This is soo ending.

{another "impulse" poem- probably going to be revised...}

I guess I just need to say it to your face
because you obviously don't get it
but I don't have that luxury
you don't know what you do
not even I know that
but at least acknowledge
at least say hi
what's up with this?
I'm too needy
I've asked so much
Living on lyrics to find the answer
but why bother
do you even care anymore?
Drifting our different ways
never on the same page
except way back when
It's my feelings getting to me; I have a hunch
Keeps coming back at me like a punch
So I can't ignore it
Maybe I'm too attached
Maybe I'm a creep
Dying from lack of sleep
Everyday, every chat, every pixel
eating inside but healing the apparent
This is soo ending.

Just Yesterday

{I'd categorize this one as one of those "sort of just acting on impulse"; the thoughts were coming, so I thought I'd just jump on the computer and spew it out. I mean, revision is free. I just got ideas. (hint hint- I am also very open to [constructive] criticism.) So yeah... Debussy also had a part in this.}

{Another note on (my) poetry: I guess I just tend to write phrases/words down that may or may not rhyme or even get anywhere. It doesn't seem to flow so great, and probably doesn't make any sense, but sometimes I like reading and hearing those vague, open stuff. You just sort of wrap your mind around it and lather on your own perspective. I don't normally listen or read something and let the artist's own... background or intention get involved. I like to just interpret stuff as I like. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. You can probably figure out what I'm talking about here, but then again, you can (no duh) interpret it as you like.}

Just yesterday

The paving and beeping and backpacks laden my way

with memories

to the place that started after 

just yesterday

The new, the wet

the tall, the met

And then just yesterday

it is of a great rumbling that I came here

only to leave in a blink, as if you fear

Just yesterday

The highest form of entertainment being those silly rhymes

to fool short ones that think this is it, the time

It's always it; it's always 

just yesterday

And then a passage, a yell

an awkward, a hell

That started just yesterday

Because before that

was before that; the past

but the present

Just yesterday

The unknown face, unfamiliar existence

Becoming what you knew. Then you miss it.

Wide space of constant sides

Now knowing how to read the lines

Colors; brown, a hazing green

Behind where you see, what you've seen

No one else with that vision

Memory; with language it's a given

Oh, but language, language language...

Just yesterday had seen not knowing how to conjugate 

Or really knowing what to hate

And how did that soft artificial yellow and red

become a crackling piece of French bread?

Just yesterday, it was not a problem.

Just yesterday, no courage to call them.

Just yesterday-

Ignorance and not alive

Misunderstanding the joy of a high five

Tiring of now, which was the past

"it went by fast"

It's still going, it always does.

Forceful exhale of bottled-up fuss.

Just yesterday, we was talkin like dis

With size 4 and undersized hips

We were friends

oh- we are friends.

But remember the absence?

Getting over the fence?

Let's just go

what will happen is in the air, we hope

what has happened is behind,

now for our heads and making ropes

to tie us down and help us find

what we have thought always 

just yesterday

-----

I'll get goin' with a real blog post one of these days.. busy... needing poetry to express... tiring.... annoyances of course... perspective... words.... wanting to just get done.... you know.... thanks.

Without Lessons

{No title yet}

Put on some Mraz, he fascinates
but how can you procrastinate your fate?
pick up the pen start scribbling
or the forget starts nibbling
let it go, it passes
like birds in the winter- masses
even if they don't care
dare to share
it's just you
no background music
trying not to lose it
quoting lyrics, using the fretboard
up and down with that chord
head-thrashing while they're cashing
in what they worked hard to get
over and over again- tours and hits
is this what it's all about?
what about real? what about fake?
amplify what you make
we get problems- so we write about 'em
after they come and go, some dumb
but I go with the fear, let it loose
I got ideas- do you?

::To be revised and etc.

I love being a musician. An artist. For some reason bringing in the "art" part of it makes it more... well, just that it's sort of a higher degree... better. More... just more. But I mean really, we're all artists, there are just those of us who recognize it. That amplify it. Literally and figuratively.

Today I jam'd with my dad again at CERN, and we recorded some of it. I played some drums, a tad of piano and some trumpet. It was actually rather awesome.

Tomorrow we shall wake up around 8-ish and drive for a while to this winter/skiing chalet place where we'll ski with Simon and stuff. Should be fun I guess. I guess I don't really have lots of plans for the break, except playing music, reading, HW, taking pictures, trying to wake up early and maybe hanging out with friends... yeah.

I guess with all this thinking about the end, one hardly notices the middle. And if you just pay attention to the middle, the end just jumps right up. But being in the middle and thinking about the end... and yet the middle too... everything seems weird. But nah nah. Maybe I'm in that weird place where you're suddenly used to being there, and then about to be surprised to actually go back.

I like wizard rock. I really dig that classic 1960's/'70's rock. I was reading some of John Lennon's part of the Beatles Anthology book, and it was rather interesting. It's amazing how... someone can just be so... blown up from the media, and sort of having been made a certain way from it, that we never really... they're not... . Celebrities are sort of treated like a different species in our culture. And yet in my saying that it's still stereotyping.

I want this guitar.

Writer's Mock

What do you do when you are a writer, have a computer in front of you, no one's on Gmail chat, and are listening to Becca's new gnarly playlist? Well, if you're like me, you might attempt to write something. Problem with this situation is the music is just so good all you want to do is maybe stare at the wall taking in the awesomeness. Ideas harder to flow. Not really writer's block, but its bad.

In case you were wondering, I am attempting to write a story. Short one I guess. It's hard to do when listening to The Hush Sound when you're tired. Hmm. But I guess the best thing to do with writer's block is just write anything, even if its crap. Eventually you'll find something worthy. Better than staring at a wall I guess.

... a few seconds later, after trying to overcome writer's block:

Man, how the hell can I... this sucks! No. Ideas. Turn off music? No way!

After a minute of staring at playlist:

Uh. Gah. But I like this song. Bed? No way!

And then of course I remember Pieces of Flair...

You try you try, but its just there
blinking your life away, like it doesn't care
no one to talk to, no one to see
there are words, but they seem to come at a fee
the music is more words, the white wall so inviting
there's no pain, but the ideas are fighting
don't rush it, just get it done
but just lying here is so much more fun

I want to jam
I can't go back to the lake
I could watch stuff about Jim and Pam
do I seem like a fake?

it seems so happy, wonderful
well yes it is
but its turning out to be somewhat dull
its so dark outside, the day long gone
but tomorrow there are more songs

I guess what I'm trying to say is
a story is what I want to make
but I'm not the James Patterson whiz
and I actually rather have a headache
so I wrote this poem, maybe as a temporary replacement
with the lyics, its hard to tell if I make any sense
I feel like writing not a plot
more, to help me become un-caught

but ugh the rhyming is now more expensive
I could go back to parsely, what gives?
If I spend enough time
I could start inventing
but I figure
I should start really living

listen to the lyrics, become lost, but in a different sense
oh this song is catchy- takes away the fence
well I see now someone on chat is on
another distraction; I guess I'm gone

Jumped off the couch..

words, fourteen

A boatload of feelings bombard

It barely covers it just to say "its hard"

You're sorta sparked, feel new

and almost obsessed with this concept of you

A sharpened pencil, dog-eared books

and getting those disgusted looks

that you've learned to ignore

almost like those damn hormones making you sore

Do you know these people? If so, how come?

Are you just being self-centered to be wanting some?

Maybe its exaggerating; yes it can be great

But what if you're the one late?

More stuff to keep up with

Is this how everyone wants you to live?

Uncertainties and crying on the floor

Next day is just more and more

Guitar picks and 20-dollar bills

Learning about how drugs kill

Excluding circles, laughing at so-called jokes

so much love, you almost feel soaked

but then that's cheesy and stupid

like unnecessary fights with your bestest bud

Plugged in all day, going with the flow

I guess we're all just trying to figure it out

Wanting to lie in the grass that we have to mow

The drama too overdone, the stereotypes too loud

in our muchly-written-about teenage lives

Bike Poems

Eh. I guess I'm somewhat okay poetry. I was bored, inspired and had a pencil and paper nearby. And these are what happened:

Around Lake Geneva (for/inspired by: Dan Levin)
pump, pump down the road
"just keep on pedaling"
your mind is set on consistency mode
the black seat is hot
your butt painfully aches
another steep hill looms; you'd rather not
but you have to, have to get around this lake
honk, honk of the car
you want to glare back, yell
or shoot them the bird
instead the zing of the chain is the only thing heard
a breeze, so simple and merciful
oozes through your shirt with ease
revealing the wet sweat, making your backside a marsh-Geez
you're into the forest now, darker and damp
only a few more miles till you're the champ
click click of the gears
as you go faster you have no more fears
behind you are dots,
mere blurs at your sides
you sing a song, clutch the brakes and grin
thinking back, that was a wonderful ride

Riding a Bike
open the garage
walk past the saws
grab the handlebars,
avoiding the car
kick up the kick stand
turn up the rock band
jump onto the seat
allow pedal and shoe to meet
turn right down the road
you'll soon be in happy mode
push down with your foot
steer to miss that root
look ahead to the sun
this is the most fun
clutch brakes for a stop sign
flick your wrist to check the time
click gears to change speed
pedal fast for the lead
though not in a race
this is to put a smile on your face
grin back at the sky
even if your butt feels as if it is about to die
gulp water down your throat
your current whereabouts remote
legs forever pumping
back sometimes slumping
be proud and quite full of glee
can't you see?
because you no longer are in a car, taking a hike
you are experiencing the most blissful of all: riding a bike

Hope you liked. I'll probably be writing more. Thanks for reading.

I like the rain

Snow and rain are probably my favorite types of weather. I love just listening to the rain pitter and patter on the sidewalk, the gray, depressingness of a thunderstorm. I'm serious- I LOVE the depressing weather! In fact, I find that when the sun shines in the winter, it's more depressing 'cause it's like you're trapped in this cold, hard world. And the snow melts. :(

I wrote this poem in like 5 minutes; it was during a thunderstorm. It's not all that bad, actually.

Out the window it's all dark depressing sad pain
but really it's the rain
drops fall from gravity, hit the ground
with a pitter patter soft sound
your mind fills with thoughts about nothing, something, anything
you want to get away, yet you want to sing
The birds will chirp
the tongue meet the hot chocolate with a slurp
the booming boom of thunder fills your eardrums
I like the sound, unlike some
It's like someone's talking to you, or starting to cry
a gray shadow, a black fire, a triangle of dark; neither truth nor lie
trees leaves sway and dance
on your legs, the soggy wet pants
a pinch of water lands on your head
right in the scalp; feeling like lead
there's still those thoughts, those many, many thoughts
but really it's the rain