I stare at two photos she posted over herself, unable to
tell which one is the real her, it either is – one, the happy-go-lucky gal she
most displays in the videos she posts, the other, darker, cautious, maybe even
scared, as if we have both traveled back in time to when she believe she had
every right to be, hair pinned back, head slightly turned, as if she felt the
need to be ready to run if she had to.
The brighter picture has her hair down as she smiles, both
bearing the same intense stare, eyes so deep I drown in them. I’m not sure
which one I believe though leaning towards the darker face as it face is the closest
I’ll ever get to the real her.
Columbia U is burning, Proving again that our best and brightest Aren’t our best and brightest anymore But a lunatic fringe that is no longer fringe, But a pack of brainwashed over-educated idiots Who boast of their own stupidity, Stupid is, as Forrest Gump says, as stupid does, Regardless of how many degrees they have Sad, pathetic, children of the corn Who have ingested hate Threatening now to poison the rest of us, Carrying their ignorance around on their chests Like a badge of honor when they have no honor Nor do the institutions that made them that way Earning their degrees on their degree of ignorance Empty-headed prattlers who get filled With the frustrated philosophies of professors Who could not sell this snake oil when they were young And now feed it to our kids to poison them, Creating a generation of brainless zombies Who chant slogans of hate While believing there are righteous’ When they are not, Stupid people...
Over the last two or three years, I’ve been posting old journal entries from a decade ago, putting up one or two or sometimes even three daily, reflecting some of the most emotional moments of my life. I’m not completely sure who exactly reads these diatribes, or what they think when they do. Some of these are poems, other essays, still others something in-between both, ramblings of a sort through which I tried to sort out confusing thoughts. Most of them aren’t even accurate, or at best, guesses about the nature of the world at that time. Some – because I altered my view from my original thoughts – actually contradict other pieces. While many are honest representations of how I felt at the time, time itself as made many of the irrelevant since life has moved on, and I’m a different person (as are the other people mentioned) than I was back then. I don’t even know why I continue to post them, since there is no way to set the record straight – what happened then,...
Thirty Days passed September, April, June and November. This is one of the short months, and unlike March, it went by in a breathless rush, and I find myself staring into the month of May and the long history of sad events that took place during the month of my birth. How far back these negative impressions go, I can’t remember, only those like thorns that made me bleed the most acute. I do not look forward to my birthday as once I did, knowing that there won’t be a new bicycle waiting for me when it finally arrives – that year when I pleaded for one when all my friends in the neighborhood already had theirs, and found one hidden in the attic a few days prior to the blessed event, covered in a sheet as if such a thing could keep me from poking my nose underneath. I wore that bicycle out, traveling far and wide, reconstructing it when it fell apart, pretending to be the Green Lantern as we plunged out the door from my best friend’s basement to take on the ills of t...
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