. My blood pressure rises. I tell myself that it’ll be okay, that I’ll be okay. The tick tock of the clock frustrates me, it irritates me really. It isn’t safe to be alone….anywhere actually. I think of worst case scenarios, and think of best way to respond to them if they were to occur. Better safe than sorry, right?

I hear a distinct bang behind the doors where the scary doctors work. It sends a shiver crawling through my back. I rationalize it. A metal tool accidently fell on the ground. It happens. I breathe a little harder. I look up at the white wall to try and focus on something else. It’s then that I notice a painting.

I wonder how I could have ever missed those gold frames. The painting itself was quite simple. It was that of little girl in a field, a golden crop field that seemingly blended with the frames. The girl stood there in her white pajamas, the wind singing through her hair. She had vibrant dark hair. It had life on its own. The crops bent back, resisting the wind. The sky, in contrast, was lazy blue, like those days that take forever to start. There weren’t too many clouds but if you squint hard enough, you can barely see a flock of birds heading home. The girl stood there, centered on the left of the painting, her arms raised mimicking a scarecrow. She seems to be having the time of her life, a large smile plastered on her face.

My mind goes there. For once, I forget how creepy I thought this place was. And when the assistant comes back, I return her smile. She tells me that the doctor is ready to see me. I follow her, glancing back at the painting. The doctor’s office is prettier than I expected it. He gets up and closes the door behind me. He locks it. From behind his back, he pulls out a giant jagged edge sword with blood and hair still on it. He smiles and says “you’re next!”

You are…

so many time we forget about those that care for us the most. The ones that push us or show us the right way without ever lifting a finger; the ones that inspire us by just being themselves. So many time we ( I) forget what they mean to us (me). This poem is dedicated to them ————>

I am

I am…

Incomplete like an abstract puzzle

I am…

A whisper like their quiet muzzle

I am…

Boredom like tick……tock……..tick…………tock

I am…

Empty like the writer’s block

I am….

Lonely like the moon in the sky

I am…

Sorry like the coward’s lie

 

I am all this without you!

Cubicles

I can’t keep my cool in my cubicle. Gary calls me the goofy geek. Donna says I’m her dubious devil. Patrick’s our peaceful prankster. Selena is so serious! From start to finish, I find frustration, fun, fatigued faces, friends and foes. But at the end of the day, I’m a stranger at home.

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