The Changing of Seasons

Rorschach's Reflection

2011-01-17T00:38:00.001-08:00

Rorschach’s Reflection
Sometimes, at the end of the day when I’m lying in bed, I close my eyes and imagine being eaten alive by the darkness surrounding me. I imagine that the bed disappears and I begin to fall, forever approaching nowhere, faster and faster until I finally fall asleep. I like to think that I fall into sleep. I am endowed by a sense of solitude; a shooting star in slumberland en route to eternity. It’s a comforting thing. There are no distractions. There is nothing to keep me awake as relaxation spills over my body. To be honest, I haven’t felt comfort like that in a while.

I’ve been awake for a little over 24 hours now. The start of my day feels more like the end of last night. And now, it’s too late to be today but too early to be tomorrow. Time can really mess you up like that. I mean, why in God’s name am I writing at 3 in the morning?

Last year, I read that the Japanese think of time differently than we do here in the U.S. They think of time as a cycle – a circle with recurring seasons. Everything is just a matter of rhythm. Apparently, us westerners think of time as a straight line; a rope with knots periodically placed signifying specific events. When we die, we tie up the loose ends and that’s the end of our chapter. At least we try to tie up those ends.

What do I think of time? Graphically, it’s neither a circle nor a straight line. It’s a blotch of ink spattered on a blank piece of paper. It’s a Rorschach Test – but I can’t find the meaning in it. I feel like my life has been Jackson Pollocked.

So why is it, that the majority of the time I am awake I feel just as solitary as when I try to fall asleep on a good night? Solitude is a curious thing. The status is the same, but the feeling is different. Maybe this is the difference between day and night; the same difference between being awake and sleeping – the difference between consciousness and unconsciousness.

I think back to the days before I was self-aware and realize that I don’t remember a time where I was ever lonely. Now, I can think back to last night, the night before that, and… well, you get my point. Whoever said that art imitates life is absolutely right, because here I am, plagued by insomnia, realizing that I am talking to myself.

English Final

2010-11-16T21:57:00.000-08:00

First Draft:

Shortly after moving for a second time, the message was loud and clear: I was going to move again. It took two tries for me to read the pattern, and the last time I fully understood it. My dad enlisted in the Air Force and served his country wherever the government sent him. My mom, my older brother Laurence and I followed him first from Utah, to Germany, and then to New Jersey. By New Jersey I finally learned how to make “fast-food friends”. I call them fast-food friends because you smile at them and they smile back; you each exchange conversation and experiences just enough to pass the time, enough to satisfy, but nothing is ever deeper than skin. I was going to pass through New Jersey like a ghost, without any connections or attachment. This way, I told myself, the next move was going to be easy.
We arrived in Millburn, New Jersey on the Halloween of 2003. While everyone was out trick-or-treating, I was sulking in the basement of our new townhouse apartment, lying on an overinflated air mattress, drowning my sorrows in rap CDs, reminiscing. I hated the pale yellow light and unfamiliar smell that surrounded me. This place felt like a hotel, a cold shell that should have been a home. I listened through the majority of Bubba Sparxxx’s album Deliverance and stared at the ceiling. Imagining the tiny shapes in the off-white paint to be countries and bodies of water, I could only wish to hop on a plane and travel from here back to Wiesbaden far away in the upper right hand corner above me. I would never see Wiesbaden again; it was in the outcast corner where not even the stupid lamp’s light could reach. There was a knock on the front door upstairs, and my parents smiled and dispensed candy. This wasn’t the New Jersey my parents told me about, but I wondered about the possibility of a hidden blessing rooted in New Jersey. For now, the move felt more like a trick than it did a treat.
By the time it hit winter, I hadn’t fully adjusted. Things were becoming a bit more familiar though, and I found an odd comfort in the claustrophobic urban landscape. Wiesbaden is one of the bigger cities in Germany, but there is a different sense of isolation: we usually didn’t talk to the Germans unless we needed to. Without a language barrier, the city streets of New Jersey felt more alive, more relatable. After the move, my mom’s subsequent search for jobs took us to Jersey City which became one of my favorite places to be. It was only a fifteen minute drive away and accommodated every constraint concerning a location for my mom’s work. It was a close driving distance, plus there was a PATH station situated perfectly to travel to Hoboken or New York. Frequent trips between there, Hoboken, and New York for my dad’s work allowed me to learn each place by heart.
Hoboken is a cleaner, more refined Jersey City. We took the Pulaski Skyway, a dangerous, old metal bridge, to either place. The difference between Jersey City and Hoboken is in the inhabitants of each city. Historically, Italian immigrants populated Hoboken. It also happens to be the birthplace of Frank Sinatra and baseball. Nowadays, there are just as many Italians with some Puerto Ricans. Red brick buildings still line the city streets. Since Hoboken is en route to Manhattan – just a few PATH stops away from either 33rd street or the World Trade Center – Hoboken became an intermediary along my dad’s commute. Rita’s Italian Ice is a local favorite for summer days and Carlo’s Bake Shop is always a good stop for top-of-the-line desserts.
Across the Hudson, New York was everything I imagined it to be. It seems to breathe a life of its own, and it has its own natural soundtrack if you listen. There’s a rhythm in the way people in the city move. Staccato footsteps punctuate the pavement; commuters rush to catch the next train, rattling off perfect eighth-notes. If you close your eyes, you can hear a distinct boom-bap beat created by the bouncing of basketballs and the back of cargo trucks crashing shut. Sliding gates are suspended cymbals punctuated by a ringing clap. Everything that Mos Def and Nas taught me about New York was true. I could see street narratives intimately play out before my eyes. Early job hunts for my parents led me away from the city seen in movies. Yet, no matter how easily accessible New York was, a commute to Manhattan was good enough for my dad. Across the Hudson, back in New Jersey is where I eventually spent most of my time.
Jersey City became the b-rate equivalent of New York to me. It is infinitely smaller with just as much of a diverse population. The sights, sounds and smells are similar: car exhaust, deep bass tones humming from distant subwoofers, people playing basketball, and the jingling of chain-link fences. Depending on the location, whether it’s the Indian strip, Filipino strip, Portuguese or Spanish strip, you could smell anything from curry chicken to fried tilapia. It was the Filipino strip that smelled the closest to home. The aroma of adobo, sinigang and pancit filled my nostrils – and to me, that was the best. If we weren’t at Newport mall, we were on Manila Ave.
I remember a trip to Jersey City one day over Christmas break. I warmed my ears up to the sounds of Nas’ first album, Illmatic. I memorized every lyric from replaying it over and over, analyzing every rhyme to improve my own rhyme skills. I was infused with hip-hop ever since my friends in Germany introduced me to its culture. My friend Kahlil and I started rapping at about the same time, and my friends DJ and Dominique taught me about break dancing. I learned how to write graffiti from my cousin Richie. The exclusively urban culture became part of my being. Maybe that’s why I embraced the grittiness of the east coast.
During the drive, Illmatic became my reality. Nas’ narratives about young city bandits and five-percenters framed my existence. I admired the graffiti that stretched along the walls outside the car window. NARK and LOSER’s names decorated the walls on the Turnpike. I was surprised that Nas never actually referenced graffiti writers like them, but then again Nas is from Queens and I was in New Jersey. My overactive imagination took control. On the Pulaski Skyway I could envision police helicopters buzzing above the Hudson like mechanical mosquitoes searching for an outlaw. We were almost to Jersey City. “Represent, represent!” Nas said. His mantra was simple enough. Represent!
We were back on Manila Ave so that my Mom and I could make a routine stop for pandesal and other Filipino goodies. After a fifteen minute stop in Philippine Bread House, we walked back to the car with the fresh bag of soft bread rolls warm from the oven. I put the items in the trunk: the pandesal bread, pianono – a cake-like pastry, coconut juice, and puto which are rice cakes. We then instinctively went to Little Quiapo, a tiny family owned restaurant behind Philippine Bread House.
Little Quiapo is so small that it reminds me of our very own kitchen. As a matter of fact, you can see the kitchen just behind the counter and the scent of whatever is cooking permeates the single-room restaurant. Lunchtime meant that I would order my usual: mami. Mami is a unique Filipino chicken noodle soup. It has thick egg noodles, chicken, still on the bone, cabbage, carrots, onions, garlic and hard boiled eggs. The eggs, neatly sliced into thin discs, sit on top of the disorganized mass of noodles, poultry and vegetables. In Germany, I never knew about mami. It wasn’t a meal that my mom cooked, but after Little Quiapo reintroduced it to her, she started making it. Mami became my favorite dish of the season. Now, there was an avenue available to me, dedicated to Filipino food so that enjoying it wasn’t its own special occasion. It comforted me with a sense of warmth that came from somewhere other than its temperature. Mami anchored me to sanity in a time of unbearable loneliness. Finally, I believed I could survive the winter. Maybe there was some good in New Jersey.
Mami wasn’t the only good thing that emerged from Jersey City. My next door neighbor, also a Filipino, moved from Jersey City to Millburn for its top-rated high school education. His name was J.R. and he was anything but a fast-food friend. Faithful would be the best way to describe him, and we were similar in more ways than we could have imagined. Both of us were hip-hop fanatics, hardcore basketball players and newcomers to the suburban township that we resided in. Millburn is comprised of mostly Jewish, Italian and Chinese residents. They were suburban rock lovers, but the guitar never spoke to me like the bass and snare or the smooth sample-based beats created by DJ Premier. With J.R., I relished in my identity as a Filipino possessed by the spirit of hip-hop.
As Laurence turned seventeen and got his driver’s license, J.R. and his family moved back to Jersey City. They were unable to afford living in Millburn and J.R. transferred back to Dickinson High School. Though the only other Filipinos besides me and my brother moved, an empowering sense of cultural heritage overcame us. It was almost like an outcry that my brother and I took pride in. We appreciated our differences and unique experiences that the majority of my Millburn counterparts didn’t have. Who, among my peers, could say that they lived in Germany for four years, taking daytrips to countries where couples have their honeymoons? Who could say that they spent their free time rapping and break dancing, backed by a family bound together by heritage instead of blood? Anywhere my brother and I went, we represented by blasting break beats and hanging a Philippine flag from the rearview mirror in our 1998 Dodge Durango.
Eventually, I realized that I wouldn’t leave New Jersey. Even today, my dad works for the Department of Justice at the city hall in Manhattan. I guess amidst the turmoil of my screwed up teenage emotions I had moving to Millburn, I forgot that my father retired as a master sergeant. My father retired, and the good school system in conjunction with a perfect commuter residence was the reason why we chose to settle on the east coast. I loosened up, adapted, but still kept the identity I found during the tough months of that winter in transition. As I grew older, there were no more fast-food friends for me, only pertinent connections and comfort in my own skin.

erin

2010-11-08T19:57:00.000-08:00

erin

Your eyes change color depending on the day
like the bottom of a CD
reflecting blue, green and sometimes gray.
It's when you look at me
with those glassy eyes like mirrors
- iridescent irises do away with all disguises
and I'm left like an infant.
In an instant, a minute becomes infinity,
with you looking into me
in perfect symmetry
To answer the "Why?"
refined or uncouth:
You're Every Reason I Need
to say that I love you.

swing

2010-11-07T00:44:00.000-07:00

your love is the silence
i hear between the notes
the syncopated rhythm
that swings me left and right
the lullaby
that hums me to sleep
nodding, nodding
falling into your arms
into a dream

Vignettes: IV

2010-07-30T16:19:00.001-07:00

IV.
We were in Combat Survival Training, in the Rocky Mountains. Me, JT and Brandon in a fire team, evading, sneaking, playing a massive game of hide and seek.

We holed up the first day between a few rocks, surrounded by trees on either side. We’d be there for hours. I never really know how beautiful the wilderness was.

Sometimes I get overwhelmed by the vastness of the world. I try to keep that perspective; remember that in my hectic life and self-conscious ways that there are so many other people out there just like me. I put my ruck down next to me, slanting it against the rock to blend in more and laid back for a view of the clear sky.

It was a perfect blue, and there were no clouds anywhere I looked. The pine trees surrounding me all pointed into the center of whatever I was looking at. Here I was, in between two moss covered rocks, laid out like a child in combat gear, staring at the sky.

I thought that I was staring right into God’s eyes: pine trees circling a blue iris that was the sky. God, it was beautiful.

I imagined what fall must be like there. Fiery red and orange leaves contrasting the pure blue sky. Spring would have golden yellow flowers speckling the bright green grassy backdrop like a Van Gogh painting.

Sometimes a bird would cross the sky from such a great height that it looked like an ant. Here I was, the whole world upside down, a giant bird observing me from a distance, and God staring at me from the infinite depths above.
***
We woke up at 0400 before sunrise and got ready to move out of our nights resting point. We were on the move for about an hour until we were in drainage at the bottom of a ridge with a jeep trail on top of it. This was our checkpoint, and we were well ahead on time, so we holed up in a patch of rocks and trees. Brandon usually napped and JT always read his Bible. Again, all I could do was look up and watch night turn to day and light fill the sky.

I could not see the sun, but it had finally risen and cast a glorious glow over the tops of the trees around me. They looked like paint brushes with a yellowish luster on their tips. I watched them paint the sky a gradient hue of red, purple, blue, and orange. Soon, the brushes were fully dabbed in yellow-green and the sky slowly turned to a clear blue.

I looked over at JT who had set his Bible down. “You like writing, huh?” He said. I replied “I don’t like writing as much as I do painting pictures.” Then, we got up and moved out.
***
In the woods, you might get hungry enough to believe that MRE’s are God’s gift to man. We get 2 MRE’s for 8 days, so you have to ration them out over 4 days each.

It’s funny to think of MRE’s as if they were people. The popular ones are pasta type meals like ravioli and spaghetti because they taste just like Chef Boy Ardee. The chicken with noodles isn’t bad either. No matter which MRE you get stuck with, you have to deal with it just like the people around you.

In MRE’s the directions are as clear as possible; the Army needs to able to understand how to use them. In the heating pack, a chemical reaction between water and some other stuff takes place releasing a great amount of heat and steam. The heater simply says: fill with water up to here, fold top, lean on rock or something. I laugh at the simplistic and generic nature of the whole idea – I mean the military is taking the lowest seller to manufacture these on-the-go processed meals with no shelf life.

I heard one of my buddies once got a pack of Skittles (awesome!) with a contest to win tickets to the 1996 World Series baseball game. I mean, if I was an MRE, I might be the one with that Skittles pack: an old soul wrapped up, maybe, just maybe, being discovered. If I was an MRE I couldn’t be anything extravagant like vegetarian pesto pasta or chicken fajita or enchilada. My packaging would simply read: kid growing up…

Scratch that out, let me start this again.

In the woods, you might get hungry enough to believe that MRE’s are God’s gift to man. We get 2 MRE’s for 8 days, so you have to ration them out over 4 days each. Because of this, you might resort to other means of procuring nutrients – like eating plants, or bugs.

Yesterday I ate a live grasshopper. I took its soul. No really, I took that damn bugs soul. It kind of kicked a little; a futile attempt to break free from my jaws, escape my mouth and happily hop away to live its bugs life. But it couldn’t, and soon I swallowed it and it burned in my stomach acid’s abyss. It was grass flavored protein, and ultimately all it lived for was to fuel my body.

For a split second, I thought it was cruel and that I was some sort of evil for eating it, but I reasoned that it served its only purpose in life; it fulfilled what it was meant to do.

When I was holed up this morning, I came to debate what the more dreadful scenario was: starving in the woods for 8 days or being that little grasshopper. To tell you the truth, I don’t know, but I know that there’s a grasshopper inside all of us, trying to break free, and whether we swallow it or not is the only decision we have.
***
My favorite phrase in the English language is “the truth is,” because it means absolutely nothing. Nobody really knows what “the truth” is. It holds too much power sometimes and I think that using it insincerely is one of the worst things that could ever be done. It’s lying.

The truth is, I write all the time about the struggles of growing up, how much I don’t want to and end up questioning if I ever make the right decisions, fearful of regret. And in the end, no matter what, I look down on a lap full of regret either for something I’ve done, but usually for what I failed to do. It sounds depressing, and I used to convince myself that it was.

Then, I realized that my regret was never really regret at all. I looked back, not in sorrow, but in shock, awe, sometimes disgust, but usually amazement at my life.

I think about it, and honestly I hate life. But the truth is, life is so damn beautiful that it’s impossible not to love it.

Vignettes: III

2010-07-21T23:08:00.000-07:00

III.
June 5th 2009.

After a morning of half-assing a physics project and running some errands, I finally called Cynthia and Sueminn. The plan was to go to the city and watch some indie films on a New York City rooftop. The time came, and I left the house for the train station.

Light drizzling rain dotted the windshield as I drove to the train station to pick my dad up and catch the next train. The rain picked up as I sat at the mouth of the train station’s exit. My dad emerged from the underground tunnel at 6:20 just as he always did. I got out of the car as he approached, handed him the keys and gave him a quick hug. Be safe, if you need anything, call. Love you, he said, and got into the Durango and took off.

I caught the next train going to New York Penn Station – our meeting point. Travel delays meant that I had an extra hour to grab a slice of pizza for dinner before they’d arrive at New York Penn. We were running late, and so we sped walked through the saturated city to a public school’s lobby. After paying the $2 admission ticket, sat in the school’s auditorium fronted by a huge white projection screen. The set was moved indoors because of the incessant rain. I forgot how, but along the way we acquired a few Qdoba burrito’s, and Cynthia and Sueminn brought along some home-made cupcakes which got smashed in transit.

The night started with some pretty bad live music. Then, we got right into the short films. I don’t remember much about them; like anything else in life some were good, and some weren’t. After the films, we travelled back to New York Penn, and prepared to catch our respective trains back home. Cynthia and I were off to Millburn, and Sueminn headed back to Montclair.

It felt like a dream: sitting on a train coming back from New York in hours that were too early to be morning but too late to be night. Cynthia sat across from me, eyes staring into the wild darkness beyond the train’s window. It was the first time I rode one of these double-deckers. The additional height made me feel as if I were in space, flying through the deep dark nothingness with time stopped. And time did stop. Cynthia and I talked about this and that, shared some laughs and enjoyed each other’s presence. By now our conversation faded as we both silently reflected on whatever events awaited after this train ride.

I thought about the city, how it seemed to breathe a life of its own. I thought about the subways that we rode that night and how teens just like me were riding them, on their way home from a night of adventure. I imagined the eerie feeling of a nearly-silent subway car filled with a somber ambience. I could live in the city forever, intoxicated by the night lights and sounds that only locals could fall asleep to. I closed my eyes, not to sleep, but to dream of the city that I could only wish to live in.

Somewhere along the way back home, three kids from our town panicked a few rows behind me and Cynthia. They were wondering where Todd was. Apparently, he got lost in a crowd and missed the train that his three other friends were able to catch. I listened to their frantic conversation, immediately considering which option to retrieve their lost friend. I laughed to myself, only wishing in that instant that I was Todd, left in the city, without ever having to face the reality that at the end of the month I would be joining the United States Air Force. I sighed; this was the life that I would be missing out on. It felt like a dream.

Vignettes I

2010-07-21T16:46:00.000-07:00

Vignettes
I.
It was the first time I had seen her in a year. April was looking just as gorgeous as ever. I was back from the Academy for the first time since last June, and we decided to see each other over a lazy afternoon lunch break.

It was a typical day, overcast and not too hot. Still, the humidity on the East Coast was on the opposite end of the dry air that I was used to from the Colorado Mountains. We got some deli sandwiches: I got the J-Ray, my favorite, and she got a number 8 Griller. I was unsure how to approach her, so much had changed during this last year, our first year of college. Nonetheless, we walked to the park and ate at the picnic tables.

As I walked to a set of picnic tables just outside of the children’s baseball field, I looked around. To my left was the park bench where I once took Chloe on a date. It was the same bench where, in June 2007 I would pen a particular set of words in my journal that would haunt me for the rest of my life. Then, later that August, I would be back at that same bench, penning the beginning of Shades of Gray – a punching bag album that I used to address every little insecurity I had in my life. A year later I finished writing that album at the tables that we were about to sit at.

April walked delicately; she didn’t match my pace but she also didn’t dwindle behind me. We made small talk like we had just seen each other yesterday, but deep inside there had to be an overwhelming urge to spill everything: the who’s what’s when’s where’s and why’s of every event that had happened in the past year where we had virtually no communication. There had to be at least a tickle of this urge. At least it was in me, but I restrained myself in fear of making things awkward and becoming someone so different that we could no longer connect.

We started to eat, but I did most of the talking. After about 15 minutes of sitting, my J-Ray was almost untouched, with a few bites perforating the outer edges of the sandwich. As I spoke I watched April eat and the way she used her napkin after every bite. It was almost a one way conversation, April mhm’ing and nodding. Sometimes she would put her sandwich down to comment on my stories. Even when she did this though, it was as if she was dancing around landmines, afraid that if she pried too deeply into my stories that I would become offended or bored of explaining the same things to her that I did to everyone else. We were playing a game of limbo; there was a line that she refused to cross, a line that I unwillingly restrained from crossing.

There was one landmine that she stepped on. Without a caveat, April looked at me and stated, without the slightest bit of emotion: You have a girlfriend now. And then a grin peeled across her face, and gave a quick disclaimer: Not that I’ve been facebook stalking you or anything. I laughed and told her all about my girlfriend and our situation during the summer. How we met, where she’s from, and the general run down. After I gave my spiel, I fired back at April – What about you? She said that she was in a “thing” with a guy. She explained how they had been seeing each other on and off throughout the year. That brief instance where there was no taboo topic between us disappeared just as quickly as it had left, and ended with just as much emotion. “That’s cool…”

By this time, I had managed to eat only half of my lunch, and I wrapped up the rest and put it back in the brown paper bag. For a moment, I was fearful that I had sent the wrong social cue; I didn’t want to leave and I didn’t want the conversation to end. I don’t think April did either because she just sat there, both of us still talking about life in general, but not life itself. For some reason I thought about the time a few years ago when we were hanging out at the playground a little further into the park. That night, my friends Angelo and Donald were with me. We were just hanging out and talking after a day of rapping and making music. At some point, April said “Why don’t you just ever say what you want to say?” I thought about what she said, but didn’t reply.

Years later, we were in the same park. This time it was just me and her, but we were two completely different people. There was a time when we could talk openly, about anything deep inside our growing souls. Throughout our lunch together I noticed that she seldom looked into my eyes. It was as if she was looking beyond me, at the memories, at the person that I used to be to her. I walked her back to her car, and our goodbye was brief, punctuated by a hug. She still came out to see me, a gesture that suggested more than any of the words exchanged between us.

so yo.

2010-06-27T21:38:00.001-07:00

i'm pretty fuckin' happy right now.

full circle

2010-05-28T21:15:00.000-07:00

so my first year at the academy has come full circle now.

im here where i stayed at the night before in-processing. and ive got all of these uniforms and whatnot my brother left for me, which at the time, were pretty much irrelevant but are now very useful.

kinda crazy.

kinda crazy to be somewhat apart from the academy right now, when we just had dinner at red robin.

dinner at red robin... good times like the first time we went out for dinner with erin and shit. then the other time when we went to eat there with erin, ross and all them and then saw "the men who stare at goats". and then that other time when we just went out to eat with hunter and cony and ks. and that other time when it was me ks and erin not too long ago. the time she spilled water all over ks.

then you look across the street and theres chick-fil-a which is fuckin delicious. and all the times we had there.

yet still somewhat apart from the academy. like the fact that today was the last day im gonna see my peoples in my squad be in my squad again. like the fact that all the history left in those rooms 3d14 and 3d22 and sijans room is gonna stay in that skeleton building.

the year has come full circle. and im here anticipating going home for leave instead of anticipating going to the academy for basic.

and it was at basic where the spirit of hip hop still prevailed and i had to rap on the 4th of july for all my peoples. and that day where i just happened to be filling sandbags and erin just happened to be helping me. and we had our first real conversation.

but now im here. this time, instead of fate thrusting me into an arduous adventure, its pulling me away into a quiet summer sleep. like the rhythm of breathing where i was exhaling. now im inhaling.

relax.

Kaya's Bus

2010-05-14T01:52:00.001-07:00

Kaya’s Bus

Kaya and I always used to race down this long scenic hill behind our houses. We would speed down the path on our Razor scooters without helmets, wind blasting our faces, shouting as we picked up speed. One time, I lost a race, but it was probably because I caught a fly in my mouth. Besides that one, I won every other race we had.

Kaya was my German neighbor whose body odor never left him. He was always on a secret mission, crawling around in dirt and spying on our neighbors, or out exploring construction sites and climbing the scaffolding with no shoes on. Actually, he never really wore any shoes at all. His hands were greasy and whenever I let him play my Playstation, the controller would feel sticky with a dried layer of sweat coated over the buttons. He had maybe three shirts: a plain white one that had a distinct yellow and brown tint from sweat and dirt, a striped green and yellow shirt, and an all black one. He always wore cargo shorts and he always wore a smile. His smile never left him, whether it was a thin line or an all-teeth gaping one. He was probably the happiest kid I ever knew.

I don’t even know if he went to school. I’d see his families small apartment glowing in the morning on my walk to school. By the time school was out and I walked back home, he would be waiting outside playing with sticks or riding his scooter. He had 3 sisters, and his younger sister, Felis, would often be right by him poking ants. His two older sisters, Vickie and Yasmine were his half sisters. His mom’s name was Hike and she had a previous marriage, giving birth to Yasmine first, then Vickie. Hike’s husband left, and Hike’s next husband was the father of Kaya and Felis. This man left as well; it was just Hike and 4 children in a small flat. As far as I know, Hike sat around, smoked cigarettes all day, and watched TV. I guess eventually, Hike gave up; an unfulfilled life, simply overwhelmed by the consequences of her past decisions.

One day, we went to race down the same hill. The walk up the hill was long but well worth the effort. If you bothered to look to the left, the whole city of Wiesbaden was visible; a golden spire structure always stood out in the sea of gray and black rooftops. I always thought of the city as its own entity, a living breathing being. From here the streets looked like veins, and, like the blood that pumps through our bodies, the never ending flow of traffic pulsed from the walkplatz, the heart of the city, all the way out to its lonely outskirts.

We reached the top, turned around, and counted down.
3. 2. 1.
Go.

I kicked off hard and crouched in a steady, balanced stance. Kaya was already behind me, and I never looked back. I made it all the way down the hill and back to the front of our houses safely in first place.

I didn’t think about it then, but now I think I know why he lost every time we raced. Rather, I think I know why he let me win. I imagine that if I dared to look back, take my focus off of the road ahead, that Kaya would be wide-eyed, taking in the Wiesbaden scenery with his huge, boyish grin. When he would catch up to me, his heart would be racing not from exhaustion but from excitement. I’d sit on my scooter, out of breath, leg hurting from kicking too hard and too fast. Drew, he’d say, you go too fast! Slow down a little bit. And I would be foolish enough to think that he was complimenting my speed; asking for a chance. I was foolish enough to believe that he actually cared about who won the race.

I remember a particular instance in Kaya’s room when we were playing with Playmobil toys. Kaya had a substantial collection of pieces; a whole functioning train track was laid out around his room. It must have taken quite a while to assemble and put together. I was impressed by this display and asked why he chose a train set instead of something else. This train set was the only set they had to buy at the store, he said. They don’t make city set.
To Kaya’s disappointment, they didn’t make buildings, offices, markets or enough cars to create a city and keep it in a room. Kaya would have recreated Wiesbaden, his own city.

Trains are nice, but I want to drive one of these. Kaya picked up a toy bus. He wanted to be a bus driver when he grew up.

Even today, as I write from a desk at the United States Air Force Academy, the notion of being a bus driver is somewhat ridiculous. For one reason, driving a bus as a job is not normally seen as having high aspirations. For another, I think of bus drivers as being one step away from being mailmen: their version of “going postal” would be crashing a bus full of citizens into a daycare. But if I take a step back and dismount my high horse, I ask: Who the fuck am I to judge another person’s aspirations? What gives me the right to deem someone else’s dreams as worthy or unworthy?

Some while later, about a year before my family and I left Germany, Kayas family disappeared. After about a week of not seeing or hearing from Kaya or his family, I went to look into their house window – empty. No goodbye’s or any notice. They were just gone.
My brother told me that he had seen Kaya on the bus once. In the summer, my brother had to take the bus to his summer hire job. He said Kaya was carrying a skateboard – he had moved past the scooter – and that he looked a lot older. This was the last time we would ever see or hear about Kaya.

If I saw Kaya now, I imagine that he would have moved past the skateboard and moved on to buses. He would be wearing a uniform, still smiling from ear to ear. On hot days, his hands would still sweat, glazing the steering wheel that would replace my Playstation controller. He wouldn’t be in a rush. He would never be in a rush. Even in the monotonous gray concrete labyrinth, he would be able to extract a sense of beauty and a reason to laugh. More importantly, Kaya would be home, amidst the beating heart, the living rhythm of Wiesbaden’s spirit.

By now, Kaya has memorized the route and has probably lapped me more than once; as far as I’m concerned, I’m still sprinting for some finish line that I can’t see.

hmmm...

2010-05-08T23:20:00.000-07:00

so yo.

i suck at filling out cards for things like mothers day and what not...

on one hand, i feel like the shit i say is too cliche. and on the other hand, it really is difficult trying to find the words to express what you want to. it's tough trying to find a balance between those two.

i guess it's like writing a song. there's a need to be unique and accomplish something that only you can do, something that other people just don't do.

and i figured, hey, i suck at that. maybe i'm downplaying myself and being modest.

but really. i suck at writing about important shit. no, i take that back... it's hard writing about important shit. i don't suck at it. it just takes me a while.

the last, most noteably important-shit type shit i wrote... i think was the changing of seasons. the most important-shit type shit. writing without fear, not giving a fuck about who thought what about it. that's how you keep the sincerity. not being afraid of what others think of your work.

even, not being afraid of what you think of your work. because it's how you feel about it.

it's a liberating feeling, putting your vulnerable thoughts and feelings onto paper and into a mic and letting people hear that shit. it's like getting naked.

and yo, that liberation is the most exhilirating feeling you will ever feel. and then to see people nod their head in agreement... get swallowed up in the boom bap...

"wooord... i feel that."

then, the restless, waiting, sitting-around, when-will-i-think-of-what-to-say feeling is all worth it.

i can never write when im calm

2010-04-18T00:01:00.000-07:00

on the surface im stoic and show no emotion
but inside im cold, throw the flow into motion
and watch it overflow, show em that i go for the heart
tear it down on a bus to my freedom like rosa parks
and i know that its art but fuck it, i wanna scream
wanna yell wanna tell everyone my fuckin dreams
im sorry, did i say dreams? i meant nightmares
where life is, a struggle to see the day that i care
see a day where i feel and show the pain
plug in an IV and take away the fuckin novocane
meet the girl to make me feel like no one can
and get butterflies from the second we start holding hands
but im tryna hold my damn life in my palms
and im too busy punching walls to write me a song
and every sense of sanity likely is gone
because im sitting here, but i can never write when im calm

im in french class right now

2010-04-14T07:12:00.000-07:00

and bored as fuck.

ummm...

saphire, rapid fire rap shit
diamond in the rough tough luck tryna grasp it
let you hold the candle, too hot for your soul to handle
pot holders im holdin, get hotter than solar panels
get crushed like soda cans lost on the wrong exit
off to the pearly gates, get lifted like john legend
wishin i was thizzin gettin hyphy in the yay
not pitchin for a wifey, she wouldnt like me anyway
plenty days slippin like banana peels
grab the camera reel snap before the cancer steals another life
like another night fleeting, let the tunes hum you to sleep and
close another season, see it in the moon retreating

yeah.

On Graffiti

2010-02-06T20:50:00.000-08:00

On Graffiti

It was June 21st last year, and we were on our way to my graduation party in New York. In four days my life would forever change; I was entering basic cadet training, and leaving everything I knew behind in New Jersey.
As we drove down the Turnpike, the word SCAR flashed before my eyes. It was spray painted on a wall and must have been at least ten feet wide and five feet tall. It reminded me of the summer of 2001, when I was in Philadelphia for my uncle Mel’s wedding. He is one of ten brothers and sisters, and the whole family came out to the east coast to celebrate. It was the first time I had interacted with some of my cousins since the early nineties. One of my cousins I spent a lot of time with was Richie. He was 22 at the time; that’s 11 years older than me, and he was working at a Whole Foods in Philadelphia. Even though he dropped out of art school, he was still thankful that he had a job. We were hanging out one night, and I finally decided to ask him about the black notebook he carried around everywhere. Without a word, he took out his notebook and set it on my lap. “Look,” he said, and opened the cover as if it was Pandora’s Box.
I stepped into a new world as soon as the cover turned. Colorful splashes exploded across each page: letters were bleeding and burning, but it was a creative type of destruction. Although every distorted block letter had arrows shooting out in crazy directions, every line was deliberate and contributed to the chemistry that was on the page.
“What is this?” I asked, and Richie explained what was going on. “It’s graffiti,” he said. “Sometimes you pick a name, but most of the time it’s given to you. So you take this name, and you try to go as far as you can with it: write it everywhere you go - perfect your style. Writing your name is like writing a signature. Actually, it is your signature.” He seemed to be talking more to himself than to me. It didn’t matter; it was like hearing war stories from an old veteran. He continued, “See, in tags, it’s just writing your name. I write STOOP; it used to be STOOPID but I think it was too long with the I and D. Over there, pieces like that are called throw-ups. Throw-ups usually look like bubble letters. They’re called throw-ups because they’re quick to do and are bigger than tags.” He turned a page. “Now these right here… these are called burners. These are the huge murals on sides of buildings, the pieces that stretch over the sides of whole trains. These make a writer. They get you respect, they get you fame… hell, they give meaning to your name.” I thought about everything he just said and continued flipping through the pages that were covered in scribbles, rap verses and stickers from concerts.

We exited the Turnpike and we were about 10 minutes from Hoboken. I sat up attentively as we entered a familiar tunnel. This was my favorite part about our trips to New York: the ride to Hoboken. This tunnel was a hall of fame for graffiti writers. Only the best did their work here, and I understood why. As much as graffiti is about the visual style, it’s also about the adventure: the cop chases, the exhilaration of executing a secret mission, and most importantly the freedom. Who would dare spend their time in a high traffic, highly visible place doing something illegal – no matter how long it would take?

Whether I could help it or not, I eventually became similar to Richie in more ways than one. He was always one of the more artistic members of the family, playing rhythm guitar in a budding indie-rock band. He loved hip-hop, and I did too, immersing myself in its culture in every aspect. I found a passion in rapping and dancing, so naturally, I started to write graffiti to complement the other forms of expression that I became obsessed with. Sure enough, I could really do the headspins and windmills that I was rapping about, and now my written graffiti was dripping the same swagger and confidence I had on the microphone and dance floor.
One particular night, I was out on a mission eager to see my new tag and taste the thrill of writing graffiti. Me and my friend Bryan took the train up to Hoboken and roamed around the quiet city. It was the ideal time to do anything illegal: too early for the next day, but far too late into the current night. We walked all along the square-mile city, traced the waterfront of the Hudson River and did reconnaissance work. The night was still and you could only hear the passing trains and the muffled commotion of busy bars. Bryan and I went building to building spray-painting our names onto the walls. He wrote BLAST, and I wrote GSTR. We didn’t leave until every wall we touched was a bleeding palimpsest; we would murder and manifest with a few quick hand strokes that were actions more instinctual than conscious. We didn’t think. There’s nothing to think about when writing your name on a wall. Before hopping on the train to go back home, we stopped in the St. Mary’s hospital bathroom. This was where I would do my last tag for the night. I took out my On-The-Run brand jumbo flowpen. The marker was thick in my hand and felt like a small flashlight. I scribbled GSTR on the ceiling. Thick black ink dripped down onto my face and all over my hands, but for some reason I stood there and stared at the letters: GSTR.

There’s a unique sense of satisfaction in writing graffiti. On one hand, the execution and journey in writing graffiti is only half of the experience – whether it is legal or illegal. On the other hand, seeing a piece of graffiti is a statement in itself, and only until you’re able to appreciate that statement can you honestly and fully experience a piece of graffiti. Every time a name is read, a story is told. The story is about what a person would be willing to do to make a simple declaration: I was here. It is as much of an expression as it is of a personal mission; it’s a validation of living.

We finally arrived in Hoboken and parked in the St. Mary’s hospital parking garage. We got free parking here because my mom was a nurse at this hospital. St. Mary’s was always our checkpoint; we would stop here, use the bathroom then begin the 6 block walk to the PATH train station that would take us from New Jersey to New York underneath the Hudson River. The trains run every two minutes and we were right on time to make my graduation party.
I didn’t really have to use the bathroom, but I went anyways. Looking up at the ceiling, I saw the faint outline of the tag that I wrote years before. A thin layer of white paint covered it, but it was still visible. The tag was juvenile and unrefined, just like my early adolescent years. The tag back at me and as I was leaving for my party, the letters reminded me what they stood for: God Save The Ronin. I smiled, and enjoyed the rest of my day, hoping that eventually I would be able to leave my mark in some way at the Air Force Academy.

BTW.

2010-02-03T21:42:00.000-08:00

BTW. First post of 2010. WHAT'S GOOD.

-oh yeah, nothing.

From Seattle to Reno

2010-02-03T21:34:00.000-08:00

Let's talk about Seattle.

I'm in Seattle for a boxing invitational at the Washington Athletic Club, and the first thing I notice is the overcast sky. Shit was kinda gloomy; a lot of steel and concrete. A lot of gray shit.

But fuck that, because despite the sketchy people and the fucked up weather, Seattle was the shit.

Von's Roasthouse. Good shit. Fox Sports Grill. Good shit. Cheesecake Factory. Good shit. the WAC. Good shit.

Yeah, that shit was all cool, but what was really cool was seeing Stacey. Drove out like 9249832392 hours, and I really appreciate that. So yeah, thanks a lot Stacey.

Shit went by way too fast though. I wouldn't have minded staying there for a little bit longer... But then I was looking forward to Reno.

Let's talk about Reno. - Wait, let's not, because I was supposed to go but now I'm not.

Well... shit.

Here's some dope.

2009-12-30T21:36:00.001-08:00

Andrew Pineda
Fiction Writing II
Memoir

G.aining O.ne’s D.efinition

In 2002, I would have imagined the departure of my brother to the United States Air Force Academy to be centuries away. Those hundreds of years smacked me in the face before I knew it. It was now June 29, 2005 and I was saying my good-byes to the other half of me.
We were in Newark Airport, and it must have looked odd: Six Filipino-Americans huddled in front of the terminal sobbing, hugging, and kissing farewell to a child who was only 17 years old. “Laurence, make sure you settle everything with your sponsors when you get there,” My mom said, struggling not to touch deeper subject matters. We said good-bye to him to as if he would return the next day, and he left like that too. Without a checked in luggage, and only a backpack containing toiletries, we stopped hugging him and released him into the world. He turned an about face and took one step closer to the first day of school.
I visited the airport the following two days to say good-bye to Laurence’s prom date, Jenny, who we have known since childhood. My Aunt, Tita Vivien, also left. Separating from them was not as nearly as devastating, but it was even more time consuming.
In 2002, I would have rejoiced at the freedom and carelessness of summer. But now it was 2005 and all I wanted to do was live with a purpose. Upon returning home from the airport that day, I cried myself to sleep to numb the immediate effects of my loss. Little did I know the long term effects would agonize every ticking second of my daily life.
One day in July, I woke up and decided to be responsible. I had a paycheck that needed to be cashed. I took it upon myself to walk to Wachovia Bank, get the money, and spend about an hour living with a purpose. On Ne S’aimera Plus Jamais blasted as Larusso sang and accompanied the cha-cha beat. I felt alive, like I did when I danced at the Latin Room in Teaneck. I cha-cha’d and merengue’d as I got ready for my trip to the bank. Wearing my newly bought polo, oversized shorts, and a Yankee’s baseball cap, I began my trek to Wachovia. It rained that day, and I was soaked when I arrived to the bank. After being unable to find my account to cash the check to, LaToya, the teller, informed me that we had recently moved to Bank of America. I guess she noticed how desperate I was with my pseudo-confident attitude, and how my best clothes were drenched. She cashed the check anyways and told me that she’d send the records to Bank of America.
I was not always disappointed this summer. If anything, there was always one thing that would curse me, and that was the loneliness. Jenny and Tita Vivien made sure that the house was never quiet. There was always a mall to go to, a movie to see, or something to be done. With them gone, my family was halved, and during the daytime on weekdays I was all alone. I needed that energy around me. I needed to feel the presence of someone else besides myself and God – if he even existed. Sooner or later the monotonous days I spent rotting away turned me into a ghost. I wasn’t even sure if I existed anymore. To save myself from perishing, I journeyed to Haagen Dazs.
Unlike the Wachovia Bank trip, this day was hot and Taylor Park was packed with kids and their happy-go-lucky parents. It was the kind of hot where you could feel your skin burn, and you were worried because you forgot to wear sun block. If you could hear them, the birds were chirping, but the everyday bustle of downtown Millburn drowned them out. At Haagen Dazs, settling for my regular vanilla was simply unacceptable. I had to choose an ice cream rare and extravagant like dulce de leche. And I needed three scoops of it. With my ice cream in hand, I now faced an even more urgent dilemma. I didn’t know what to do next.
I crossed the street and sat on the bench across from the Dunkin Donuts parking lot. Alone. Ice cream is a social food: You get ice cream with friends on a nice day after school, you get ice cream as a treat after a meal, you get ice cream to relax and talk. Who was there to talk to? No one except God. I’m pretty sure that the things you talk to God about could eventually drive anyone insane.
Don’t be confused. I was not antisocial, however my social development was lagging far behind mental and physical maturities. There was a time at Newport Mall when I considered how I would respond to the people who greet you in stores. I avoided them by pretending to listen to music. I tried to reach out to friends. I hoped we could hang out, but this was the predicament. Everyone on AIM was away with messages explaining how they were packing for Cancun, down at the shore, or at camp reunions with their BFF’s. It was like the world ignored me or forgot about me. Everyone was out doing something and having fun, but I was trapped in a town with nothing to offer but coffee, donuts, and ice cream. I was suffocating here, dying, and I needed to get out or live as if I had a reason in life.
That’s truly when music saved me. I began recording, and I finally had productive days. With music, I was able to ride out the rest of this dark and hot summer until school started. I finally had a purpose with a clear understanding of my identity. I was no longer a ghost; I evolved into the complex being I am today. Every day, that summer allowed me to meet myself, an able but not as cherished person as my other half.
The Day I found out My Dad was Black
I regard music as one of the few constants in my life. It has never left me, and come to think of it, music is life. There’s a rhythm to life, an unseen tempo that somehow enables us to survive. Every second that tick-tocks is a heartbeat and internal metronome that paces with us as we step into maturity.

lol

2009-12-26T10:16:00.000-08:00

1. When did you first become interested in the Air Force Academy and serving in the Air Force? What started your interest? What Air Force career field do you hope to enter? What do you expect to gain from the Air Force Academy experience and how will it help you in your Air Force career? (250 to 300 words, 3000 characters max)

It has always been a family tradition to serve in the military. All my life, I have been surrounded by the military lifestyle; my grandfather was an Army Captain during World War II, my father retired from the Air Force, and now my brother has the honor of attending the United States Air Force Academy. These role models helped spark a strong interest in the military – the idea of service to my country has inspired me to pursue a military career. My brother is a person that I seek to emulate because of his unfaltering drive to become a pilot. As I saw him for the first time after completing basic cadet training, I witnessed his maturation and the natural aura of leadership that only the United States Air Force Academy could instill. My brother became a totally different person. His priorities changed from seeking cheap and temporary thrills to pursuing goals that would transcend his stay at the Academy. His sense of pride and confidence showed that he was ready to accept any challenges that got between himself and his aspirations. Observing these drastic transformations aroused a challenge within me; I have accepted this challenge and maybe one day I can gain the same characteristics that my brother exudes. I understand that only a military academy can instill such qualities and teach lifelong skills that will lead to success. I believe that success is attainable in any career with the lessons learned from a military academy; these lessons are universal. I wish to attend the Air Force Academy because of its unique system of creating strong, successful leaders.

2. Which aspect of the Air Force Academy experience (academic, military training, athletic, social/spiritual) do you anticipate will be most challenging for you? Discuss why and how you expect to succeed in that area. (250 to 300 words, 3000 characters max)

I believe that my biggest challenge at the Academy would be in academics. Throughout my life, I have been more athletically gifted than book smart. As a youth, I enjoyed playing many sports from soccer, to basketball and even baseball. My favorite sport was basketball and entering freshman year of high school I knew that the team tryouts would not be easy. I was a very technically skilled player; however, my height 5’1” proved to be a setback that naturally put me among the last to be considered for making even the freshman team. A week after tryouts, I learned that I did not make the team. Because I am used to being a year-round athlete, I decided to give wrestling a try. This was one of the best decisions that I have made in my life. The one-on-one nature of the sport taught me the values of hard work and how directly related it is to success. Errors from teammates could not affect my personal performance; the amount of success that I received would be determined by the amount of effort I put in. I learned that this lesson would apply just as equally to life than it would to winning a wrestling match. I desire to be a well rounded individual who receives success in athletics, academics, and personal wellness. I understand that the nature of the Academy is geared to intensely challenge all facets of cadet life. Through academics, the playing field is even for everyone – all receive midterms, finals, and graduate with the same premier education offered at the Academy. There are no setbacks in height; only study skills, diligence and determination can lead to academic success. Utilizing the lessons that I have learned through my athletic endeavors, I seek to overcome the academic challenges presented by the Academy.

3. Describe a setback or ethical dilemma that you have faced. How did you resolve it? How did the outcome affect you? If something similar happens in the future, how would you react? (400 to 500 words, 3000 characters max)

I missed a day of school, and a major Geometry test, attending a doctor’s appointment. Long hours of wrestling practice resulted in an auricular hematoma – or “cauliflower ear.” My mother acted to prevent further build up of the fluid, making an appointment to get it drained. The wrestling season was in full swing, and life was stressful and exhausting. With an auricular hematoma, frequent impact on the ear causes fluid to leak into the space between the skin and cartilage of the ear. It is similar to a blood clot, however if it is not treated, the fluid hardens, severely deforming the ear. The pain caused by the additional pressure is unbearable. After the missed day, I went make up the test. My Geometry teacher took me into an empty room, telling me to begin the test. After just writing my name, she walked out of the room; she was going to be in her office. 2 questions later, she brought another student in to make up the same test. It was Stephen Leh – the “genius” of my graduating class with a GPA above 4.0. Stephen was very nice to the point where some would call him a push over. He contributed in class by helping students understand main concepts and explaining key ideas. Sometimes, he allowed students to copy his homework if he couldn’t bear the thought of a peer missing their assignment. This great source of knowledge was a desk in front of me; he could guarantee an A on this test. All I had to do was ask him for answers. Then, my wrestling coach’s words started to ring in my ear. “Integrity is what you do when no one is watching. I’m not going to sit with you at every meal to make sure you’re eating right; I’m not over your shoulder every minute of practice. You need to have the character to know what you’re doing is right.” Character. This was a matter of character just as much as it was of integrity. Slacking during practice is punishable by longer conditioning, but lack of integrity could lead to serious problems in the future, resulting in an untrustworthy character. As these words rang in my head, I decided not to cheat, even if I would have gotten a better grade on the test. This incident reaffirmed the values of integrity and trust within me. It is a reminder of the honor that I possess; a reference for me when my values are questioned. If ever a similar incident were to happen, I would remember that the preservation of integrity is more important than a momentary test or grade – even without a hematoma to remind me of my coach’s words.Statement 1: Compose your own responses. In the space below, explain why you want to attend the United States Military Academy and serve on active duty as an Army officer.

I wish to attend the United States Military Academy because it presents a challenging environment unique only to military academies. It is a dream of mine to become an officer in the military, and there is no better way to achieve that dream than to attend West Point. West Point offers a premiere education that transcends the classroom. I wish to develop under this exclusive experience that the military offers. I come from a family with a strong tradition in the military: my grandfather was an Army Captain during World War II, my father retired from Air Force, and now my brother is currently attending the United States Air Force Academy. It is my ambition to carry out this tradition and serve the country that has provided me with the benefits of freedom. Being raised in an Asian-American family, the qualities of loyalty, honor and service have been instilled in me. As I embody these characteristics I hope that one day I may be able to contribute to the excellent tradition that West Point has created in producing the finest military officers in the world.

Statement 2: Compose your own response. What are the most important qualities inbecoming a successful USMA cadet and a successful Army officer?

I believe that integrity, leadership, and discipline are the most important qualities in becoming a successful USMA cadet and Army officer. I have been taught that integrity is doing the right thing, even when nobody is watching. Integrity grows from the morals and ethics someone is raised with; it is the culmination of an overbearing sense of honor and loyalty that one possesses. Someone with a strong awareness of integrity is clear-minded, confident, and willing to take responsibility for his own actions. Likewise, leadership is another quality that is essential in any USMA cadet or officer. Integrity complements leadership, as a cadet or officer should lead by example. Any person in a position of leadership should first create a strong leader-follower relationship. This relationship establishes a system in which teamwork can thrive and common goals can be achieved. Influential leadership results in an admirable person that subordinates trust and follow. Lastly, a successful USMA cadet and Army officer should have discipline and self control. Discipline is a commitment to self and others – at times discipline may require a sacrifice for a common goal. It is shown in every aspect of life and reflects the strong work ethic of any leader. As a disciplined leader, a selfless attitude is created and is a necessary trait in offering one’s service to the country. These important characteristics and qualities are essential for any person in a position of leadership. As I do my best to exhibit these traits, West Point will help them develop and turn me into a successful cadet and Army officer.

Statement 3: Compose your own response. West Point and the Army are committed to the idea that respect for others and an understanding of diversity are important leadership traits. Why will you be successful in working with leaders, peers, and subordinates of a gender, color, ethnicity, and/or religion different from your own?

Respect for others and an understanding of diversity are important leadership traits because every member of the military is unified as one for the purpose of serving our country. As a USMA cadet and Army officer, I intend to serve the country to the best of my ability utilizing my knowledge of diversity and persistent respect for people of any gender, color, ethnicity, or religion. I will be successful in working with my peers because of my upbringing as an Asian-American immersed in the constantly changing environment of a military lifestyle. My father retired from the Air Force, and in two instances my family and I had to relocate. I was born in suburban Utah and attended a Catholic school. I made many friends who were mostly Caucasian and Hispanic, and after nine years of living in Utah, it was time to move to Germany. I bid farewell to Utah and Wiesbaden, Germany welcomed my family and me. At first I was devastated from leaving behind my civilian friends and moving to a foreign country; however, I quickly made friends who had also experienced several moves before coming to Wiesbaden. Before this stage in life, I never saw such a wide variety of people interacting with each other in the friendliest of ways. There was a common understanding that a friend today might be off to Japan, Texas, or Italy tomorrow. With this knowledge, Wiesbaden became the center of the greatest cultural melting pot I had ever been a part of. I became friends not only with my “Army brat” peers, but also with the surrounding German civilians. This exposure granted me a life-long learning experience that could not be found by any ordinary child living in the United States. After nearly four years of living in Wiesbaden, it was time to move again – this time to Millburn, New Jersey. My father was now retired from the Air Force after serving 20 years, and we chose to settle in Millburn because of its quality education: the high school consistently ranks among the top 5 public schools in the state with SAT scores and AP courses towering above the competition. For me, back to the suburbs meant entering the lives of people who had never been north of Manhattan. My peers in Millburn lived a secure life, with piano lessons, tutors, and regular family vacations to Vail, Colorado every winter. After experiencing Wiesbaden, slowing down in Millburn was tough. Despite the initial culture shock, I readjusted by making new friends and focusing on my school work. Here, I was not only a minority because of my military background, but also because of being an Asian-American. This personal experience of being a minority taught me that I should never discredit or discount someone’s contribution – even if they are different. The military life has instilled an understanding of tolerance in me that I have gained through personal experience. Now, I offer my unique background to seek success as an Army officer.

The Words Used to Come Naturally...

2009-11-10T23:38:00.001-08:00

The words used to come naturally...

I used to live by being driven from song to song. Everything I wrote came from somewhere beyond myself, and now I'm listening, waiting for the next thing to say. And there's nothing.

So here I am at this blank page, staring back at me...
Thinking god damn it, the words used to come naturally...

oh, hi

2009-10-11T00:10:00.001-07:00

oh hey there, erin.

School Daze

2009-09-30T20:14:00.000-07:00

Basic French

I can’t stop the head noddin
Pen jottin sloppy
Awfully shoddy chicken scratch
got me wishin that I skipped this class
because
FRENCH CAN KISS MY ASS!!!
The languages in my head don’t mix and match
Went from Spanish to German
to Spanish to French, then switched em back.
Sittin…
Listenin and driftin back
and forth from this to that:
from bright lights and waterfronts
to the August sun and water guns
from Le Chemin Du Retour
to Rattatouille and Soup De’Jour
and how sad I am
to be apart from the traffic jams
in the GARDEN STATE.
But god its getting hard these days
to stay awake!
(Head noddin)
COLLEGE
A blur is what school is
DROPPING KNOWLEDGE
With my face
in the book

Droolin…

**************

World History

I can’t stop the head noddin
Pen jottin sloppy
To stop the monotonous misery
Cuz honestly, I’m listening
But
HISTORY AIN’T SHIT TO ME!!!
Pop in another pocket pack Listerine
And let my dreams intervene:from the Philippines to that City scene
From my rhyming schemes to Byzantine
I’m wondering if anybody’s got an IV please,
Cuz I’m in need!
(Dying of boredom)
Trying to stay alive in this forum
With my mind on the warm sun
And my face
in my notebook
Quietly snoring…
zzz

pulling teeth (not done)

2009-08-28T23:48:00.001-07:00

Pulling Teeth
Think about getting your teeth pulled. Think about the pain. Think about the cold, calculated process the dentist executes. Pulling teeth. It happens to everyone.
You know, when the dentist goes to take your tooth out, there’s a distinct crunch. It’s a crack that you can’t quite feel, but at the same time it hurts like nothing else. It’s like a hard strike to the funny bone. First you feel an eerie tingling, and your nerves are confused and don’t know what to think. They panic and go into shock. Next comes a certain soreness that invades your mouth without warning. Surprise! You’ve now got a hole in your mouth. Your tooth has been replaced by a bloody geyser; blood, warm blood, spills about your mouth, turning it crimson. Yet the dentist remains unaffected. And he’s probably smirking behind his mask. You can’t see his mouth, but you can see it in his eyes. Then, you realize that you are Odysseus: the giver and receiver of pain.
It wasn’t much of a journey, though, going to the dentist. We signed in, my mom gave our insurance information, and we lounged in the waiting room. It’s always awkwardly sterile in places like this; it’s too tranquil and the chrome faucets and mirrors are too shiny. You can already smell the anesthetics, hear the drills buzz and the vacuums suck the life out of children, fathers, and mothers. But it’s peaceful, and I know the deal. So we waited to be called. And then I went in.
As a matter of fact, I don’t even remember the journey into the dentist’s office. I just remember going in, laying down, and looking up at this ominous light. While waiting for the dentist, this holy light that I was staring at granted me some divine reassurance: this will all be over within an hour or so. I thought, Please just get it over with, but I could hear subdued groans coming from the next room. The dentist was at work. Who would want to have the job of inflicting pain upon others?
I tried to put myself in the dentist’s shoes. To him, everyone was the same. You were a paying customer in need of his service. It didn’t matter if you were a soccer mom, businessman, or awkward teen. You were there to get a tooth pulled. And I was there, at 12 years old on the cusp of adolescence. My mouth was a mix of strong baby teeth, and new permanent ones. I was there to lose my baby teeth.
I was actually surprised that my baby teeth could endure the unimaginable amounts of candy I ate at all of my sleep-overs. They occurred frequently and each sleep over was exactly the same: sleepless nights packed with treats, video games, and action figures. I remember when I lived in Utah, my best friend Mark and I would trade Dragon Ball Z action figures, battle Pokemon, then play basketball. If we were lucky, his mom would be willing to drive us to the arcade; shooting games were great, but buying things with tickets from skill games was even better. Eventually, some of my teeth couldn’t handle such a sweet lifestyle and started to fall out when I moved to Germany.

2:00 AM 1/5/09

2009-08-07T22:05:00.000-07:00

at the most hopeless time when a day is over
but hasnt yet started,
i wandered into the space between two
passing seconds.
within this abyss i saw a light
shining with all of the life of the world.
i touched it only to feel
the clocks anatomy,
realizing my face reflected off of the clocks.
i exhaled and opened my eyes.
hopeless, only for a second.
dreams always seem to take me away.

the law of one

2009-08-04T20:35:00.001-07:00

life:
happiness
content
satisfied
acceptance
:death

where the wind may blow

2009-08-04T20:30:00.000-07:00

take me where the wind may blow
from mountain tops to valleys below
i'll ride the silvery clouds and smile
even though it'll be a while

i hope to see your face appear
in any place gods breath does steer
and even if you are not there
you remain inside my heart and prayer

and even though it'll be a while
just look up to see me smile
im past the skies and stars above
soaring aside god's own dove

you remain inside my heart and prayer
even if you aren't where
god does intend for me to steer
you are where i am, and i am here

im alive

2009-08-04T09:55:00.001-07:00

jhea

out

2009-06-21T21:22:00.000-07:00

i signed in and clicked
"remember me" like it means
anything to me

11:11 Wishes

2009-06-06T22:50:00.000-07:00

11:11 Wishes

Every evening at 11:11,
I used to make a wish:
Place a kiss on my prayer
and send it to heaven;
And I never thought
that God played favorites
until the minute passed
too fast for me to savor it!

And when 11:12 came around,
I’d spout profanities:
Now, my vanity had me feeling
more ashamed than proud;
And I never thought
that God would answer me
until my aunt came out
of chemotherapy cancer free.

I guess there’s a lot of time to cram in a minute…
(Well, I didn’t understand there’s a limit!)
Even if I’m still living off the seconds I’ve borrowed,
I’d still prepare the same requests for tomorrow,

Because every morning at 11:11,
I’d roll out of bed:
A cloudy head had me thinking
I’d rather be in heaven;
Because I always thought
that God was just a lousy friend
until he told me to write
my story – without a pen!

And when 11:12 came around,
I’d wear the thinnest grin:
Innocence left in the sheets
where I was laying down;
And I always thought
that God would let the sinners sin
until the simple smirk on my face
told me I’d given in.

I guess there’s a lot of time to cram in a minute…
Well, now I understand there’s a limit;
Life is too empty when living as a cynic,
because I want the world and everything else in it.

One Hour Photo

2009-05-29T22:57:00.001-07:00

So…

How do you face it when your days are numbered?
When hellfire defines your days of summer,
And you’re too damn nervous to say what you want to
Like an uncertain assertion would hang over and haunt you?
I guess what it comes to is the cause and effect
And the fear of embarrassment and loss of respect
As if it’s planned that I’d be told off with regret
But no one takes a picture of something they want to forget!
‘Cause I’m leaving on a jet plane, whistling by
I’d be looking down at you if you would look in the sky
It doesn’t take much thought for this irrational plan
To take flight, it makes sense I’m a traveling man!
Damn, it’s like a cancerous scam, where passion is senseless
And you really can’t stop catching the sickness
I guess you have to learn how to laugh when you’re witless
Being trapped in a prison you still have to act with forgiveness
‘Cause life is a scrapbook full of receipts
Written in actions, damn it! If I knew what it means
I would have done much more to fill up the sheets
Then maybe I would appreciate the human in me…
Man, I spent a lot of time learning detachment
When I should have been finding a person to laugh with,
Take it in stride instead of cursing the madness
And dissecting this life with surgical antics
With butterflies feeling like coals in my stomach
Ablaze, how am I supposed to roll with the punches?
At the same time everyone was dipping and dodging
I was taking hits to my lips and my eyes…
But it’s not about this silly disguise or these paper thin
Grin losers that were made to win with no basic faith within,
Feeling like life is nothing but hollow,
In the mirror staring at the ugliest model!
No! it’s about your own heart and your soul:
About the fruits of that garden you never bothered to grow!
It’s the threads of fate that you never bothered to sew!
It’s the masterpiece, but you never called it your own!
It’s just these thoughts that ricochet in my skull…
A pitiful person displayed playing a joke
Kind of defines my existence and praying for hope
Is as pointless as waiting for a savior to come!
But sooner or later I really couldn’t help but notice how
Stupid I was when someone asked me what I wrote about,
And realized the topic was something no one knows about,
Or maybe I’m getting ahead of myself so slow it down…
Basically, I’m trying to solve this mystery so,
I can stop asking where the damn history goes!
From my tired eyes to the lines on my forehead
I have no choice but to watch the misery grow!
I’m hoping you were listening so you’d fall in love with me,
Wishing I could blink about as fast as that shutter speed
Like suddenly – gone – vanished, there goes another week
Another year passing, I’m gasping sitting tongue in cheek…
In my humble sleep I dream wishing to end
The way this life feels like a list of events,
And actually shed more blood with my fist than the pen
I could shatter the hourglass, playing like a kid in the sand;
So damn, what do you do when your days are numbered?
And the luster fades away from the days of summer?
Rest peacefully in a state of slumber?
Well… Sometimes it just makes me wonder…

langton hughes is dope

2009-05-21T20:56:00.000-07:00

Vagabonds

We are the desperate
Who do not care,
The hungry
Who have nowhere
To eat,
No place to sleep,
The tearless
Who cannot
Weep.

Someone Asked Me What I Write About

2009-05-11T20:28:00.001-07:00

The other day, someone asked me what I write about.

Well… you see my words are my colors - I focus all the hues, simply so that I could show you all my views. And this is how I feel, whether not it’s true, but I noticed how, everything I wrote about was you:

You’re pretty without trying;
You’re every single star on a clear night.
You’re living without dying.
You’re a rose in a gravel pit:
the root of my avarice;
I’m unafraid to feel.
You’re the definition of what passion is.
You are the hands of time
in an everlasting limbo.
Your radiating skin tone
warms me when the wind blows;
you light my world up when your face shines.
You make me want to dance
to your heart’s bass line.
You take time but never falter
and show me what better is.
You smash my stupid ego into sediments
– and heaven is where I am
when I attempt to sleep,
anticipating the next thought
that you might send to me.
You make me not worry
about the way my life is spent…

Basically:
You make me unafraid to try again.
Basically,
you make the good and bad fade away;
and somehow
you eliminate the shades of gray.

I promise –
But there would be the best place to stop it. I mean right now, you’re telling me stop it. So whatever this does, or does not accomplish… at least you know that it’s a worthy topic.

What I Write About

2009-05-10T20:41:00.001-07:00

Someone asked me what I write about.

Well… you see my words are my colors - I focus all the hues, simply so that I could show you all my views. And this is how I feel, whether not it’s true, but I noticed how, everything I wrote about was you:

You’re pretty without trying; you’re every single star on a clear night; you’re living without dying. You’re a rose in a gravel pit; the root of my avarice; I’m unafraid to feel, you’re the definition of what passion is. You are the hands of time in an everlasting limbo. Your radiating skin tone warms me when the wind blows; you light my world up when your face shines; you make me want to dance to your heart’s bass line. You take time but never falter and show me what better is. You take me to a place higher than Mount Everest – and heaven is where I am when I attempt to sleep – and anticipate the next text that you might send to me. You make me not worry about the way my life is spent… basically; you make me unafraid to try again. Basically, you make the good and bad fade away; and somehow, you eliminate the shades of gray. I promise –

But there would be the best place to stop it. I mean right now, you’re telling me stop it. So whatever this does or does not accomplish… at least you know that it’s a worthy topic.

The Life of a Vagrant

2009-04-26T20:49:00.000-07:00

As I wander in and out of souls, I think about it all
How it all started and how now I’m a vagabond
A little sad song, singing through the odyssey…
We’re all good people trapped in hypocrisy
We deviate the path that we have been wandering
Ashamed of all the empty things that we have been promising
And if it wasn’t for my stupid brutal honesty,
I wouldn’t be confronting all these fears that I’m conquering
So follow me through all the drama and the irony
Finally, I got someone to open up diary!
Feel the rise and fall, the tragedy and cry with me,
Ride the highs and lows and silent hope that resides in me!
Close your eyes, open your mind then you’ll finally see
The distant horizon that shines so quietly…
And on this island, nothings right for the pages
For me to write down, it’s the life of a vagrant

As I wander through the hallways, I think about the days
I think about your roots and how they stay within that flower vase
It amazes me because I was made to be
A tree so I could grow and all my roots are always breaking free!
Pissed off at the places that I’ve been planted in
If this is my home then that’s a fact that I can’t admit
Whenever god calls and I move to answer it
It’s two steps backwards, my actions are cancerous
So damn it kid, goodnight stars now I’ll try to sleep
But before that, I’ve got to write in my diary
And signing off is weak, because you know its me
And my tendency to get lost within the poetry
My life story was an overdose, so to speak
An overflow of torture left me comatose and tongue in cheek
And no one speaks about the light in the basement
That shines so bright, it’s the life of a vagrant

As I walk across the ocean scene, I think about the dreams
I think about the lovely lady on that balcony
I’d sing a sad song, maybe she would shout to me
I guess a mess of words is what I amount to be
Along this lonely beach that I’ve been walking on
My steps fade but at least I know I’m walking strong
And that surprises me, because quietly
I overcame intoxicated ass with sobriety
So find me smiling on the other side of grief,
Where I have the strength to bury my own diary
The highs and lows are gone, and all the memories
The rhyme and prose and songs now don’t mean anything
And now this pen really is the enemy…
Because these words that I write don’t mean a thing,
And so I’ll let you sing and write your own pages
The life of a vagrant… this life is amazing.

It's 11:50 PM and I need to get my sleep schedule back on track.

2009-04-20T20:49:00.000-07:00

I want to fall into a sleep that will make me want to wake up, just to feel the phenomena of experiencing a dream.
I want to fall into a sleep that will wrap me tight within a blanket of ignorance, providing me security from any other worries or anxieties.
I want to fall into a sleep that will destroy me and rebuild me as I wake up.
A sleep where I can look back and say:
"Damn... this must have been a daydream."

i found you i found you i found you

2009-04-18T21:05:00.000-07:00

found you found you found you

and god you turned out ugly

(okay, maybe im being harsh)

Memories...

2009-04-18T20:31:00.001-07:00

Memories of an MC who You’ve Never Heard Of
Words By: E-REK

I was prompted by a suggestion – maybe even a challenge. After a long conversation with my friend, Steve Logas ( a.k.a. Luke Flytalker, Steve E. Fresh!, etc.) about the earlier days of a career I never had, he suggested that I should “write this shit down”. So that’s what I’m going to attempt to do. It’s hard trying to capture the emotions and atmosphere that dominated the previous seasons. Trying to translate the complex motivations and juvenile attitudes my peers and I had to paper would be nearly impossible. But I’m going to try. Perhaps actions really do speak louder than words, and time travel is impossible (at least right now it is). Regardless, I’m going to take you back as best I can through my jaded, exhausted eyes. I’ll take you back – if not for your sake or mine – for my comrades who I am forever indebted to. These are their memories as much as they are mine.

I would tell you that I was born on October 8, 1990, and that I am currently writing this while I’m 18. I would tell you that me and C.L. Smooth share birthdays; that I was in a military family, and that I lived in Layton, Utah for nine years, Wiesbaden, Germany for almost four years, and Millburn, New Jersey for five years. I would tell you all the facts: my height, hair color, eye color, interests, jobs I’ve had. But these facts wouldn’t matter if there’s no soul to anchor them. And whether I knew it or not, I think that’s why I started to rhyme in the first place – to find the soul within myself… to use hip-hop as a vehicle to explore the unknown.
Unlike a lot of MC’s, I wasn’t raised on hip-hop. In Utah I was your typical suburban grade-schooler, and even up until now I’m in a wealthy neighborhood with white picket fences and green front and back yards. As a matter of fact, I didn’t even have any knowledge of hip-hop until I moved to Wiesbaden. The innocence of childhood kept me oblivious to the reality of hip-hop. The straight-to-the-dome nature and gaudy attitude of the culture was completely foreign to me. And I thought that the kids in the baggy jeans, Adidas sneakers and fitted caps just looked goofy – if I even bothered to notice them. I was too deep within the realms of Pokemon, Dragon Ball, and videogames. As far as I knew, street corner ciphers and graffiti riddled walls were as real as planets with angry monkey-men vying to rule the universe. By the time I turned nine, we moved to Wiesbaden and reality slapped me in the face.

Memories of an MC who You've Never Heard Of

2009-04-17T22:13:00.001-07:00

Memories of an MC who You’ve Never Heard Of
Words By: E-REK

It started as a suggestion – maybe even a challenge. After a long conversation with my friend, Steve Logas ( a.k.a. Luke Flytalker, Steve E. Fresh!, etc.) about the earlier days of a career I never had, he suggested that I should “write this shit down”. So that’s what I’m going to attempt to do. It’s hard trying to capture the emotions and atmosphere that dominated the previous seasons; trying to translate the complex motivations and juvenile attitudes my peers and I moved with to paper would be nearly impossible. But I’m going to try. Perhaps actions really do speak louder than words, and time travel is impossible (at least right now it is). Regardless, I’m going to take you back as best I can through my jaded, exhausted eyes. I’ll take you back – if not for your sake or mine – for my comrades who I am forever indebted to. This is their story as much as it is mine.

:(

2009-04-17T21:15:00.000-07:00

SwitCh TIME 973: OK, so we failed in doing TIME huh..right?
illit3r4t3: ?
SwitCh TIME 973: lol..we failed miserably
SwitCh TIME 973: but..
SwitCh TIME 973: check it. we older. we more intelligent. we have more ways of getting the word out...im down to start from scratch if you are.
illit3r4t3: lol
SwitCh TIME 973: come up wit some new topics/concepts..get sum people from HHK to get on sum tracks..use mass marketing on the internet and jus get it heard.
illit3r4t3: i dunno man
SwitCh TIME 973: homie..if u jus wanna do TIME..wit me and u..and pagez if he down..its straight
SwitCh TIME 973: like...idk..jus wanna get back into it...
SwitCh TIME 973: take it more seriously..
illit3r4t3: idk man
illit3r4t3: see
illit3r4t3: im way too jaded/cynical to work at this stuff anymore
illit3r4t3: with that kind of vigor
illit3r4t3: me and pagez album really took the shit out of me.
SwitCh TIME 973: yeah...aight then bruh
illit3r4t3: haha
illit3r4t3: i mean
illit3r4t3: looking at it from a few angles.
illit3r4t3: of course it'd be dope. i mean this is a what a dream is made of.
illit3r4t3: it makes life exciting.
illit3r4t3: but... i just dont think it'd be the same. i think it'd be another attempt and we'd end up just the same way as last time
illit3r4t3: i mean i get when u say take it more seriously. i took my album as serious as possible
illit3r4t3: and i couldn't even get it off the ground... its fucked up man.
illit3r4t3: like i did heavy research, put everything into it. i went to barnes n noble and read books on strategies, terms, shit i had to do, shit i had to clear, i went to various record stores asked about their consignment plans and shit.
illit3r4t3: even all my research and hard work and shit... couldn't get it off.
illit3r4t3: and what's sad is it is truly worthy of an actual release. IMO.
SwitCh TIME 973: ya i feel u...but idk..jus cuz u didnt get goin ya first time..dont mean u shuld stop bruh
illit3r4t3: yeah i know.
illit3r4t3: im just exhausted, mentally, physically, emotionally, spiritually from all this shit.
SwitCh TIME 973: ya i hear u..
SwitCh TIME 973: its all good
illit3r4t3: but forreal. i appreciate this shit. i really do.
SwitCh TIME 973: i jus been thinkin bout it lately and shit..jus wanted to get recordin tracks again, but i know id never get inspired on my own
SwitCh TIME 973: only reason i ever hopped on a mic was cuz of u
illit3r4t3: shit.
illit3r4t3: i mean dont get me wrong. i still make music and shit, i mean im never gonna stop
illit3r4t3: at this point for me im just lacking direction/focus
illit3r4t3: just way too cynical to know wtf/where the fuck im going with it all...
SwitCh TIME 973: yeah i get you..
illit3r4t3: fuck shit man.
illit3r4t3: shit fuck.
SwitCh TIME 973: haha
SwitCh TIME 973: but if u think bout it
SwitCh TIME 973: wit the TIME shit we were tryin to do
SwitCh TIME 973: we had no direction either..we jus put a few topics together..and were gunna get to it..jus never got around to it
illit3r4t3: yeah
SwitCh TIME 973: like..look at What If..
SwitCh TIME 973: shit started on a slow beat, gettin all emotion
SwitCh TIME 973: then we end up somehow on a hype beat wit it
illit3r4t3: well i mean
illit3r4t3: it was like
illit3r4t3: now this is my philosophy on music and shit
illit3r4t3: we had the integrity of the album/project
illit3r4t3: we wrote the songs, had the substance
illit3r4t3: the concepts, the group name, even the group kind of "mission" even if it wasn't stated
illit3r4t3: those are the foundations for any sort of entity
illit3r4t3: what we lacked was something on another level we couldn't yet comprehend
illit3r4t3: well. 1 and a half things.
SwitCh TIME 973: ..
illit3r4t3: obviously our skills weren't up to par, production/rapping wise. but lets put that aside and say we we're going through this whole thing
illit3r4t3: so that's a half, i guess.
SwitCh TIME 973: lol
illit3r4t3: but also, the realistic strategies of actually getting our shit out, taking off and evolving with it.
illit3r4t3: see we just made a bunch of songs. (we didnt even record them all) but say we did.
illit3r4t3: we didn't plan out how exactly we were going to take our substance, our integrity, and make it a self sufficient entity
SwitCh TIME 973: i hear you
illit3r4t3: which is why we made our shit. then its like. "what do we do from here?"
SwitCh TIME 973: but thats what im sayin..we older and smarter..
SwitCh TIME 973: we can find ways..
SwitCh TIME 973: id suggest jus startin on the net you know...use HHK as a promoter if we can
SwitCh TIME 973: get stu and ryan to feature shit on the homepage...
illit3r4t3: that's a start. but it's more than that too. i mean, i got a little following myself (and by that i mean there are a handfull of heads who i know actually listen to my shit), but to turn heads would be by dropping something that cant be contested
illit3r4t3: like an official album. which is what i tried to do. but failed.
illit3r4t3: cuz then you truly can refer to yourself as an artist, and you have a reference point, a bit of integrity in the music world - you're not just another street rapper.
SwitCh TIME 973: yeah...but we gotta start small...start sumwhere..like HHK wuld be perfect to jus drop some songs..get feedback and improve..then try and hit the local scene..try and get people noticing
illit3r4t3: i know, i'm on other sites too lol. thats where i get most of my (for lack of a better word) "fans". but yeah.
SwitCh TIME 973: lol yeah
SwitCh TIME 973: like..yo look
SwitCh TIME 973: i never promoted my personal music myspace page
SwitCh TIME 973: and all my songs, wit the exception of who woulda known
SwitCh TIME 973: were wack
SwitCh TIME 973: and i still have over 1500 plays...
illit3r4t3: dog myspace plays don't mean much.
illit3r4t3: that's a lesson i learned from day 1 lol
illit3r4t3: they make you feel good for a second.
SwitCh TIME 973: lol ya...bbut it means the odds are..someones listening
illit3r4t3: but there's no integrity behind those plays. like someone who buys a CD from you - that's got some integrity. people downloading your shit - that's got some integrity (but not too much)
illit3r4t3: i've dropped like 2 EP's
SwitCh TIME 973: ya
illit3r4t3: 27 DL's on one, 14 on the other
illit3r4t3: and i can really say that only about 4 or 5 people of those that downloaded either
illit3r4t3: actually herald me as respectable
illit3r4t3: i'm just. so used to searching for real followers because i'm used to being the guy that people pass off.
illit3r4t3: because 9 times out of 10 i pass off an internet rapper
illit3r4t3: and chances are, the next internet rapper passes me off for being an internet rapper. - and see an album would just put me over that soundclick cat.
SwitCh TIME 973: ya
illit3r4t3: man im terrible.
illit3r4t3: kids should never look up to me.
SwitCh TIME 973: haaa..ur younger than me and i look up to u
SwitCh TIME 973: like...aight fuck you.
SwitCh TIME 973: i tried gettin you to agree to this whole TIME resurrection thing..me u n pagez
SwitCh TIME 973: n u bein a dick
SwitCh TIME 973: now ima be a dick.
illit3r4t3: lmfao
SwitCh TIME 973: were doin it. thas it. ima go scoop pagez up next weekend n come to ya crib..n we gunna brainstorm and everything..gunna get real REAL talk
illit3r4t3: hahaha ok
SwitCh TIME 973: i'm for real. its that simple
SwitCh TIME 973: igot a new whip too
SwitCh TIME 973: pagez dont spit no more tho right?
illit3r4t3: nope. but he has a shit load of beats.
SwitCh TIME 973: ya
illit3r4t3: everything i rhyme over is a pagez beat. lol.
SwitCh TIME 973: well we can get him to do a few chorus's if we want tho
SwitCh TIME 973: we'll jus do simple fuckin songs...2 verse..we each do one..and a hook
SwitCh TIME 973: and we can get some features on it..
SwitCh TIME 973: 10-15 tracks..nothing spectacular..we'll produce the CDs and distribute them however we decide..we'll talk this weekend...
SwitCh TIME 973: like for real. i asked u to be in iNc...u denied..i asked u to start up TIME again..u denied.so fuck u. u have no choice now
illit3r4t3: lmfao
SwitCh TIME 973: actually..u do have a choice
SwitCh TIME 973: cuz we'd be at ur house
SwitCh TIME 973: u wuldnt have to let us in
SwitCh TIME 973: but either way...im free on Saturday
illit3r4t3: i got a match on saturday.
illit3r4t3: all day.
illit3r4t3: tournament*
illit3r4t3: lol
SwitCh TIME 973: hmm
SwitCh TIME 973: u bein a dick again haha
illit3r4t3: i know.
SwitCh TIME 973: cuz idk if ill have work next sunday
SwitCh TIME 973: i know i have off next sat tho
illit3r4t3: yeah
illit3r4t3: yo im tired as hell
illit3r4t3: well talk about this tomoro. or PM your ideas or whatever.
SwitCh TIME 973: ight.1
illit3r4t3: peace
illit3r4t3: btw this site is my blog. if you're ever interested.

Hip-Hop Bootleggers

2009-04-16T21:05:00.001-07:00

http://www.freestylemadness.com/blog/?p=16073

Shades of Gray on the Soul Dojo!

2009-04-15T20:37:00.001-07:00

courtesy of Steve E. Fresh!

http://thesouldojo.com/2009/04/13/e-rek-shades-of-gray/

AHA!

2009-04-08T21:26:00.001-07:00

RACHEL LEIGH COOK???

MAYBE.

Is inevitability fate?

2009-04-06T20:40:00.000-07:00

And if it isn't, what is the distinction between them?

Closing Time...

2009-04-06T18:20:00.000-07:00

I've been reminiscing hardcore about the 90's. i really miss that shit. I feel like those times were without a doubt the happiest of my life. Well. I dunno.

But the 90's were so innocent. I was just a little kid but these songs are etched into my head. Like a bad teen movie. And I wish so much to go back to that time.

It's been a year since the Emmy Rossum EP.

Sigh.

The inertia in me wants to continue the tradition. I don't know though. It's hard to emulate what happened a year ago. Who wouldn't want to re-do it? Scratch it out and start again, son.

It started with a spark. Something opened the floodgate. I think it was a challenge... But i got the idea, and went to achieve it. It was the best and fastest week ever. Or at least one of the best...

And people say that I'm crazy. I don't see what's wrong with achieving a goal.

After reading back this entry, I guess what i see leaking out from within me is an internal hunger for more. A swelling in my gutthat wants me to shout, but I can't. I don't have the words to say what I want to. That, or circumstance won't permit it. I'm just waiting until we can travel back in time.

"Right now I'm at a loss of words/ But see this is the beauty in the irony/ That even at a loss of words.../ Somehow your beauty inspires me!/"

Thanks Emmy... Thanks life. I love you both.

=|

2009-04-05T21:27:00.001-07:00

PA93Z201: i just wanna make music forever

Twitter

2009-04-05T09:27:00.001-07:00

www.twitter.com/everyrhyme

Misery Loves Comedy

2009-04-03T21:13:00.000-07:00

you ever notice how your life is rolling by you,
and it isn't what it seems?
that's why i wrote this down so you would know that i knew,
this is just a dream...

its the fictitious stuff you see as voyeurs
the same tricks that make us believe in lawyers
they tell the same lies to the girls and boys
over your whole life, telling you the worlds your oyster!
well if thats the case, im allergic to seafood
castaway and thats what they serve and they feed you,
so youre covered, and boy while you love and enjoy
a smoother waistline, in 8 days time youre see through
whos to say itll improve today?
you can lose some weight you didnt want to lose today
and life is one of those books where you choose your fate
so i would hang myself but i bet the noose would break!
hey! i guess you gotta try to laugh at it...
cuz mathematically its half tragic and half havoc
dagnabbit! who woulda ever thought
i'd get the short straw outta life if i grabbed at it?
im on a path padded down by soft feet
feeling like the last cat in town that dogs eat
king of the fools on a short leash,
i used to laugh at the clowns who had on the crown before me
well now im chuckling at my own expense
it doesnt cost me the bucks that ive been kown to spend
on what simple cup of coffee or donut can,
its like save the children but for grownup men
friends, im in zen place sporting a gents face
the only chump thats over the hump like wednesdays
i dont go for most of the junk my friends say
i let it roll over my cold shoulder like bengay!
thats the best way to treat disaster
cuz if you let regret stay, it eats you faster
then your breastplate shakes when you breathe with asthma,
and death may take me to greener pasteurs
i need a pastor, a priest or rabbi,
or shaman to ask to beseech the bad guy
to blame for the fact that i lead a sad life
- ashamed to pack up and leave my campsite!
you gotta find a way to laugh right?
when im practically pissing my pants over this damn ride...
and i dont wanna end up missing the chance
for me to grab my slice from the dish in advance,
man i spent a lot of time listening to "cants"
instead of opening the lids on the "cans"
if i put half my time spent on bitching and rants
then maybe i could slip from the trance...
but i guess this is the dance and life i lead,
my lawn isnt some grass, its sky high weeds
my wife lives with my man beside my street
so i see them kissing again everytime i leave
and im just trying to find my speed,
fucking jimminy crickets, i got another cop giving me tickets!
what would my life be if it didnt seem wicked
even my landlord said shed love to get me evicted
thats cold, id expect a mother to stick with
her own struggling nitwit, son whos a misfit,
asshole, but nothing can fix it...
id put my trust in lady luck if she wasnt sadistic
but ive had so little success of me later
that the prospect to rest and being cremated
like right now, im thinking of putting this mic down
cuz being dead is even better than being hated
this isnt quite how i was picturing my career
theyre sticking it in my rear, these are not my terms!
but i figured im in the clear since they got me burned
until the funeral director went and dropped my urn!
well... i guess you gotta learn to laugh at it
when youre the butt of your own joke, it doesnt seem as tragic
take it from someone who knows folks,
there isnt a mathematic pattern for outrunning your own woes
and so goes your stroll at the zoo,
and it still isnt what it seems...
thats why i wrote this down so you would know that i knew,
this is just a dream...

This is Me

2009-03-31T18:52:00.000-07:00

Excerpt from Mortal Lessons: Notes on the Art of Surgery:

"There is a story by Unamuno in which a priest, living in a small Spanish village, is adored by all the people for his piety, kindness, and the majesty with which he celebrates the Mass each Sunday. To them he is already a saint. It is a foregone conclusion, and they speak of him as Saint Immanuel. He helps them with their plowing and planting, tends them when they are sick, confesses them, comforts them in death, and every Sunday, in his rich, thrilling voice, transports them to paradise with his chanting. The fact is that Don Immanuel is not so much a saint as a martyr. Long ago his own faith left him. He is an atheist, a good man doomed to suffer the life of a hypocrite, pretending to a faith he does not have. As he raises the chalice of wine, his hands tremble, and a cold sweat pours from him. He cannot stop for he knows that the people need this of him, that their need is greater than his sacrifice. Still... still... could it be that Don Immanuel's whole life is a kind of prayer, a paean to God?"

Wrap your lips around that one.

side note

2009-03-30T20:46:00.000-07:00

The palimpsest. I keep writing about that shit and keep using that imagery (The Palimpsest; "in a palimpsest life like a ghost in the flesh..."; etc.)... but I just find it interesting because of what it represents. Take it how you will, but

Scratch it out and start again, son.

A lost beginning...

2009-03-30T20:38:00.000-07:00

They love the term Army Brat…
and as most would expect,
your average civilian would
NEVER know a ghost in the flesh.

I am a palimpsest,
And though you call me an Army Brat,
I can’t express the pain involved
in learning to start from scratch.
____________________________
shit got lost in the archives

Gratitude.

2009-03-30T15:11:00.000-07:00

Gratitude

Today, I’m going to talk about gratitude; words really can’t express how grateful I am to everyone that has contributed to the wrestling program. I look around now, and it’s hard to imagine that just four years ago I was a freshman, sitting in those same seats down there, watching one of the best seasons come to an end. I saw seniors like Seth, Jordan, and Ricky pave the way with leadership, and set an example that I wished to follow. We often talk about decisions - good ones and bad ones - and one of the best ones that have ever I made, was coming out for this team.
This team taught me the value of an individual: of the people around me, and of myself. It taught me the value of commitment, and how dedication is always rewarded. It taught me the value of responsibility and integrity; from drilling at practice or watching your diet, I learned that these are only a few of the many hardships that life will present us. And finally, this team taught me the value of perseverance; we hung a quote in our locker room that says “Tough times go away, but tough people don’t,” and I think that this is one of the most important things that this team taught me.
You think about perseverance, and without it, none of us would be here: the coach’s undying dedication to the wrestlers, the wrestlers to each other, the parents to their children – who I know sacrifice so much, and the managers in helping us with stats, match videos, and everything else. From freshman year, I watched my class whittle down from a lot of us, to a little, to four, and eventually to three. This sport is not easy, and without a personal commitment to yourself and to the team, you won’t last.
And that’s why I want to extend my gratitude to everybody here. I made it through, and that’s an accomplishment in itself. As most of you know, I’m off to the Air Force Academy in June – and though wrestling season is over, we know Millburn wrestlers don’t break in over time. Thank you.

Give Me a Weapon to SCAR THE EARTH!

2009-03-29T20:51:00.001-07:00

There’s a local graffiti writer whose epithet is SCAR. As I saw one of his pieces on a car ride the other day, the famous opening to a highly praised book about graffiti came (The Art of Getting Over) to mind:

Every time you read a name you’re reading a story – a story saying “I was here, and I did this,” and you learn what the writer is willing to do tell that story.

Considering the slew of common names chosen/appointed by writers – the endless number of faze’s/phase’s, cap’s, etc. – SCAR actually really caught my attention. Think about the word scar… When you fall off of your bike or get a deep cut from a knife, you get a scar; an everlasting mark on your person reminding you of an event that was real. It’s proof that you exist. It adds to your character, and fills in some blanks in your own personal story.

Now, at the risk of sounding incredibly pretentious, I’m going to get really metaphorical here… But isn’t that the struggle of man? To leave a scar on the earth, on the fabric of time? Or are you content with existing within the small time we are allowed to live in proportion to the age of the earth?

Then, perhaps existing isn’t just merely living. We can pass on and exist in history books as an individual future generations have to memorize (see Andrew Pineda on pg. 316). This is a scar, but is it a scar worth leaving? Is it a fulfilling scar, one with a story?

I guess my “thesis” is this: if leaving a scar is the true struggle of man, what are you going to do to leave yours? Here’s what I try to do: leave my presence with the people I meet and hope for the best. Remember me! And chances are, I’ll probably remember you, too.

the tugboat complex

2009-03-27T23:25:00.000-07:00

why if every light is dark do i continue dancing?
...well if it finally ain't a question worth answering!

I boogie for the raindrops, for the purity,
the anger, for my childhood recollections
for the comic book in my heart, the mocked intentions
the clarity, passion, seclusion, those cool summer nights
for the mark emerging across the street selling me stog's at half price
for the mights, the maybes, the nauseating pitfall
my girl, my friends, for the fact my window opens towards a brick wall
for the three legged dog I saw dragged on a leash
for the homeless man who walks my block in rainstorms with plastic bags on his feet
see I throw away the tenders over one shoulder and walk across broken glass
through every wicked world to kiss tomorrow's morning

not for nothing!!!

you'll drown in a pool of your crooked morals
whispering 'maybe E-REK was on to something...'

(maybe, no promises)

Show on 3/28/09

2009-03-25T19:58:00.001-07:00

Java's Brewin.

Be there.

HEY YOU

2009-03-23T15:27:00.000-07:00

when will you finally compose a plan to stop it
stop pacing back and forth with your hands in your pockets
stop explaining, and consider EVERY option
stop refraining, the chemistry has turned rotten!
GOD this is one big mess, who deserves this
fucked up situation, this lovely piece of fuckin art
some hand me a bible, i'm going PSYCHO
the seasons wont stop in this motherfucking cycle
JESUS, when will you ever find a solution
im telling you ive had about enough of your pollution
stop laying waste to everything thats around you
stop making your insincerity sound true
and if it is, get up and leave me alone
im sick of chasing ghosts and im making it known
your looking for cloud 9 but you'll find the ground
is a lot closer, the end of the line is NOW

looking in the mirror, you'll see no changes
face is expressionless and nothing explains it
but where have you gone, whatever happened to
the person that you were, the person staring back at you

throw it all away if thats what it takes for happiness
leave it all behind, in that case im glad we met
i just have a hard time tryna fathom this
life thats becoming even MORE of a palimpsest...
scracth it out and start again, YEAH START AGAIN
COMPLETELY DISREGARD THE FACT THAT YOU'VE SCARRED A FRIEND
and if friendship was gold then you tarnished it
and if you DONT care then you ARENT SHIT
wheres your compass to find your compassion, why
do you come crashing down and come passing by
if you took the chance to look past your guise
maybe you could slow down how fast does life
have to fly with no time to make the most
but instead youre too busy pacing so IM SICK OF IT
i'm cold stranded and shaking so
ashamed of the fact that i'm actually chasing GHOSTS

A Tribute to Emmy Rossum

2009-03-22T21:14:00.000-07:00

The anniversary is coming soon. Perhaps I'll make a part two... or, maybe dedicate this one to some else.

Utopia Assignment

2009-03-17T20:30:00.000-07:00

We were supposed to describe a utopia. Follow me... (through the rough draft).

Final Fantasy

I woke up on the day after Christmas with sunlight penetrating through the open blinds of my windows. It startled me at first and the shining sun is a rare sight during the wrestling season. It was bright and intense, like it was angry because I took it’s radiance for advantage due to the night before. We got into another fight, all of us, about deteriorating relationships, failed ambitions, and expectations that were not fulfilled. Tensions regarding my brother’s crazy relationship with his girlfriend exploded. Problems with authority were addressed. My lack of sleep and nutrition had my emotions swinging to the extremes, while my parents lost it at the thought of their young boys growing up. It wasn’t the merriest Christmas in recent memory.

I went downstairs to hear a distant, familiar noise. My parents were still asleep, so my brother had to be the only one awake. I made my way through our musty basement, kicking up dust in the sunlight. My brother was sitting on an ancient couch playing Playstation 2 on our first T.V. set. Nostalgia returned, and like the forgotten days of our innocent childhood, we immersed ourselves in the videogame world.

First it was Tidus who jumped out of his Final Fantasy X realm and drew me into his world. The temperature was a warm eighty degrees; few clouds speckled the azure sky. We stood on the edge of a cliff that overlooked the entire coast of an island while birds circled the beach. On the other side, we could see little clusters of villages, patches of civilization. Amidst the lush green jungle that surrounded the area, buildings carved from stone rose above the foliage. Some were trimmed with gold, and a variety of stained glass windows was interestingly incorporated in the architecture. A warm breeze blew, and the scent of salt and camp fires filled my nostrils. As if on cue, Tidus extended his hand saying “Here,” rustling his black linen short pockets to reveal 100 Gil. Moved by instinct, I took it, and turned to descend a walkway into the village. “Hey,” he said. “I’ll see you around.” The sight of his oversized Blitzball jersey, blond hair and blue eyes faded as I walked toward the village to buy a grilled chicken on a stick.

On my way to the village, I got lost in the thick jungle. A quick blur startled me, and before I knew it I was on the ground facing the fangs of a wildcat. To my rescue, a person not much older than me used a massive sword to distance the wildcat from us. Realizing defeat, it vanished into the jungle. I thanked the kid, noting his SOLDIER uniform. His ranks were pinned proudly on his shoulders; he was a first class soldier. We were both headed into town, and we made some conversation. He explained that he was sent by the SOLDIER headquarters on an investigation that he couldn’t disclose. SOLDIER, he explained, was the national military that was comprised completely of volunteers. At the age of 13, one decided whether to pursue traditional education or enroll in the officer training program at SOLDIER. He said he went into SOLDIER because he was inspired by his childhood heroes; being in SOLDIER held a sense of honor that the public looked up to. SOLDIER also handled the political and justice systems. Retired veteran SOLDIER members were elected into a ruling court system as judges, and random citizens were summoned for jury duty. The majority of crimes were petty, though, and serious crimes had not been committed in ages, and everything was fine. At least it seemed that way, and it was the general understanding of the people that they would like to believe that. A war had not been waged in the past few generations, and an era of peace prospered. At the end of our conversation, we approached the village and went or separate ways. Following my nose, I searched for the nearest food vendor.

As I wandered the town, I noticed that the people here were happy. They seemed to appreciate the original work of craftsmen; a system of free trade and a free market directly rewarded artisans. The extent of freedom in the market place was even more evident in the age old practice of bartering which I saw many people doing. There wasn’t a person that I encountered seeming gloomy or cynical; they were annoyingly sincere and truthful. They were focused, but went about their tasks at a leisurely pace. I spotted a food vendor just beyond the Temple grounds. The Temple stood confidently, towering over the surrounding buildings and tents. The words Fly like an Arrow of God gleamed off of its walls in gold and an enormous stained glass window bearing a dove let light shine in. As far as I could tell, the dove was a symbol of hope, peace, and purity – virtues that guided the lives of the villagers. After musing the temple and its surroundings, I moseyed to the man selling shish kabobs and poultry. Before I could ask for a particularly delicious looking and smelling barbecue chicken stick, my fantasy started to escape me. Reality hit me at full speed. I was in my basement once again surrounded by dusty photo albums, antiquated board games and a box full of childhood action figures.

The rest of that morning was spent playing Playstation 2 with my brother. We had both reached a breaking point, and for whatever reason, I think don’t think it was a coincidence that we were summoned to the videogames that we grew up on. It was like a subconscious call that we both answered to escape the reality that we were living in. Funny, I thought, for a place like my imagined utopia to exist at least somewhere in my mind. I guess there was some hope left in me, a little bit of fight that helped me get through the winter.

Off of Sabbatical.

2009-03-15T19:23:00.000-07:00

yeah. sorry.

The Palimpsest

There’s a sheet of paper alone on the desk
If you happen to see it, you know what is best:
Suppress the hand that’ll answer the call
of the cancerous sprawl on the palimpsest.
We find the colors, filling in dyes
with hues of blue and vermillion skies
‘till gradient reds are glazing our eyes,
we travel blind through the maze of our lives;
Hoping to scar the flesh of the labyrinth
From Krylon to crayons we press on the palimpsest
Hoping the magnitude can foster and manage to
Damage the fabric, murder and manifest.
It’s beautiful - but it’s also cancerous…
And the truth is we’ve all had a hand in it -
Leave our fingerprints, following faithfully
We scribble and scratch causing our calluses.
Destroy and rebuild with a gracious pen
Fabricate fallacies while faces grin
And spin the bottle to kiss the model
Who tells you her make up is paper thin.
It’s beautiful - but it’s also cancerous…
Calling us, making us ask what was true
Leaving our fingerprints all over the palimpsest…

Realizing the only answer was you.

shades of gray

2009-01-21T21:07:00.001-08:00

i'm not giving up on it.

The Photographer's Eye

2009-01-18T20:42:00.000-08:00

The Photographer’s Eye

I climb inside the minds of men...
With prying eyes from behind the lens:
Memories old from centuries ago
Rise and stride through life again.
***
This camera is my weapon of favor:
Seconds split to sediments
‘Till my rapid fire frenzy
empties all film left in the chamber.
Zoom from a distance to catch a view
of any attraction that passes through
- A wilting rose in a guilty pose
looking less red than black and blue.
At times this lens stares back at you!
Your own reflection - a shattering truth
That fades away in these shades of gray…
Reduced from what used to be a passionate bloom.

On a personal journey…
With no people around, being able to
see through the shroud of lies and deceit,
I realize what I see, for as much life a photo gives…

it takes in equal amounts.

I dropped the poses,
before the shutter slot could open
to treasure my smile; forever a child,
before my own coffin closes…
Candid photo’s reveal us all;
And we’re far too numb to feel the pull
As rapturous laughter is tacitly captured
- Another photograph steals your soul!

So even when I grow feeble and die
time could never keep me aligned
Live, then perish in the blink of an eye
I’m breathing alive…
buried deep in your mind.

funniest shit i seen in a minute.

2009-01-12T19:21:00.000-08:00

funniest shit i seen in a minute.

http://www.collegehumor.com/video:1896242

and this

time and time again.

2009-01-09T22:00:00.001-08:00

again? *sigh*.

Cut Your Nails.

2009-01-08T08:39:00.000-08:00

Cut Your Nails

“Obsession of man –
Scattering fact and fiction
Beware of passion”
***

Like long fingernails, poetry grew
from the stems of my fingertips.
It was a part of me before I knew it;
Looking down one day as it protruded
and poked into everything I touched.

It was the cure to my itch.
…
I would bleed Hughes’ verses
living A Dream Deferred through first person.
Hope nestled in every syllable
that kissed my tongue; a holy ritual
it became! Poe’s Raven crowed, saying
“Never more,” but I delighted in his lustrous lore!
Such truth that none had ever touched before
became an insatiable lust for more.
Poetry’s contradictions and idiosyncrasies
Somehow made sense and became in sync with me.
Any degree or depth of verse
Could never quench my thirst
and hunger for more…
Anxious for new tastes my tongue could explore!
I dug too deep to come back alive:
Biting these nails was more than a bad habit of mine,
but a reminder of a rapturous time
- a forgotten past trapped between lines.
…
Trying to resurface…
living with more of a purpose
than playing with words
and becoming a corpse of a person.
I’m taking the only course that is certain:
Drop this pen, and maybe run for help
Pray for someone to save me from myself.
Maybe I’ll live so you can touch the tale
of a man who learned to cut his

Tekkonkinkreet (Black and White)

2009-01-04T18:49:00.000-08:00

I finally found that movie Tekkonkinkreet today and just got finished watching it. Wow.

I thoroughly enjoyed this joint for many reasons. First off, the animation is incredible; music, production, everything was technically sound. The art is unique, and not your stereotypical/average anime - it's a refreshing style of anime to look at. The universal themes covered here are ridiculous. There's the obvious black/white symbolism, plus a whole other range of themes that fuck with your senses. Seriously, this movie was dope, illl with 3 L's.

I'll talk about this more later but I'm busy. Thanks mom.

GUYS. 2008 IS OVER. WHAT. THE. FUCK.

2008-12-31T18:20:00.001-08:00

WHAT IS GOING ON?

I guess I should be welcoming the new year, huh? Maybe it's my massive peter pan complex that is keeping me from being optimistic. Or maybe my brain is just going to explode over the shit that's going to happen over the next few months. Whatever. But... for old times' sake, here's a gem.

The Changing of Seasons

Dear summer, it’s the changing of seasons

Trapped in a maze full of angels and demons

Tried to write a verse to let the anguish release

But this god damn game is deceiving…

I ain’t saying that I’m quitting, or saying that I’m leaving

Its just that I’ve found a different reason to breathe

And life looks pretty with the birds and the bees

But there’s a new nature to this version of me

I’ve worked for years to do something amazing

For these ignorant people and lack of appreciation

I was living the life, but now I feel it’s over

The world must have frostbite from giving the cold shoulder

There was a point, when thinking the worlds over

I realized I’m still a human being…

And at this point, trying to appeal to the masses

I realize there is only you and me…

[Hook x2]

Now I look in the mirror at the face rearranging

And I ask who is changing, you or me?

Now I wonder if these feelings that I’m feeling

Are real, and are they the same thing I see?

I’ve struggled not to be like the rest, while forgetting

My worth like self titled albums not reflecting the best

I came from the days when I was scared to step

To the days when I stepped there was a blaze that was left

You gave me a shoulder for the days that I wept

But now that shoulder is frozen from the tears that were wet

Everything black and white like playing some chess

But you’ve grown so cold I don’t think there’s nothing left

Open my eyes, show me some worth!

Or am I just another rapper to you?

A dot on the map, another ant in the hill?

Just another herb tossed in the stew?

It’s gods game and the cards that were dealt

Are so hot in my hands that my hands about to melt

Am I just an old trophy at the top of the shelf?

And am I only god to myself?

[Hook x2]
Now I look in the mirror at the face rearranging
And I ask who is changing, you or me?
Now I wonder if these feelings that I’m feeling
Are real, and are they the same thing I see?

So as god loves us, and as my parents love me

Is how I love this thing called music…

But the way you react makes it blatant to see

That the masses of men confuse it!

I tried to be noticed, remember the name

But I crossed the line between pleasure and pain

I thought to myself, well never again

But a million failures are better in the end!

I could fly away like a feather with the pen

To right/write wrongs with sentences and letters that I mend

Well let the leaves fall and float on the thunder

Crash and let the snow fall in the summer!

But know while I speak and explain the game

Nothing ever changes, but nothing stays the same

Play the fool while we play the game

Nothing ever changes, but nothing stays the same…

[Hook x2]
Now I look in the mirror at the face rearranging
And I ask who is changing, you or me?
Now I wonder if these feelings that I’m feeling
Are real, and are they the same thing I see?

WHAT UP.

XMAS. just a bit.

2008-12-25T20:46:00.001-08:00

in a second.

xmas pics coming soon.

2008-12-24T22:46:00.000-08:00

yeah. sorry for the lack of activity. here's a poem i wrote last night. maybe i'll touch it up a bit... who knows.

The Porcelain Goddess

Confiding in the porcelain goddess
as chunks of lunch lunge from my stomach
and plunge in the bowl; that heinous toxic spit
releases my deepest secrets escaping my esophagus.

I could just

clutch my abdomen and close my eyes
and rest in peace and purge my soul,
but I lurched once more and coughed for a second
when I looked into the toilet and saw my reflection.

It taught me a lesson.

Believe in the adage “you are what you eat”

then puke your guts out till nothing remains;

But everything you carry inside will stay

until you finally flush your life away.

i'm hungry

2008-12-15T20:28:00.003-08:00

shit yo, i'm hungry

lols sorry no picsz

2008-12-15T20:23:00.001-08:00

Here's what I'm diggin right now...

I want to see this.

I've been bumping this for a second.

And I feel like this.

one

The Diving Bell and The Butterfly

2008-12-07T19:57:00.000-08:00

Yeah, I just wanted to mention this movie I saw tonight. Though at times overly artsy-indie-fag-ish (footage of a melting ice shelf, which somehow held some powerful metaphorical meaning...) it was pretty good. I'ts about a guy who suffered a stroke, ended up mute and paralyzed, then wrote a book only by blinking and a complicated process of communicating. It was kinda sad, but at the same time it was cool being reminded about the determination of man and his will to live.

Yeah, um.

2008-12-07T19:27:00.001-08:00

I haven't been taking many pictures. Sorry. I'm mad busy now.

Advanced Global Personality Test Results
Extraversion 43%
Stability 43%
Orderliness 53%
Altruism 43%
Interdependence 50%
Intellectual 63%
Mystical 30%
Artistic 90%
Religious 90%
Hedonism 50%
Materialism 50%
Narcissism 63%
Adventurousness 50%
Work ethic 56%
Self absorbed 76%
Conflict seeking 43%
Need to dominate 56%
Romantic 70%
Avoidant 36%
Anti-authority 50%
Wealth 30%
Dependency 63%
Change averse 70%
Cautiousness 56%
Individuality 76%
Sexuality 56%
Peter pan complex 90%
Physical security 43%
Physical Fitness 84%
Histrionic 70%
Paranoia 36%
Vanity 50%
Hypersensitivity 56%
Female cliche 36%

Fantasy

2008-12-04T19:49:00.000-08:00

I've played way too many RPG's. I want to live in a motherfucking Final Fantasy game or something... that'd be fucking dope.

The Past Week

2008-12-02T19:57:00.000-08:00

It's been a long ass week...
11/26/08

The season becomes a blur.

After school with L and K.

Sorry K.

11/27/08
Our quads.

Boredom bus

11/28/08
Haircuttin' early.

Fresh for the fam photos.

Nigga.

11/29/08
5 Guys (again) before bowling with SEARCH folk.

Sorry no pics for Sunday, Monday, or Tues.

Haiku Bonanza

2008-11-25T18:51:00.001-08:00

As daydreams take flight
Escaping reality
I wrote a haiku

A minds franticness
Simmers into calming depths
Of a good nights rest

Obsession of man -
Scattering fact and fiction
Beware of passion

Lost aspirations
Reflecting on thinning ice
Lonely is this road

This is what I do:
Killing time with silly lines
Rhyming in haiku

My understatement
Eclipses your brightest hope
Your hyperbole

I watch the grass grow
Biting nails and tapping toes
Boredom at its best

Sunrise breaks the dawn
Birds gossip chirping sweetly
Singing in springtime

Happiness captured
Riding along the songs beat
Love through highs and lows

Foreign faces pry
Probing my mind bitterly
The truth is ugly
***
11/24/08
Home for lunch.

They renovated the fuck out of the Livingston Mall...

Nigga, Santa Clause ain't coming this year.

Victory!

Waited for dad at the trainstation.

Follow Me

2008-11-23T20:21:00.000-08:00

This weekend I went on the SEARCH church retreat up in Newton, NJ. It was fun, and I met a lot of new faces and became familiar with some that I knew in passing. At the beginning of the trip, they took our phones and watches so I couldn't take any pictures during the weekend. The following pictures are from the dinner after the retreat...
***
From L-R we have Amanda, Jenna, Chris, Polish...

Patrick R

Jack D the rastafarian LAX'er.

Nina, the retreat organizer/leader.

and again.

Still here.

Nina-fish!

Amanda laughs at a joke!

The view down the table. I'm the blur on the left, then there's Kevin, and someone else behind him. Not everyone came to this dinner because some people left before then.

Chicken Quesadilla!

Moar people

Between you and me, I'mma stay right here.

Mozzchess Sticks.

Action shot: OMG it's too hot!

Zoe!

Jack D.

Eye for eye, tooth for tooth.

Moar table.

The wonderful Broadway Diner in Summit, NJ.

A great weekend indeed.

Fuck Your Love Lockdown

2008-11-20T20:14:00.003-08:00

To think that love is a giant animal that grazes upon the meadows next to the pine forests is ludicrous, but truthful. It leaves the softest of footprints on the soil, and barely cracks a blade of grass under its hoof. Its fur is thin and light, but warm enough for the bleakest of winters. The antlers are made of glass and fireflies, and they seem to quiver every time it breathes. It has a terrible habit of blinking twice every time it lowers its head to chew on the grass, and sometimes it forgets that maybe winter isn't so bad, maybe the meadow isn't as empty as it should be, maybe it's okay for the hunter to pin it down and sheer its fur. Sometimes, even you forget that the fur the hunter brings home comes from such an animal who lives in the meadow of your heart, but instead you remark on how soft and beautiful the fur is on the drape of your neck. And the hunter will snatch it from you with his bloodied hands, and scold you, How many other men have brought you its gift only for you to love with your eyes and nothing else? The door will close, and he will leave you standing there in the snow, wondering why your dress of furs no longer keeps you warm.

Cioffi's

2008-11-20T20:07:00.001-08:00

As daydreams take flight
Escaping reality
I wrote a haiku
***
Tried out a new restaurant: Cioffi's.

Had the Chicken Cioffi.

Boredom Haikus

2008-11-19T20:21:00.001-08:00

I. Students clamoring
Chatter rattles blissfully
An absent teacher

II. Distant summertime
Fading into memory
A paradise lost

III. The death of the sun
Lost among the cold fabric
Winter suffocates
***
Lunch shenanigans. Bagel Bites.

Fucked them up, you dumbass.

YOU PUT PAPER IN THE FUCKING OVEN. HOLY FUCK.

Oh, hai(ku, get it!?)

Snow and Soccer

2008-11-18T19:12:00.000-08:00

Snow today!

Waiting for Freddie.

Who isn't jealous of Will Smith?

Ramapo's soccer roster. We were heckling their players at the game. lawlz.

In the car w/ Bry up to Indian Hills HS.

Joey came along too.

Sorry, I forgot to take pictures at the game. I was too occupied with making fun of Aldo, Peter, and the other kids on their team.

Lithium Lips

2008-11-17T19:21:00.000-08:00

Raymond Helfrich from Nauna's found the blog - that's pretty cool. Again, if you're reading this, apologies for the gratuity confusion - we would never jip a hard working waiter/waitress out of their well deserved tip. The food was wonderful (chicken nauna is major yum) and the service was excellent. If I was ever a food critic, it would certainly get a 5/5.

On another note: I'm working on a new EP called Between You and Me featuring my two most recent tracks Goodnight Stars, and Between You and Me. As far as Shades of Gray, the album, goes... well... who knows.
www.soundclick.com/erek or www.myspace.com/erektunez for your listening pleasure.
***
Start off in the lib.

Then Carolyn drove me home for lunch: leftover Nauna's

Back to the lib.

Trehondo.

The sky is the limit.

And they told me the world was mine...

omfg yes.

I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN!

When tears freeze in July pt. 2

Home for lunch.

St. Rose after school - went by to drop some stuff off.

Peace, love, unity, and justice for all->

Dreams

2008-11-17T18:39:00.000-08:00

Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.

Man, that origami dream is beautiful, but it'll never leave the ground/ Without a feather and a lottery ticket, now settle down!/

Girls Ain't Nothin' but Trouble! pt. 3

2008-11-16T20:52:00.000-08:00

Went to Nauna's with the Picaches today.

Gully-ver's travels pt. X

Dad + the wino.

They're here!

yep.

Tita Cheri.

Mama @ Nauna's

Bennick

There was a cute waitress there... *swoon*

Interviews and Pavilions

2008-11-15T19:46:00.000-08:00

Off to my interviews with the panel from Senator Menendez and Senator Lautenberg.
On the ride there.

Yep.

x2

Afterwords, we went to Spanish Pavillion in Newark. Gully-ver's travells pt. 2

At the bar.

Mom x Dad.

A million pavillions.

Poppa rocks.

Back at the bar.

Sangria and a menu.

Outside, about to leave.

Moms. Idk why the order is fucked up but I'm too lazy to fix it.

Newark streetz is watching.

x2

The Bell and the Meat Festival

2008-11-14T20:01:00.000-08:00

11/13/08
***
Went to Taco Bell for lunch.

I'm full!

Not really.

yeah.

That table has a lot of history. (Bryan in the first post of this blog... etc.)

Trehondo.

Jammin' to tapes of Jimi

and 60's R&B.

11/14/08
***
MEAT FESTIVAL FOR LUNCH:
Fallek hosted the meat festival at his house. Long story short, a surplus of pure MEAT became our lunch for today. Ginormous piles of MEAT, more than enough to serve 10 teenage males. We were like lions at feeding time. Then came the cookies. It was glorious in it's own way, but fucked up on the whole - inhumane amounts of MEAT + chocolate chip cookies + sprite = ???

Almost done finishing my MEAT.

Pete wrapped a strip of steak with a chocolate chip cookie. Manliness right there.

A Hip-Hop Head

2008-11-13T20:37:00.000-08:00

A Hip-Hop Head

I was a hip-hop head. Still am, I suppose, at the core. It was one of three choices you had in middle school, when I was on the cusp of adolescence: a hip-hop head, a rock enthusiast, or the top 40’s radio listener, with all the attendant CD’s, posters and day dreams. Little did we know that in some broad way we were defining the sort of people we were on our way to becoming.

The kids who listened to the radio, playing all of the popular songs were your average middle-school teens: following fads, reciting radio lyrics in unison, and changing just as quickly as the next trend. The rock enthusiasts were just as complicated as the subdivisions of the genre itself. Some were conservative and some were outright crazy – but they all valued the integrity of the music; the magical melodies that could only be produced by their favorite band. Hip-hop captured the kids like me. It was simple, but full of personality. In hip-hop, the MC was just as important as the music he made. It was too different for my mainstream suburban town. We were the outsiders, and the music was the only sense of security and certainty in our rapidly changing lives.

Who knew what the rock enthusiast would think? Hip-hop heads were not in the least surprised whenever we strutted down the street, with our Adidas, baggy clothes and gold chains, only to watch a person down the sidewalk cross the street to avoid our path. True, we were loud, but never obnoxious. Even though we didn’t listen to Simon and Garfunkel, we still occupied the same town as those who did. As groups formed in middle school, they followed tradition by including their suburban buddies and excluding the “ghetto” kids. They couldn’t understand how we could appreciate a culture that glorified everything they were raised against: graffiti vandalism, flashy dancing, and electronic music. Rhythms created by machines!? They looked away from us as if we bastardized their beloved, technically superior music and reduced it into the simplest 4/4 boom bap beat. They couldn’t believe that we took a few bars from Jimi or sampled songs from decades past. Perhaps the breaking point was when we took that bass line from David Bowie. Somewhere along the way, they had grown to dislike the change and adaptation we represented taking bits and pieces from different parts of our lives and piecing them together with only the intent of seeing the sun rise the next day.

Over the years I’ve sometimes tried to escape being a hip-hop head, but it’s never worked for long. I was probably the only kid in my middle school that had moved twice and lived in Europe. My father was in the Air Force and the military dictated the path my life would take, telling my family to go to Utah, then Germany. Maybe Japan was next, or, perhaps Naples Air Force Base in Italy? With such a constant influx of friends that would come and go, I learned to make the most of my situation. This time, I was in Millburn, New Jersey, and I sought to make some friends as I awaited my next destination. After my first full week of school, I was invited to hang out with a group of typical Millburn seventh graders. We went downtown on a Friday afternoon, eating Carvel ice cream and visiting the comic book store. A part of my heart, however, was still in Germany. An afternoon in downtown Millburn couldn’t compare with roaming around Wiesbaden’s walkplatz or loitering in front of the Post Exchange, rapping and break dancing. I was infected with hip-hop and its culture. No matter what I tried, that hip-hop part of me never left. Its influence touches the core of my very existence, becoming apparent in the tiniest things that I do. Why did my sneakers have to be so crispy clean all the time, while my peers dug up their backyards and crawled through dirt playing war games? Why was it that whenever I was on the phone, I doodled my name with all of the complexities and style of a graffiti tag? For how long had I been strutting with the swagger and confidence of a break dancer?

It’s no wonder I was too different for this town. My life moved at a pace faster than my peers, and it was to the rhythm of that break beat on the turntables. Adjusting to the frequent changes was like playing a card game: you had to take life at each turn and figure out your next move as soon as possible. Everything was spontaneous. Of course, my counterparts knew little about change. Their families ran generations deep in Millburn history. They were tethered to the same town, fed the same beliefs, and expected to do the same things. They listened to the same music as their parents, but under a different name and with different lingo. Sometimes I harbored feelings of envy for them and their safety. Even if I was “raising hell” like Run DMC, I sometimes wished that my life had been laid out on a map with what to do, and when to do it. The AC/DC listening populous of the town had built strong relationships with one another, in their families and friends. It amazed me to see teachers with pictures and memorabilia from students who had long graduated. I remember in sixth grade, Mr. Eidem once poked fun at the unique “military brat” situation by laughing at the idea that all of his students may one day remember him, while the odds were that he wouldn’t remember a single one of us. The Millburn kids, the ones that loved Aerosmith and Bob Dylan had it made. They were set for life.

I got to know them better in high school and realized that they were dealing with their own set of cards, and that they were just as concerned about their future as I was. “Fail” a test and get a B; go to church just to get confirmed and never go again; do everything with the interest of going to that Ivy-League school. That’s how they played their game.

We’ve all changed significantly since then, but sometimes I fear a life of rapping, break dancing and graffiti writing. Even if life has played me an interesting hand by placing me in Millburn, I sometimes find comfort in a traditional life expected to someday live in a million dollar house. But regardless of what music you were listening to, we were all in the same struggle of trying to find a way to grow up. It’s just that sometimes the superficial human mind tends to take over and we almost believe ourselves (though it may be odd that I mourn the death of Big Pun, Frosty Freeze, and Dondi.)

I guess I can play the game better now – smarter moves, with regard to how my peers are playing too. I think of hip-hop heads like pairs of sneakers: though our colors and design may change, we still have the same sole and laces; the basics that remain close to us and guide us through each and every step. Hip-hop was the pulse of our lives; it kept us alive during hot summers and dead winters, through the changing seasons and changing locations. Of course, now I understand why each kid listened to what; I understand how each variety of music played a role in how they played their cards.

I listened to Bring Da Ruckus by the Wu Tang Clan the other day. The hip-hop spirit I possess is still alive and kicking, though I now find Teenage Wasteland equally enriching.

Misery Loves Comedy

2008-11-12T18:55:00.001-08:00

idkwhyinamedthisthat
***
Holly not so jolly.

Ching chong for lunch.

Naruto x Bleach x Eyesheild 21

Took a pic of this for Dougan.

And this.

***
His name is Curt, he says, but everyone calls him Curly. He doesn't mind, though, and in fact, he likes his nickname. He often works late into the night while others are fast asleep, slowly sweeping the floors and wiping the windows. He prefers to call himself a custodian, he tells his mop as he cleans the floor, instead of a mere janitor. Being the only one there, his mop listens intently, and wordlessly, waiting for him to continue.

After a few minutes of slushing and splashing, Curt breaks the silence. He tells the mop that he's seen alot of people walking down the hallway, so many that he's learned that you can tell people apart by the way they hold their car keys. There are the ones who hold them loosely with a jingle now and then, and those who keep them hidden in their pockets, making sure they're there every now and then. There are those who walk around asking others if they've seen a pair of misplaced keys, and finally there are those who don't have car keys. Instead, they ride the bus, letting life take them wherever it is it wants to go.

He takes a look around, and excitedly whispers to the mop that sometimes he likes to turn off all the lights and just breathe in the darkness, wrap himself in it with a smile. And then he holds his breath, until he can hear it - someone else breathing next to him - and he can't help but shudder because its at that moment that he feels his heart following the beat of the world's, his breath sighed out by the earth. When he turns the lights back on, the sounds disappear as if the world is driven away into some hidden corner, silently watching him, waiting to softy follow him again.

He tells the mop that this is what true love must feel like, waiting in the dark with someone's lips near your ear, slowly exhaling, as if wanting to tell you something, but holding back. Sometimes, he finds himself waiting for hours for that voice to speak, straining his ears for anything, a single word, a single letter. When the sun begins to rise, he sighs and gets ready to leave, carrying a small bit of hope for when he returns later that night.

Have you ever felt that, he asks, that shudder in the night? After minutes of silence, he asks the mop, Have you been listening to a word I've said?

And the mop replies, Yes.

Girls ain't nothing but trouble! pt. 2

2008-11-11T19:37:00.001-08:00

Five guys for lunch again.

Feat Dan x Pete x Hertz x Me

Way back to school.

Gian marco. I haven't seen that good looking waitress in a while :(.

New Uniqlo sweater.

Pollo Sinatra = Pollo Sayonara!

I endorse this product.

***
On another note, we got carpeting pads for the stairs - so now Lola can go up and down the different floors of the house!

One fantastic love ->

Sorry

2008-11-10T19:56:00.001-08:00

Todays pics were all fucked up for some reason.

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore-- And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

The City.

2008-11-09T19:51:00.000-08:00

Started the day with church and a walk with Lols.

Walking.

Red leaves.

Red sea.

Red. wtf. Everything is red.

Lola vs. the branch.

The dilemma of Faust in an organic form.

Enlightened Lola.

Holland tunnel. I think this is illegal.

The City.

Naruto x InYusha x Neon Genesis Evangeleon x Bleach

I like my women of the marinated variety.

Gully-ver's travells.

Uniqlo.

Robama.

Shit...

Sweet!

Inside Puma - the belly of the beast.

Yes.

Good morning ladies.

Neck Face is ugly!

The past two days...

2008-11-08T19:49:00.000-08:00

It goes on.

To-days to-do:

Dropped Lols off for her grooming.

Off to lunch feat. mom.

And the biz.

x2

Short Hills mall.

Parking.

Xmas shit already!?

Forreal, gtfo.

Son, it's not even thanksgiving yet.

...

yup.

I tried to capture your stereotypical black people that roam the mall. You know, the ones in Ed Hardy/True Religion and shit because it's "designer" and "expensive".
cpk ftw.

Can you find me?

Sippin' on some club sodas. Welcome to Jamrock.

When we were waiting.

wat

After the mall, went to pick up the lols.

Lols, after her fresh cut from da cli joint.

Babysitting later. Josh and Shira.

Josh.

Playing.

Shira.

Playing.

James' x Me x Wasim x Harry x Tony.

Keep senior citizens off the road, please.

Sorry, buddy :(

Rainy Day Rhyme Sessions

2008-11-06T17:22:00.000-08:00

11/06/08
Here's a slideshow of todays adventures over the freestyle
we dropped at Ed's house. It was dope.
You might want to turn off the music at the very bottom of the page before playing the vid.

It'll keep going.

Just woke up.

Going out. Deli, then Ed's house to chill and rap. Top.

Bottom. "From my fitted cap, to my Nike Dunks!"

Rainy days not so resilient.

Walking to the deli.

It's the changing of seasons.

Ed's new studio. Still being worked on.

Boom-bap.

Ate here, chillin in the studio.

A lot of instruments around the house. That little box apparently

"creates lightning bolts in it, so that the particles in the air drop
to the floor - smell included." Kind of beats whatever you did at
rehab.

Beat boxin' ed.

The mic, another one is on the ground. (no vis)

On the way home.

Leftover deli: turkey trot, iced tea, and twizzlers for the munchies.

The hood.

To-days to-do:

One fantastic love->

This is what wrestling does to you.

2008-11-05T21:42:00.000-08:00

illit3r4t3: the mentality that wrestling creates is at such an extreme that normal shit that puts us through the day, shit that normal people pay attention to, is so small to us.
illit3r4t3: because at the end of the year, every year during winter, we know that shit is just going to fucking SUCK. so your definition of SUCK is just you being a pussy.
illit3r4t3: that's why we find shit like that funny.

4 day weekend!

2008-11-05T18:18:00.000-08:00

4 Day weekend! NJ Teacher's Convention ftw.
***
Just a reminder.

Before the change.

Walking to Katie's house for the ride to school. 7:20 am.

Changing of seasons.

The hood.

Katie's house. 7:25 a.m.

Off to school, feat. Katie and Yulia. 7:30 a.m.

Period 2, library with Freddie. "Gah, no pictures!"

"Ok, maybe one."

"...Or two."

Lunch. Langley drove us to Five Guys. Packed car. 11:10 a.m.
Featuring Berk.

Yum. feat. Hertz and Pete. The crew was: Me, Langley, Dan, Pete,
Berkencamp, and Hertz.

Lola after school. Cute-cute naman.

x2.

Fin.

I'll keep my mouth shut on this one...

2008-11-04T20:15:00.000-08:00

I'll keep my mouth shut on this one...

A Big Day

2008-11-04T18:25:00.001-08:00

Election day 2008.
***
"The End of the Alphabet" is a great book that should be read by all.

This documentary is about the realest man who ever lived. Henry
Darger amassed epic novels with original art over his entire lifetime
... all for the praise of none other but himself.

12:21 11/04/08 History

I start off the day in the library.

Went to Livingston mall for lunch with Langely.

Sarku, to be exact.

After that, headed back to the library to finish up some hw.

Display in the library. VOTE.

After school.

Casa Colombo - where I "rocked the vote".

Walked Lola.

Or... she walked me?

Casa Colombo from across the street. The line wasn't too long at all.

Fin
***
Shower
The binging and purging of kisses and urges
An image of passion and lasting perfection
Reflecting from mirrors through steam and fog
The dream, the blur, comes crashing in seconds
The hiss of a faucet and sigh of affection
Lips so seductive; your eyes leave me breathless
Seeking an exit but trapped in the dance
The trance of the present, the gift of the heavens
Your hips rotate the handles and loosen
The channel, the surge, the unstoppable force
Of tropical storms halting the pace
And cadence of a wanderer falling off course
The comfort, cleansing, the clearing of mind
As tears of a crime, fall seeking the floor:
Heat of the moment now withers away
With the sins of the xpreviousx evening before.

Well...

2008-11-03T20:33:00.001-08:00

We'll give it a shot, again.

A New Season is upon Us.

2008-11-03T20:04:00.001-08:00

Walk with me.

DEAD SUMMER SONGS!

2008-08-23T12:18:00.000-07:00

"Dead Summer Songs" is a collection of loose tracks I've got floating around. Some didn't make the upcoming album "Shades of Gray", others are just tracks done for fun. Either way, I hope you takethe time out to listen to them. Consider this an appetizer as we're wrapping up the album.

Track List:
1. Faith in Me ... 4:10
2. Hey John Doe ... 4:34
3. Rain ... 3:41
4. Coffee ... 4:05
5. Walk with Me ... 5:10
6. Changing of Seasons ... 4:31
TOTAL ... 26:06

DL LINKS:
http://www.zshare.net/download/1751449600bdd416/
http://www.megaupload.com/?d=T3XGTIN4
http://rapidshare.com/files/139562576/Dead_Summer_Songs_EP_-_E-REK.rar.html

sneak peak...!

2008-08-19T23:22:00.001-07:00

ssshhh...

The Monthly Check Up:

2008-03-02T19:20:00.001-08:00

It's been a long month - and I haven't had much time to keep up with this. Lot's happened, I'm sure I missed some exciting stuff but... here's what you get.
***

When tears freeze in July. Snowing in the summer.
While taking a shit at school, I looked up and saw this (Below):

Haha. "None shall pass". I don't remember when I drew/wrote that.

Districts: Pollock took 2nd, Waters took 3rd. These flicks were taken after I was teched in the first round by LeMatty wrestling about 15 lbs up.
Spectators inclue: Pat with the 119 jacket, Schwartz on the right, plus Collingwood in the hoody, Chase next to him, Prez in the warm-up talking to Collingwood, Swick, and Coach Lombardys head. Waters is in the singlet getting ready.

Waters is up.

Arty getting ready for his 3rd place bout.

Waters checking in.

And getting ready.

Arty shoots that nigga out.

Arty again.

Babysitting is a difficult task: watching Spongebob.
Chillin.

Shira.

Josh. This nigga schooled me at that airhockey game.

It's funny, because this is where all of your beloved "fresh" streetwear ends up: Burlington Coat Factory/Marshalls/Any other discount store... Check it!
MF+G

LRG Polo - from $44.00 to 8 bucks.

Gino Green Global. What a shitty brand.

This... is the culmination of whack rappers and clothing deals.

This is an abomination to man.

Made by the "prestigous" - Stashhouse.

Yes... you read right - from $204.99 to 60 bucks.

RIP BIG PUN!

2008-02-07T18:25:00.000-08:00

"Everybody's checking for Pun, second to none!
'Cause Latin going platinum was destined to come!"

RIP BIG PUN! First Latino artist to go platinum.

The Changing of Seasons

Rorschach's Reflection

English Final

erin

swing

Vignettes: IV

Vignettes: III

Vignettes I

so yo.

full circle

Kaya's Bus

hmmm...

i can never write when im calm

im in french class right now

On Graffiti

BTW.

From Seattle to Reno

Here's some dope.

lol

The Words Used to Come Naturally...

oh, hi

School Daze

pulling teeth (not done)

2:00 AM 1/5/09

the law of one

where the wind may blow

im alive

out

11:11 Wishes

One Hour Photo

langton hughes is dope

Someone Asked Me What I Write About

What I Write About

The Life of a Vagrant

It's 11:50 PM and I need to get my sleep schedule back on track.

i found you i found you i found you

Memories...

Memories of an MC who You've Never Heard Of

:(

Hip-Hop Bootleggers

Shades of Gray on the Soul Dojo!

AHA!

Is inevitability fate?

Closing Time...

=|

Twitter

Misery Loves Comedy

This is Me

*side note*

A lost beginning...

Gratitude.

Give Me a Weapon to SCAR THE EARTH!

the tugboat complex

Show on 3/28/09

HEY YOU

A Tribute to Emmy Rossum

Utopia Assignment

Off of Sabbatical.

shades of gray

The Photographer's Eye

funniest shit i seen in a minute.

time and time again.

Cut Your Nails.

Tekkonkinkreet (Black and White)

GUYS. 2008 IS OVER. WHAT. THE. FUCK.

XMAS. just a bit.

xmas pics coming soon.

i'm hungry

lols sorry no picsz

The Diving Bell and The Butterfly

Yeah, um.

Fantasy

The Past Week

Haiku Bonanza

Follow Me

Fuck Your Love Lockdown

Cioffi's

Boredom Haikus

Snow and Soccer

Lithium Lips

side note