Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Yelps from the Closet: Are you stupid? If so, don't read.
Yelps from the Closet: Are you stupid? If so, don't read.: "It was a long day for the Lord. Wine doesn't just make itself. There are grapes and vines and stomping involved. Yet, Jesus loved his wine..."
Are you stupid? If so, don't read.
It was a long day for the Lord. Wine doesn't just make itself. There are grapes and vines and stomping involved.
Yet, Jesus loved his wine. By God, he had it in mind his last meal. Nothing goes better with bread than a nice dry red paired with a sacrificing of oneself.
And the Lord spoketh and said,
"hey, yo, you thee, I don't even speak anything other than old-school roman and maybe a bit of Latin,... ergo, what the fuck you talkin; 'bout?'
... And those seeking knowledge responded ... ' huh?'
And the wise one stumbled upon his thoughts before realizing that 'huh? was an answer that spoke to the masses.
The Lord,some God, spoke unto the ones seeking guidance and said ... "Go home, you will make a fool of yourself as those before you have done..."... "Ye are a dumbass worthy of notice yet capable pf knowledge ..."
And, I could only comprehend this message as one of, 'This is bullshit', I haven't learned nothing in my long life" ...
Simply put, I'm not simply put.
Decipher me and my mind.
So, Jesus left the masses with no clear direction yet all those around him somehow knew what he wanted them to do and how he wanted them to react.
................................................ Fast forward two thousnd years, give or take a decade.
Think for a momnet.
Think a bit more.
Hello.
Welcome to self-awareness.
Slow down and think for a moment .... you are more than what your mirror shows....
Yet, Jesus loved his wine. By God, he had it in mind his last meal. Nothing goes better with bread than a nice dry red paired with a sacrificing of oneself.
And the Lord spoketh and said,
"hey, yo, you thee, I don't even speak anything other than old-school roman and maybe a bit of Latin,... ergo, what the fuck you talkin; 'bout?'
... And those seeking knowledge responded ... ' huh?'
And the wise one stumbled upon his thoughts before realizing that 'huh? was an answer that spoke to the masses.
The Lord,some God, spoke unto the ones seeking guidance and said ... "Go home, you will make a fool of yourself as those before you have done..."... "Ye are a dumbass worthy of notice yet capable pf knowledge ..."
And, I could only comprehend this message as one of, 'This is bullshit', I haven't learned nothing in my long life" ...
Simply put, I'm not simply put.
Decipher me and my mind.
So, Jesus left the masses with no clear direction yet all those around him somehow knew what he wanted them to do and how he wanted them to react.
................................................ Fast forward two thousnd years, give or take a decade.
Think for a momnet.
Think a bit more.
Hello.
Welcome to self-awareness.
Slow down and think for a moment .... you are more than what your mirror shows....
For Your Consideration
<--------------------------------
>--------------------------------
<------------------------------->
Where are you on ths above scale?
>--------------------------------
<------------------------------->
Where are you on ths above scale?
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Yelps from the Closet: A Week in A Syllable
Yelps from the Closet: A Week in A Syllable: "It is amazing the difference that 120 hours makes. Five days of 24 hours. 1,440 minutes a day, 7,200 minutes in five days. As the numbers in..."
A Week in A Syllable
It is amazing the difference that 120 hours makes. Five days of 24 hours. 1,440 minutes a day, 7,200 minutes in five days. As the numbers increase the time stays the same.
"Jeff," you say, "What in the HELL are you getting at?"
Good question. The answer is simple .... Monday started like shit, ended wonderfully and morphed into a period of five days, 120 hours, congealed into a package resembling a Jello Mold full of cat food and M&M's. Do you eat it or pick at the good stuff?
To make a long story short, I shed a skin this week. I shed a great deal of anger and suppressed pain. Yes, I have been harboring a bit of anger and pain in case you haven't noticed. Some, if not most, might be visible in a few of my past blogs. But now, I plan on presenting the new kinder, gentler, civilized Jeff. All due to the last 120 hours of my life. No, really.
Again, you might ask, "Hey, dipshit, what the fuck you talkin' 'bout?"
I don't know exactly, to tell you the truth. All I know is that on Monday night, February 14, 2011, at approximately 8:30 PM, my life changed with a single-syllable word ... "Yes".
The next morning, the sun shone brighter, the birds snored louder and I listened to a Babyface song on my iPod. More importantly, after plugging my ears with soda straws, I didn't have any anger. No resentment. Not because of Babyface (I quickly jumped to a Megadeth tune on the iPod), but because of a word uttered in response my request. 'Yes'.
Now, how does a man who uses his pain and anger as an outward expression of self continue to express the anger, hurt and pain that drives his creative ego when the pain is erased by a single word of commitment?
It's a fair question ... the answer for me is simple. I continue to write. You see, I don't forget the anger and hurt, I only now choose to express it in a more positive way. It's as if the arm at the westbound tollroad access closed during rush hour for the eastbound traffic to head home is dropped during approach. If that makes sense to you then you need to call me, you have issues.
To make a long story short, my yin committed to my yang and, as such, my soul released baggage that would put me over the limit for a flight to the future.
No more anger. No more resentment. No more hindrances.
'Yes'
Let the life begin.
"Jeff," you say, "What in the HELL are you getting at?"
Good question. The answer is simple .... Monday started like shit, ended wonderfully and morphed into a period of five days, 120 hours, congealed into a package resembling a Jello Mold full of cat food and M&M's. Do you eat it or pick at the good stuff?
To make a long story short, I shed a skin this week. I shed a great deal of anger and suppressed pain. Yes, I have been harboring a bit of anger and pain in case you haven't noticed. Some, if not most, might be visible in a few of my past blogs. But now, I plan on presenting the new kinder, gentler, civilized Jeff. All due to the last 120 hours of my life. No, really.
Again, you might ask, "Hey, dipshit, what the fuck you talkin' 'bout?"
I don't know exactly, to tell you the truth. All I know is that on Monday night, February 14, 2011, at approximately 8:30 PM, my life changed with a single-syllable word ... "Yes".
The next morning, the sun shone brighter, the birds snored louder and I listened to a Babyface song on my iPod. More importantly, after plugging my ears with soda straws, I didn't have any anger. No resentment. Not because of Babyface (I quickly jumped to a Megadeth tune on the iPod), but because of a word uttered in response my request. 'Yes'.
Now, how does a man who uses his pain and anger as an outward expression of self continue to express the anger, hurt and pain that drives his creative ego when the pain is erased by a single word of commitment?
It's a fair question ... the answer for me is simple. I continue to write. You see, I don't forget the anger and hurt, I only now choose to express it in a more positive way. It's as if the arm at the westbound tollroad access closed during rush hour for the eastbound traffic to head home is dropped during approach. If that makes sense to you then you need to call me, you have issues.
To make a long story short, my yin committed to my yang and, as such, my soul released baggage that would put me over the limit for a flight to the future.
No more anger. No more resentment. No more hindrances.
'Yes'
Let the life begin.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
A Thought For the Saviours
In high school, I once had an assignment in my Creative Writing class to write a description of myself in a scenario of my own choosing.
I believe I was sixteen, maybe seventeen years old. I remember that I envisioned my face and body standing on a beach, gazing upon a sunset as the waves lapped at my feet. What I remember most is that my feet, the waves, the tiny shells in the surf, the sunset as it transitioned from yellow to pink, all grasped my mind and became a part of who I was at that moment in my life. I wasn't a man, I was a being. I was just me. Nothing more, nothing less. There was no past, there was no future, there was only the now as the foam dissipated between my toes.
What I can't imagine is my face and how my face reflected who I was at that moment. I can only imagine that who I was then is the reason that I can now picture that sunset. Despite my worries... the seemingly insurmountable obstacles that I faced then and the horrors in my mind, escaped me but the fears of rejection overtook me like a posse of Arizona cops stopping a work van at the El Paso border.
I never see my face in my own foibles. I picture the faces of those charged with petty crimes attached to my body. Many times... No, most every time, I feel obligated to apologize to the face attached to my body. Other times, I feel obligated to apologize to the body attached to my face.
Fuck it, man. That sunset that defined me segregated me from my own existence. Even as another soul gazed upon my sunset as a sunrise a world away, I was oblivious to a life lived in tandem with my own based upon the simple rising and setting of the sun.
A man, woman or child a world away from me gazed upon sun and shared hope that we all share hours before I awoke from a wet dream. And, although I will not elaborate on the wet dream aspect of the connection, we all awoke with with basically the same ideas...
Ok. even I realize that what i'm writing is difficult to grasp ... but what I'm asking you to ponder isn't....
Think. Remember. Youth isn't lost, youth is buried with an 'X' marking the spot. Who you are isn't defined by who you are percieved to be and who you are meant to be isn't defined by what you've been taught.
Think back to those assignments in High School or college or junior college thhat required you to express yourself. Remember how you felt as you expressed yourself despite the fear of ridicule.
That was who you are. That is who you are. That is what makes you worthy. That is what makes you capable of changing this fucked-up world we live in.
This blog is disjointed but this blog is coherent. After all, if you can be you, and we can be individuals, than we can exist as one.
I'm craving low-salt peanuts/
I believe I was sixteen, maybe seventeen years old. I remember that I envisioned my face and body standing on a beach, gazing upon a sunset as the waves lapped at my feet. What I remember most is that my feet, the waves, the tiny shells in the surf, the sunset as it transitioned from yellow to pink, all grasped my mind and became a part of who I was at that moment in my life. I wasn't a man, I was a being. I was just me. Nothing more, nothing less. There was no past, there was no future, there was only the now as the foam dissipated between my toes.
What I can't imagine is my face and how my face reflected who I was at that moment. I can only imagine that who I was then is the reason that I can now picture that sunset. Despite my worries... the seemingly insurmountable obstacles that I faced then and the horrors in my mind, escaped me but the fears of rejection overtook me like a posse of Arizona cops stopping a work van at the El Paso border.
I never see my face in my own foibles. I picture the faces of those charged with petty crimes attached to my body. Many times... No, most every time, I feel obligated to apologize to the face attached to my body. Other times, I feel obligated to apologize to the body attached to my face.
Fuck it, man. That sunset that defined me segregated me from my own existence. Even as another soul gazed upon my sunset as a sunrise a world away, I was oblivious to a life lived in tandem with my own based upon the simple rising and setting of the sun.
A man, woman or child a world away from me gazed upon sun and shared hope that we all share hours before I awoke from a wet dream. And, although I will not elaborate on the wet dream aspect of the connection, we all awoke with with basically the same ideas...
Ok. even I realize that what i'm writing is difficult to grasp ... but what I'm asking you to ponder isn't....
Think. Remember. Youth isn't lost, youth is buried with an 'X' marking the spot. Who you are isn't defined by who you are percieved to be and who you are meant to be isn't defined by what you've been taught.
Think back to those assignments in High School or college or junior college thhat required you to express yourself. Remember how you felt as you expressed yourself despite the fear of ridicule.
That was who you are. That is who you are. That is what makes you worthy. That is what makes you capable of changing this fucked-up world we live in.
This blog is disjointed but this blog is coherent. After all, if you can be you, and we can be individuals, than we can exist as one.
I'm craving low-salt peanuts/
Yelps from the Closet: It Takes a Head Wound to Coagulate a Bleeding Nati...
Yelps from the Closet: It Takes a Head Wound to Coagulate a Bleeding Nati...: "Boom shaka laka laka laka Boom. Ka-Blam. Pfft .....fart ... Welcome, take your seat in the front row. You are witnessing the implosion of..."
Yelps from the Closet: My Padded Room.
Yelps from the Closet: My Padded Room.: "Nothing is more frightening than the feeling that life and its circumstances have you backed against a wall. Luckily for me, my back is..."
Yelps from the Closet: Inspired by a Friend For My Children
Yelps from the Closet: Inspired by a Friend For My Children: "2:41 AM. Wednesday, January 19th, 2011 ... Here I am, once again sitting perpendicular to a computer. As I stare upon the screen, I contemp..."
Yelps from the Closet: One Man's Stink Bug
Yelps from the Closet: One Man's Stink Bug: "Stewie was confused. This new abode was a far cry from the promised land he'd been heard about. 'This is America', he thought, 'not the land..."
Yelps from the Closet: Mirror
Yelps from the Closet: Mirror: "You don't like me. That's ok. I don't like me either. Do you like yourself? That's ok.I don't like you either. Know what that makes you? I..."
Yelps from the Closet: A Care Tag In A Coat of Many Colors
Yelps from the Closet: A Care Tag In A Coat of Many Colors: "Following is a little-known aside to the biblical story of Joseph and his coat of many colors. All names have been changed in order to avert..."
Yelps from the Closet: The Wizard of Fred
Yelps from the Closet: The Wizard of Fred: "The skies blackened. Winds swirled and began tossing begonias from their beds as if a giant turkey baster had been squeezed from above...."
Yelps from the Closet: My thoughts are a Four-Lettered Word.
Yelps from the Closet: My thoughts are a Four-Lettered Word.: "I'm sweaty. I'm stinky. I'm tired and I'm ready. ... and, I'm naked. Bring on the funk. Hit me with the deep backbeats and the soul-thumpin..."
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
My thoughts are a Four-Lettered Word.
I'm sweaty. I'm stinky. I'm tired and I'm ready. ... and, I'm naked.
Bring on the funk. Hit me with the deep backbeats and the soul-thumping bass beats that speak to my soul.
Tear the roof off the mutha, tear the roof off the muthasucka ....
The roof.. the roof ... the roof is on fire. I don't need no water, let the muthatfucka burn....
These were the words of Shakespeare as he translated them from Latin.
Quite the proper rapper, that english bastard. Shakesey might have recognized love and loss but he never understood life and survival. Shakespeare was the rap star of his generation ... the Milli Vanilli of his time .
Sure, he could rhyme. No doubt, he could piece together iambic pentameter and draw those into his words. But, he didn't grease the life of those he imagined and that is why he is no more worthy of recognition than an author of any of the 'Twilight' novels.
It might seem as if I'm slamming Shakespeare, one of the most revered authors and playwrights of our time. Don't misunderstand my words... I am slamming the bard. But, I'm slamming with all due respect.
You see, Willy Shakes wrote his words, in his time, hoping to be ridiculed and disliked. He looked in the mirror each morning, snarled at his appearance and directed his displeasure of life and self through his words.
Shakesy viewed his own weaknesses in that mirror. He played out his pain an retribution for his pain in that mirror. And, he spoke to those with thheir own mirrors.
I have never understood Shakespeare ..... thees and thous and english without cursing ... I don't get it. But, I do understand visions based upon vision.
I also gaze upon my countenance each morning with displeasure with my life. What I have written is unworthy of my own acceptance. Bill Shakespeare and I can relate ..... Yet... yet ....
Yet..... what I write and bring to others, no matter how insignificant it may seem to be ... is important.
Important. That's a 15-syllable word. Why do I say that? Because my dumbass thoughts are no less important than your dumbass thoughts.
You are me. I am you. You are Stephen Hawking. Stephen Hawking is you. You are worthy of respect and respect is within you.
Do you see where I'm headed? Your mind is your mind. No one can ever direct your life and your beliefs unless you allow it to happen.
I lost you at Stephen Hawking. That's ok. Maybe you never even knew who Steven Hawking was, or is ...
Hawking could have easily penned MacBeth ... the visions he and Billy Shakes shared are similar ....
Oh Home, Oh Home.. Where for art there Home? ....
... dismiss my craziness as reality .... I do.
Bring on the funk. Hit me with the deep backbeats and the soul-thumping bass beats that speak to my soul.
Tear the roof off the mutha, tear the roof off the muthasucka ....
The roof.. the roof ... the roof is on fire. I don't need no water, let the muthatfucka burn....
These were the words of Shakespeare as he translated them from Latin.
Quite the proper rapper, that english bastard. Shakesey might have recognized love and loss but he never understood life and survival. Shakespeare was the rap star of his generation ... the Milli Vanilli of his time .
Sure, he could rhyme. No doubt, he could piece together iambic pentameter and draw those into his words. But, he didn't grease the life of those he imagined and that is why he is no more worthy of recognition than an author of any of the 'Twilight' novels.
It might seem as if I'm slamming Shakespeare, one of the most revered authors and playwrights of our time. Don't misunderstand my words... I am slamming the bard. But, I'm slamming with all due respect.
You see, Willy Shakes wrote his words, in his time, hoping to be ridiculed and disliked. He looked in the mirror each morning, snarled at his appearance and directed his displeasure of life and self through his words.
Shakesy viewed his own weaknesses in that mirror. He played out his pain an retribution for his pain in that mirror. And, he spoke to those with thheir own mirrors.
I have never understood Shakespeare ..... thees and thous and english without cursing ... I don't get it. But, I do understand visions based upon vision.
I also gaze upon my countenance each morning with displeasure with my life. What I have written is unworthy of my own acceptance. Bill Shakespeare and I can relate ..... Yet... yet ....
Yet..... what I write and bring to others, no matter how insignificant it may seem to be ... is important.
Important. That's a 15-syllable word. Why do I say that? Because my dumbass thoughts are no less important than your dumbass thoughts.
You are me. I am you. You are Stephen Hawking. Stephen Hawking is you. You are worthy of respect and respect is within you.
Do you see where I'm headed? Your mind is your mind. No one can ever direct your life and your beliefs unless you allow it to happen.
I lost you at Stephen Hawking. That's ok. Maybe you never even knew who Steven Hawking was, or is ...
Hawking could have easily penned MacBeth ... the visions he and Billy Shakes shared are similar ....
Oh Home, Oh Home.. Where for art there Home? ....
... dismiss my craziness as reality .... I do.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
The Wizard of Fred
The skies blackened. Winds swirled and began tossing begonias from their beds as if a giant turkey baster had been squeezed from above. Pandemonium gripped the populace. This had been prophesied.
*WhhooooomphedSplat!":
Silence. ...
......... silence ...... (wait for it)........ silence ............
At first glance, a structure, a building, had appeared to descend from the sky. Not a building, but an apartment... a one bedroom loft, guilded in pure gold. Above the door of this loft was posted a thumb and forefinger touching tip to tip.
Silence was deafening as the door to the loft opened ... no squeaks, no creaks ...
"Welcome to Westboro.." ... the tiny voices exclaimed. The reverend Phelps has been expecting you. "
Unsure where he was, the shaken figure of a man exited the loft apartment ... looking to his left, he saw legs prodtruding from the foundation of his loft... Panic began to overtake him until ....
".... those are the legs of the wicked Fred of the midwest ... "
"But, I was only a minute ago watching 'Jersey Shore' and plotting my return... your church never had any place in my plans.... How might I get back to heaven and be with those who are worthy of my love?'
"Take the shoes before you and put them upon your feet ... they will keep you safe in your journeys througout the land..."
So, the visitor from the House Above took the Hush Puppies from the feet of the slain one which
the loft apartment had landed upon, laced them upon his feet and mingled with the masses.
.... let's see how this apocalyptic scenario ends....
....
*WhhooooomphedSplat!":
Silence. ...
......... silence ...... (wait for it)........ silence ............
At first glance, a structure, a building, had appeared to descend from the sky. Not a building, but an apartment... a one bedroom loft, guilded in pure gold. Above the door of this loft was posted a thumb and forefinger touching tip to tip.
Silence was deafening as the door to the loft opened ... no squeaks, no creaks ...
"Welcome to Westboro.." ... the tiny voices exclaimed. The reverend Phelps has been expecting you. "
Unsure where he was, the shaken figure of a man exited the loft apartment ... looking to his left, he saw legs prodtruding from the foundation of his loft... Panic began to overtake him until ....
".... those are the legs of the wicked Fred of the midwest ... "
"But, I was only a minute ago watching 'Jersey Shore' and plotting my return... your church never had any place in my plans.... How might I get back to heaven and be with those who are worthy of my love?'
"Take the shoes before you and put them upon your feet ... they will keep you safe in your journeys througout the land..."
So, the visitor from the House Above took the Hush Puppies from the feet of the slain one which
the loft apartment had landed upon, laced them upon his feet and mingled with the masses.
.... let's see how this apocalyptic scenario ends....
....
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