American Joe

Crippled by illness
Works the daily retail grind
A high school dropout.

Writing

Black blood,
Bleeding on white,
Empty page of paper,
Limitless possibility-
Now gone.

A Campus Walk

I sail through the dark,
Passing from sea to sea;
Oceans of concrete, still,
Reflecting the lights of the moons
Suspended in cages of glass.
Then, I come to an imprisoned sun,
Illuminating the black water with an orange glow
As warm as the light of a fire,
But not nearly so violent.
It invites me,
Drawing me in with the gravity of its beauty.
And I stop beneath it,
Where my friend awaits me in her ship of rubber.

The Dogwood Fruit

Before time,
     Before light,
There was nothing
     And everything.

It all came out with a bang.

Seconds in that early world,
     To us would be eons.
A world that was uniform, smooth
     Save for the smallest variation,
That created microscopic valleys and mountains
     That would give birth
To the glorious incandescence that would become--
     Stars and planets,
Space and time, 
     Water and earth,
Life, the universe, and everything.
     That would become the dogwood tree
And the little fruit I hold in my hand--
     The universe telling us its story.

The Door

There is a door.
A door at the top of a stair.
A stair that is at the bottom of a tower.
A tower that is on top of a hill.
A hill that is on top of a plain.
A plain that is on top of a continent.
A continent that is on top of an ocean.
An ocean that is on a planet.
A planet that is in a solar system.
A solar system that is within a galaxy.
A galaxy that is within a galactic group.
A galactic group that is within a galactic mega-cluster.
A mega-cluster which is part of the fibres that together create the Observable Universe.

And behind that door,
Behind that door is you,
You with the ability to change everything with your actions,
If only you go out that door and try.

They Will

Look out there, upon the masses of people
Scurrying below.
They move with such purpose
And with urgency;
As if what they are doing matters
As if they as one of billions will make a difference
In the vast expanse that we call the Universe.
The funny thing is--
They will.

The Black Rider

A man, dressed in black rides into the town.
He sits upon a nightmare colored stead,
His face obscured by hi black woolen cloak.
He enters the town with the setting sun,
Bringing with him the cold and dark of night.
The blackness of the night enveloping--
A shade, taking the town into its folds.
The black rider is met by a lone knight,
Who he beheads with one swing of his sword,
Leaving the knight to fall to ground behind.
And so it was for all the rider passed,
Either death by steel or by pestilence.
And thus he made his way out of the town,
Leaving it a lifeless set of houses.

We are all slaves (to capitalism and consumerism)

I am a slave.

You are a slave.

We are slaves to the culture of capitalism and the consumerism that we are all a part of. They are our masters. They tell us how we are supposed to dress, how we are to work, and what we are supposed to eat and to drink. They urge us to consume, to endlessly consume new things—new clothes and cars and cell phones—when there is nothing wrong with the older things.

In fashion, we are told that fall is here, and that orange is in, that it is what is cool. Then winter rolls around, and now orange is out, and red is in. This cycle continues indefinitely, with colors and cuts constantly changing, moderate iterations on previous styles. We are made to perceive—nay, we are told—that if we don’t consume these newest fashions that we will lose social standing. In that way, we are slaves to the culture of capitalism and consumerism.

In the world of gadgets, of technology, we are made to consume by minor improvements or alterations of design. You should really go get a new refrigerator to replace that year-old one. You couldn’t possibly live without that extra inch of space that the new model has. Goodness gracious, have you seen the new iPhone? It is one percent faster than last years’ model. But you know, maybe it’s a good thing that you did buy the new model, because in another year or so, the old one you had would have broken, since they are designed to work only until the warranty has expired.. So in that way, we are slaves to the culture of capitalism and consumerism.

Even in how we perceive social interactions are we slaves to the culture of consumerism and capitalism. If I see a girl that I like, and I want to get to know her better, I ask if we can get some coffee, or get some lunch, or maybe a romantic candlelit dinner. If I want to catch up with an old friend, I ask him if he wants to go get a drink. Social interactions have become an excuse to consume. Think about holidays. On Valentine’s Day and Halloween, and Easter for that matter, we buy candy. Their original purpose has become clouded, as they now serve as reasons to consume. The worst offender of them all though is Christmas—the holy day in which everyone goes and spends money on presents for the people who matter in their lives. So much money being spent—so much profit being made.

I am a slave.

You are a slave.

We are all slaves to the culture of capitalism and consumerism that permeates our society.

Insomnia

You are a crippling master.

You demand too much of me.

Every night you make me preform rituals to you.

You demand I position myself this way, and then you command me to reposition that way.

Never are you pleased.

You need the light to be a certain way. It can not be too bright for you, oh Great One.

You demand of me so much--too much.

And when I do not fulfill your demands, you withhold from me a thing most vital--my sleep.

Finally, I'll be fed up, and I will vow to outlast you, and you give me a false hope.

But soon thereafter, you giveth to me what you withheld,

Thus devastating me.

Between Two Worlds

I woke up today, and I realized that this is the end.
This life—the life I have known for the last seventeen years—
It's over.
It was a good show—so people say.
I did a good job.
I passed my classes,
I'm graduating, with honors.
But I can't help but look back from the top of the hill at my old life.
The life that will end tomorrow.
I can't help but feel nostalgic.
The entire experience colored by rose-tinted glasses.

I look back and I see all of the good times,
I see myself winning soccer games,
I see myself onstage—dressed in drag, and in suits,
I see myself singing my heart out in choir,
And I see myself becming friends with all of you.

I look back, and I see all of the struggles.
I see myself running for student government for the first time.
I see myself taking test after test, taking SATs and ACTs and applying for colleges.
I see myself cutting my head open and brusing my ribs.
I see myself stuggling with Pacifica,
And I see myself saying goodbye to all of you, my friends.

Who knows what the world has in store for us all?
I certainly don't.
I do know that life will go on—
It won't be like this one.
It will be different, but that's alright.
I know that it will be full of surprises,
And full of adventure,
And that it is up to us to seize the day.

Unsubscribe From the System

Unsubscribe from the System

I am waiting for people to understand that the current government does not work for them.
To figure out that they do not live in a republic, but an oligarchy,
To learn that Big Business and the Koch Brothers own all of the sleazeballs on Capitol Hill who call themselves your representatives.
In reality, they serve themselves, then their sponsors, and then their party.
You are just an afterthought.
Who needs integrity when you have ads and media buyouts?
When the game is rigged so you can only choose from two moderate parties—one left leaning, the other right.
I am waiting for people to understand this,
and I am waiting for people to understand that every vote matters,
and that if they actually voted for the person with integrity and not on party lines,
then real change can be made.

We Inherit the World From Our Ancestors

I am waiting for the world to change for the better.

I am waiting for the governments of the world to battle global climate change,

to reduce carbon emissions and oil consumption,

to turn to the wind and the sun and the sea.

I am waiting for the people of the world—the conservative people—I am waiting for them to
stop being disillusioned,

to accept that we are the problem,

to accept that we must change ourselves to save the world,

to acknowledge that there is not another planet we can go to

to realize that once they die, there are others who have to live with their mess.  

Pacifica

The Pacifica Project is a project that is required to graduate from Seaside High School. Every senior must do a 50+ hour community service project, and then afterward, do a 15 minute presentation at the Seaside Convention Center to the community at-large. My thoughts looking back.

It's over.

It's done.

Now, I have time for some fun.

A date, with a lady in blue.

My pillow, how I long to see you!

Integrals

Trigonometric functions all blur together,
Sine, cosine, tangent, secant--a jumble of radial operations.
Integrate this function times that one.
Make sure the interval is right.
Antiderivite it.
Wait, too soon.
Substitute in a u.
Make it the natural log's derivative first.
Now antiderive.
Plug all the numbers back,
And finally an answer!
Just remember to add a C.
No.
Wait.
Shit.
That's just f(x).

Taking a Break

I am quite tired.
I'm taking a break today.
Come back tomorrow.

Casting Off Our Consumer Chains

We should turn up a large surface of life,
Not dig mines into geological strata.
Have not we learned from the epochs of history,
That the lines of humanity, near the bosoms of business,
Care not for anything but their bottom line?

The world underneath our own,
Is filled with the glowing hues of life,
Life that these businesses fail to recognize.
Thus we must communicate no longer by words,
But through a medium they will understand--action.

The sooner that we grapple with business,
The sooner that we can cast off our consumer chains.

The Funky-Punky Haired Girl

Funky hair and vibe,
She goes from place to place,
From person to person,
Getting what she wants.
Owning the air around her,
And the ground below her.

She is kind,
She is quirky.
She is a good friend.

Can I?

Can I justify,
Her waiting for my answer?
No, I suppose not.

Every Day

Every day I wake up at five thirty AM,
To a half dozen blaring alarms.
I'm lucky if I get six hours of rest.
Even when I do though, it seems like I didn't sleep at all.

Every day I drag myself out of my inviting, heavenly bed,
Running through the frigid morning air of my home,
To jump into the scalding water of the shower.
I enjoy it though,
As the temperature variation helps to wake me up.

Every day I hop out of the shower,
Returning to slightly warmer air as I scurry back to my room,
Pulling on underwear and socks,
Before diving back under the blankets of my bed.

Every day I lay in bed in a post shower bliss,
I rest my eyes, and try not to fall back asleep,
And I surf the web,
Catching myself up on what happened while I dreaming.

Every day I have to get dressed,
Forcing me to leave my bed again,
Rushing to throw together an outfit,
As I waited until the last minute.

Every day I have a large cup of coffee.
Usually, it is without anything else.
I prefer darker roasts, French or Italian.
I take the rest of the pot in a thermos.

Every day I leave my house and walk to school,
Taking a seven block stroll,
Four feet away from cars,
Steel cages whizzing by at fifty-five.

Every day I get to school by seven twenty AM.
Finding the building mostly empty.
It is a quite, somber time,
That I use to read or write.

Every day at eight AM I go to my classes,
I study English and history,
Mathematics and music.
And somewhere in there I have a lunch.

Every day after school I have some sort of activity.
Some days I am rehearsing for a play.
Some days, I am working on a student government project.
Some days, I am working on scholarships.

Every day I go home to work on homework.
I walk directly from the front door to the coffee pot,
And then, mug in hand, to my desk.
To peck away at paper after paper.

Every day I eat dinner,
And do my chores,
And chat with my family.
And watch videos.

Every day I go back to my room,
Stripping off my clothes,
Falling into my bed,
Embraced by fatigue and darkness.

Recharging before I do it all over again.

Rocky Mountains High in the Sky

High

In the sky

Are the peaks of 

The Rocky Mountains.

They reach up and up and up,

Creating a natural divide between the

Great Plains states and the Pacific Northwest.