There’s too much confusion without relief. Morning sun hits my eyes for another day, but I don’t want to embrace the day just yet. Begrudgingly, I shower, shave, and find my clothing for the day. I’m ready to embrace the day in all its abysmal glory. A haphazard journey embracing the unknown; I shake my head at the thought of today. I gaze to the heavens for guidance then I laugh at my own wretched predicament. This small ritual happens when I’m on the daily grind. We all know this cycle extremely well. Tunnel vision becomes the norm as we sink into the grime of a routine. Dead-end jobs to whatever soul sucking monotony invades our lives, the frustration is beyond proportions. We’re easily addicted to our drug; we fill endless crack houses without any ounces of self-respect. Willingly, we free-fall into the abyss not giving a damn about an outcome. Somehow, light is at the end of the tunnel. Rejuvenation lies deep within our goals and aspirations to drives us through into a brighter future. Brighter future?!? Perspective is key for that belief. The pitfall of my daily grind lies within my writing and sketching. Endless nagging eats away my insides causing an up rise in my intestines. The feeling you get when you have to accomplish this task for some internal reasoning, but you don’t know why. It’s like God has one mission for you to complete, so your mission wakes you up in the morning. Even the world knows of your duty causing awkward occurrences to happen during your day. Rain, sleet, snow, or the apocalypse can happen, yet you awaken to create your own luck in this crapsack world. Entrepreneurs into the unknown for our own better tomorrow to change our fate. That’s why we try so hard on the daily grind because we want to achieve some way out of the abyss. Obstacles can’t be that bad? Most folks feel life is a joke, although I believe you and I been through that. Shamelessly, we push forward in a barbaric generation! Fight the good fight, brethren! We’ll shoot for the moon and if we miss we’ll be amongst the stars! Whatever happens, happens! If you ask me, blood, sweat, and tears—that’s the daily grind!
The streets are under my feet. My dirty boots hit the ground, and I embrace the smell. My nostrils are engulfed by the stench; the smell is a balance that ranges from delightful to rancid. Cultures stroll within the city of Savannah every day. Everyone caught up in their own personal affairs. As I walk by everybody, I find myself in disgust; however, I’m just as disgusting. Around me, folks fill the air with obnoxious gossip. My eyes observe the muck: the nook and crannies the main populous doesn’t notice. There’s an eccentric beauty to this place. A subtle enchantment works its way into my system. Lord grant me peace, because I need it. I despise it all, and I despise the way I feel. Somehow, I wouldn’t have it any other way. I want y’all to do something for me. I want y’all to take time to breathe in your environment. Inhale the scent of your city. We can forget how elaborate a place can be. All walks of life pass by us each day. Take a moment to appreciate it. Your change of perspective leads to a change in attitude. Go ahead take a different look at your surroundings. You can be that outsider looking through the window maybe get a bird’s eye view. If you manage a change of scene, you’ll see the cloud with a silver lining.
Your curves always turn me on;
a certain sway when you walk.
I’m captivated by you.
Our eyes meet,
I’m enchanted by your gaze!
Tempted into your subtle entrapment!
I can’t help it!
The feel of your breath against my neck;
your scent tantalizes my senses.
Together in our intimate passion.
United in our lovely afterglow.
The news is a never-ending trainwreck. We can’t help but keep our eyes on it. An innate sense of fear of the unknown scares us, therefore we create paranoia theories. Our daily news includes the following: police brutality with murky truths of how or why it happened, racial tensions between the two usual suspects, the illusion for “equality for all” issues either spoken out or swept under the rug, and terrorists terrorizing the masses for attention purposes. These are the proper ingredients for the news. Delicious, isn’t it?
Tragedy catches more attention on the headlines than any other story. Tragedy offers a bittersweet taste in our mouths. No one likes tragedy, but the gravitational pull yanks us in close. Could it be we’re masochist enjoying human connection felt through pain? Remember: sex, death, horror, shady politics, and spontaneous violence. These simple topics masquerade themselves as “good news.” News isn’t told by the truth. News isn’t complete unless coverage is slanted towards a specific political biases; fiction becomes fact.
During the Spanish-American War, newspapers tried to capitalize on the incident for sells. Two major publishers, John Pulitzer and William Hearst, ignited the term yellow journalism. Yellow journalism was a style that emphasized sensationalism over facts. Hearst and Pulitzer devoted attention to the ongoing war through yanking the emotional strings of readers and occasionally printing arousing lies. This coverage, accompanied by bold headlines and imaginative illustrations, sold many papers in favor of both publishers. A technique used in the 1890s influences the styles of today (i.e. NBC’s Brian Williams’ Iraq Incident). All news media strives toward an accurate news without bias.
Despite their good intentions, errors will happen, humans aren’t without mistakes. Each individual has an internal belief system of right and wrong. No one will agree on every issue. On their best day, reporters can try to provide facts with an honest perspective. On their worst days, reporters are bias, slanted pushing their own agendas. Journalists paint their own version according to their vision. The lack of appropriate questions accompanied by the lack of investigation equals fraud to the viewers. Journalistic sloppiness!
The news media changes its makeup to attract new customers. Its mascara trails down its face, foundation is caked up, and lipstick smeared off; however, it has no problem whoring itself out for needed attention. Regardless of the prices, society is always willing to pay for it. We’re eager to undress and commence in vile fornication. No matter what group we belong to racial, political or otherwise, we’re all duped after we orgasm. We’ll trust in anything that authenticates our importance that we’ll endure in this world. Can you trust the news? You can only trust it with vigilance and knowing what answers to search for. Even I’m biased with my views, except I offer you food for your grey matter to masticate.
The club scene has been romanticized throughout our culture. The promise of a new experience catches the eye of the beholder. Could it be the enchanting music? Maybe it’s the hypnotic atmosphere? Or is it the attraction of a one night stand? All these contributions are important factors. However, alcohol is the fuel that rushes adrenaline through your veins. Unfortunately, too much can lead to a burnout with terrible side effects. Clubbing manifests into a foreign language. The language is quite complex, but the trick is learning the correct translation. If you can’t interpret the information your lost in translation. In most cases, you’ll find unexpected “friends” within the “system.” In order to maintain your “friendship”, you must “fuel up” to become another individual: the individual mutated by external circumstance. This was a predicament I learned to avoid by “fuel” management. I’ve traveled to different countries during my military career. During the down time, I experienced a vast amount of the nightlife. From Korea to Prague, each country has a distinct nightlife, but England resonates with me. The British nightlife is primarily motivated by lust, pride, and gluttony. This is a daily routine and a lifestyle. It became adopted by us as well. The best way to relax after an unpredictable shift, disgruntled leadership or recall. Oh! The trials of Security Forces!
Once we entered the club, all our troubles were washed away. Our distorted view of salvation was behind the doors of our deviant church. The British are friendly towards Americans. Even though our culture and accents captivated them, we were captivated by their nightlife. Personality is a must within any club. The three main personalities are: drunk, douche and seductress. First, is the drunk. In England, the drunk was the most entertaining of the personalities. It is also the most bi-polar of the three. The drunk guzzles down copious amounts of alcohol. The alcohol would settle deep within the bowels then the transformation is complete. The accent is incredibly slurred, personal space is gone and everything is over dramatized. For example, the enduring love of America. This love is expressed through obscene expletives followed by British jargon, unexpected hugs and a kiss if you’re lucky. Occasionally, articles of clothing would disappear. The drunk has the innate ability to be “that guy (girl).” The vital character of the story who randomly appears then disappears. A drunken court jester for the drunken high society. Second, is the douche. The British douche is no different from the American douche. The main difference is this douche has an accent accompanied with a love for skinny jeans. He’s obnoxious, a player, a goon or whatever embodiment of male testosterone comes to mind. He doesn’t always look the part of a stereotypical douche. I’ve had an encounter with the scrawny version. This guy became a quick annoyance to my female friend. I intervened in the situation and he told me “Better step off me, bruv!” I had to admit his brick smashed face was intimidating. “Look she doesn’t want to talk you,” I said to him. In an immediate response, I pulled my friend along. Brick face was left in bewilderment. It’s better to outsmart the douche than be the douche. Lastly, is the seductress. I’ve witnessed many good men devoured by this maneater. I believe it’s the appeal of a foreign woman. She knows the appropriate tactics to use to capture the elusive American military man. She’ll make use of her sultry accent coupled by American slang. She’ll even maintain the charade until your either married or in a devote relationship. An intoxicatingly beautiful, charismatic, charming woman who puts a spell on any man. Yet, there is a fatal flaw. At our base, we had one of the only Popeye’s in England. Popeye’s was located close to the dorms. So, the starter question: “Have you been to Popeye’s?” If the answer is yes, I’m sorry for you. If the answer is no, I’ll recommend to proceed with caution.
An alluring party atmosphere creates vibes all around. Vibes become felt through constant stimulation; it simultaneously internal and external. Except it doesn’t work without the necessary catalyst. If you’ve recalled from the previous paragraph about fuel- Congratulations! Alcohol is what transformed Dr. Jekyll into Mr. Hyde. No other substance has the ability to transform human beings into monstrosities of loose inhibitions. My friend, Riv, was one individual with this ability. Whenever our crew went out, it was always possible to tell when Riv began his transformation. He reassured us he never was drunk or tipsy. This was proven wrong when he approached the dance floor. His small frame would shuffle through the mass sea of people to salsa dance with random women. Many women obliged to his proposal. It was impressive the offers he would gather afterwards. This example shows alcohol loosens inhibitions and management is a must. The downside happens when you’re out of control. There’s consequences for your degenerative actions. Either you become the annoying character in the retelling of last night or your head first vomiting in a toilet. It’s an instant endless struggle for dominance between your inner self. You’re stuck in the main personality of the drunk, but you’ve mutated into a ravenous monster. The aftermath is always scary because you can’t determine last night’s endeavor.
It’s a savage journey into the night, but we’ll try to embrace the hangover in the morning.
I woke up this morning in a hazy daze. Barely able to walk, I make the mistake of tripping over my own two feet. Another average morning in the haze of disenchantment. I know being disenchanted is the norm nowadays. Social media cultivates this mentality without any assistance; it’s the infernal monster at the end of the book. We’re sucking on the tits of Facebook, bathing in the cesspool of Twitter, and consumed by the vanity of Instagram. I’m in Barnes and Noble soaking in my environment. I believe books will become ancient artifacts. Mere phantoms of the past because it’s easier to download, but we like simple alternatives. I notice a woman stroll by with her soul being sucked away by her iphone: an impish demon with hypnotic app magic. My eyes witnessing small incidents of a diminishing culture. I feel the distance from my fellow man; consequently, it pisses me off. Polite greetings are now awkward taboos, yet greetings acknowledge you’re still thriving in this crazy world. Human interaction is a lost art. Like moths to a flame, we’re attracted to the illumination of our phones—blinded by the light.
Nostalgia taps on the window of my childhood. I was born in the late ’80s, but I grew up in the ’90s. Passing a note in class was a death sentence, your giga pet kept you up at night, and Saturday morning cartoons became a religion. Children were forced to tell time on analog clocks and letters were handwritten. Letters! Does anyone write letters? A handwritten letter expresses emotions from the sender to the receiver. The sentimental aspect the written word can cultivate. Handwriting is just as recognizable as a voice and takes place when the voice is unavailable. These letters are cherished because you know they were held by that special someone. We can always Skype! We can text, email, and tweet! We’re in touch all the time, but letter writing is extinct. A few moments ago, a teenager asked me to borrow a pen. He needed it to fill out a job application. Wait…Aren’t most applications filled out online? Like them on Facebook? Follow them on Twitter or Tumblr? I thought the gods of corporations prefer the easy method. I see the old ones still have traditions in this world. More importantly, the kid is filling out applications and turning them back in. In the generation of apps, I guess some things haven’t died out. Interestingly, I’m blasting social media while using social media. How funny is that?
Technology (Social Network), You’re Cruel!
Communication is a personal exchange
maintained between two individual people,
technology crept in to lighten the burden
to lessen the awkwardness of conversation;
rarely are random chats initiated,
diminished away is a pleasant greeting;
emoticons and lols became our voices,
we’re occupied by a phone’s illumination,
we’re enchanted by the social media.
Connection lies in our personal networks
it seems we’re disconnected from our fellow men.
The little things in life you cherish the most. It doesn’t have to be anything fancy or expensive just meaningful. Piles of Nachos is a poem about a meaningful event in my life. During my time in the military, I was displaced overseas. It’s different world than America and at times it got lonely. You’re thousands of miles away with your heart half way round the world. I managed to get by with help from my friends. Friends are the family you choose. Even though we weren’t related, blood didn’t make us family-our bond held us together. In a general definition, family is related through a common characteristic and so to be treated with loyalty or intimacy. Our common relation was build through hardship. Whether it was embracing the suck of our career field or the bullshit of daily life, we leaned on each other shoulders. Those dark hours were our defining moments as a dysfunctional yet functional family . My family tree crosses all races, religions and sexual orientation. I might not speak to them often except I know they’ll be there. Those group of assholes who are rough around the edges but willing to ride or die with you-that’s my definition of family. Who would have thought nachos carried so much meaning….
One sizable house
A loving couple
A goofy Great Dane
Bags of Doritos
Bags of Nacho Chips
Cook up beef and bean
Bags of shredded cheese
Pile on a large plate
Invite your dysfunctional family;
not by blood but through military
Plentiful amounts of Coronas;
then hilarity slowly ensues
the culprits are the ones invited
Football is on the television
Another bonding experience
To good friends
To good food
To good times