Looking for Alaska, John Green
However much individuality seems to be expressed is only as admission of conformity because we all want to fit in and belong to a group. Being seen as "unique" is often interpreted as odd or strange. Identity is no longer what it used to be. Today, we just want to belong to the popular culture and unknowingly sacrifice individuality. In fact, what becomes of us is deindividuation. We let the contemporary cultures influence our behaviors and appearance. Less attention is given to our futures because society influences us to become "weekend warriors" and avid party goers.
Laid-back attitudes are ubiquitous and are potential plagues for the younger generations. The acceptance of mediocrity has become the popular standard; that which takes more dedication and harder work seems more and more absurd or extraordinary. It is upon our ability to be social that determines how we feel about ourselves. If it seems our contemporaries can only have a good time under an influence then we will undoubtedly join them.
This man speaks the truth!! And he's younger than me!
I couldn't agree with him anymore. I don't think age has any place in a relationship. You like what I do, what I say, what I look like, how I act, what I don't do, my personality? Well, my age has nothing to with any of those.
My boy Romel "Went IINN!"
My favorite part is "You do the same shit, and fall for the same niggas!"
I see this on my facebook alll day long.
I was a little discouraged in coming to this conclusion but it's not like I've completely detached myself from those standards held prior. I mantain it is important to hold personal high standards because it filters out the weak shit. This way you find more flowers than weeds.
That's all I can really say.
Owls don't like it when you pry theier wings open.
Let them sleep and their eyes will see darkness under a glowing moon.
I want a desk to write, alone.
Sunflowers lining the walls.
Master of my imperfect universe.
It seems these days I wake up in a cold sweat
After an unpleasantly cold night.
But it's not the bitter breezes nor the absence of stars...
Too beautiful to notice dragonflies on your hand.
Give me a home with no lights
I barely need running water
But at least I know my father.
It's not always necessary to look in cracks to find bits of mirrors.
I've also been writing short stories that I'll start to share soon.
Loss and gain, fame and infamy, praise and blame, pain and happiness are eight worldy conditions that affect all humanity. Most people are perturbed when affected by such favourable or unfavorable states. One is elated when one is praised, and depressed when blamed and reviled. He is wise, says the Buddha, who, admist such vicissitudes of life, stand unmoved like unto a firm rock, exercising perfect equanimity.
Like a lion that does not tremble at every sound, one should not be perturbed by the poisoned darts of uncurbed tongues. Like the wind that does not cling to the meshes of a net, one should not be attached to the illusory pleasures of this changing world. Like the louts that is unsoiled by the mud from which it springs, one should live unaffected by worldly temptations, ever calm, serene and peaceful."
-The Way To Nibbana
My man Rickie said it best.
To get to where I want to be, I can't let anyone work harder than me. I have had everything planned out and everything is going smoothly. The end of my plans reach all the way to Summer 2017. Things will (and have) change but having a real good plan is like having a tightly weaved safety net. I have a different outlook on things after each semester.
I can't explain how thin the line is for me dropping my medical career and being a writer 100% from now to forever. I can wake up tomorrow and register for literature courses instead of General Biology or my Molecular Genetics classes. I think about it everyday. Somehow I compromise. I think it's because I don't like getting graded for my work, my poetry.
My point is, I'm following a path, freely, according to how and why I want and not because I'm forced. I'm in full control every morning because I already know how it's going to go. My inner peace comes from advancing and never remaining idle. (And listening to Wu-Tang)
It still is, and always has been on us, to be positive examples. Feel me?
I've spent the past few semesters in a mentoring program hosted by my school for high school kids around LA from Compton to Washington Prep. Hanging out with them this Summer was a lot of fun. I still feel the same way as when I was in high school so being a mentor and connecting with them is fun.
Don't be selfish with your time. It's easy to make a difference in someone's life. I love being a mentor because I get to act like I'm 18 again, except with a little more wisdom.
You know math has always been your weakness.
Will you continue to let it defeat you?
How will you prepare for the next test?
You didn't just fail a test for Intermediate Algebra, you failed a test of commitment.
But don't be so hard on yourself.
This wasn't the last test nor the most important test.
After the credits crept
And after the audience silently left.
The two of us, alone and at last.
The protangonist of us begins to divide into those undeveloped scripts of complex love and interrupted infatuation before a hundred different imaginary You's and Me's seated in the seats who are secretly produced to see the truth.
Directed by your hands and interpreted by my words, the scenes of love stir within the silent speech spoken with sacred significance.
Projected by brown eyes, the perfect pixels define the picture of our combined minds linked and repeated a hundred times with brilliant undiscovered colors.
The soundtrack sweeps soft piano keys into misunderstood, almost invisble melodies into the epitome of sentimental climax.
In the middle of this theatrical bliss, forever to be continued, hearts expand and crave a kiss.
Wit these hands, I use when im stressed
...Wit these hands, I use to to greet my closest friends
Wit these hands, I count the money, they encourage me to save
Wit these hands, I gently rub my womans back
Wit these hands, I clench together and talk to my father.
Wit these hands, I reach out to anyone who calls out for help
Wit these 10 fingers, I was blessed
Wit these hands, I use when im stressed
---Written by Chris Smith
Everything is funnier when you're not allowed to laugh, when it has to be muffled with your hands or backpack, fake a cough or sneeze... We loved it! I loved it. It only took one person, the epicenter, to throw a paper clip, whisper something funny and in a manner of minutes, the whole class would be stifling their laughter. One would eventually let out a HA HA and the teacher would have no clue what's going on!
Our sense of humor was... I dont know what to call it but they would never catch on! They're being professionals but we're being comedians and the class was the audience.
Throwing shit was the best! Theres a specific science to throwing any object in the classroom. Certain aspects include What the object is, how far you're throwing it, who's it going to hit, did you even hit them, did it hit somebody accidentally, did the teacher see you, was the entire class quiet or loud, if someone threw something at you- do you throw it back or throw something bigger, did it make a noise when it hit, did you really just throw a sharp ass pencil 5 aisles over, did you get caught, and most important did you hit the teacher.
Amongst us clowns, substitute teachers was like having a field day!
It was an art form: getting on the subs nerves without getting your name on the "misbehaved list".
For instance, one day the sub began to call roll and everybody said "here" for the wrong name. (Guys would say "here" for a girls name and so on...) 3,4 people would say here for one name. That kind of shit was hilarious!
We only wanted to make the best of boring situations while we were still at the stage where it's acceptable. It was funny when someone shone a red laser at the teacher proctoring the CAHSEE. It was funny when they put it in his eye and he slapped himself and funnier when he got mad at the entire class. This scenario would not be tolerated when I'm taking my board exam to be a Pharmacist. Or anytime in college. However, no matter how formal the situation may be, that humor will always be in me. The important thing is to know that we are at the age where we must ACT ACCORDINGLY.
Another one of my favorites was when someone would clear their throats, then someone else and next thing the whole class is clearing their throats one at a time. The teacher gets up, goes fuckin nuts! Says they'll kick out he next person who is "disruptive". Then, after a moment of silence, our eyes dart around the room, looking for that one brave soul to actually do it, to clear their throats in such a Smartass manner that it sends the teacher in a fuckin UPROAR! And the class goes WILD! Although they got kicked out the classroom for the remainder, the teacher knows that we won. We broke their control. Our sense of humor crossed the Iritation threshold.
I was one of those who counted days. I don't mean counting how many days to graduation. I counted the days of significance. I counted the days that I knew I would remember. Nobody remembers the blur, the unordinary. Those people who made days extraordinary I've still got love for. If it weren't for them, I would have nothing to recall throughout my high school years.
The aesthetics of my environment is what inspired me to start writing. From the redundant class lessons to the friends and close friends, my early stages of poetry contain many allusions to my environment.
I want to mention the quality of teachers and how a couple semesters of mutual dedication can lead to years of discipline and understanding. If you were fortunate to have Mr. Monroe for math, you know what I'm talking about. Even through these college years whatever As and Bs Ive obtained, I'm most proud of the two As I got in his Algebra 1 class. That was my Sophomore year.
The moral of all this is understanding how we, at young ages, naturally make the best of our conditions and situations. To many, the last day couldn't come soon enough. Dreading a place so much can lead to dreading the people and all the other factors that made that place an institution, a forced society in which individuality is interpreted as conforming.
I'm not saying I miss high school, just reminiscing. I see myself sitting in class these days and I always catch the opportunity to clown on someone or make a joke but I keep it to myself.
Two ends forever knotted.
True friends never forgotted.
Intangible hearts felted.
Love lit, candles melted.
Waxed hands forever holded.
First beauty in the form of clay molded.
Extravagant, iridescence golden.
Times we were together
And photos I don't remember.
Genuine words shared and meanted;
An Incomplete sentence
Love love, Passion blended.
Time line with lost dates.
Extravagant iridescence golden
I love you, clay candle sticks
Burned yet never melted
Sunshine, blind fates.
She's the greatest phrase and I'm an incomplete sentence without a page.
There are those days where I wake up and my brother's breakfast coats the dreams and blends in reality.
What truly makes my day does not lie in the false existence of time passing by, yellow exhaust, or cheeseburger billboards, but in the practice of being myself and appreciation of all things remained untouched by man.
There are those days where the curbs of these streets all seem faulty and cracked, unstable pavements taken forgranted by inpatient pedestrians pushing to their occupation.
Man-made, blueprint engineered and crafted with gloves on, half of what I see is constructed in the pursuit of a paycheck.
There are those days where the sting of a bee exudes more beauty than the Downtown Los Angeles skyline; natures pinch to believe in the smaller wings in life.
The blue that we breath is only polluted in absence of beach.
Once-in-a-lifetime waves with no structure retreat after reaching for your feet and there are those days where life seems grey after buses and trains offer you the same seat.
Man-made, adjusted by hand and erected upon unstable pavements,
Yellow street lamps attempt to compensate for the absence of solar energy, harvested, yet untouched by man.
There are those days where the slow and soft seem fast and hard.
My convoluted imagination seeks to be free from speeds yielding to gravity.
There are those days where gummy bears taste better after sex and her scratches seem to compensate for the absence of 700 million things, all man-made, overrated objects than seem lost when the slow and soft feel fast and hard.
In the days where I practice being myself, the pages become planets, my pen the Sun, and my thoughts the convoluted constellation with colliding comets.
What truly makes my day actually happens tomorrow when I wake up to my brother's breakfast well after my dreams have dreamt and I've more than slept past the false existence of mismanaged time.
Heart overheard from the conversations
In my head.
Sure its nosey but my heart KNOWS ME.
Every beat is company so I never get lonely.
It attempts to mimic the love that she's shown me.
Every night, I write about her.
Using bold metaphors with old descriptions
That I've never said before.
And she reciprocates these inscriptions with the wisdom
That I seek.
I speak to her. No, I speak through her.
She is my medium through which I reach this intelligent speech.
In other words, She is the sand, ocean and bronze horizon
That create this beach [ I call Life ]
She acknowledges me as hers
And I acknowledge her as mine
[ Because ] She is the only Woman who sings and dances in my mind.
Nevertheless, I am forced to share her with other thinkers
Who express and impress her through theological and philosophical
Words composed together to form impotent lines.
My Poems are secrets that my
Heart overheard from the conversations
In my head.
Poetry believes in me. Poetry sets me free.
She is that last heart beat before I fall asleep.
Poetry mends my heart when it is torn.
Poetry gave me her heart when I was born.
After winning a scholarshpi from the California Hispanic Chambers of Commerce, I was invited to Washington, D.C. for the United Health Foundation Diverse Scholars Forum last week. It was an all expenses paid trip and I was staying a few blocks away from the White House.
I didn't expect it to be so life changing. Didn't expect to meet so many people my age making moves such as myself in the same field. I felt inspired when I stood where Martin Luther King Jr gave his "I Have A Dream" speech and where Obama was inaugurated.
The trip wasn't just about exploring D.C. It was an incredible networking experience for me and I made a buunch of new friends.
I learned that you have to break out of your daily-to-daily, break out of your circle of friends, and open your eyes past what you see everyday in order to see how others are mapping out this future stuff. If you think you're the most prepared in your circle, put yourself in position to meet people outside of California and see how they're plotting.
I got him a Tam's burger and Coke and after saying Thanks to me, he got spiritual for a minute.
Out of everything he laid out, what most caught my attention was this:
"What is it that keeps us together? What is it that we can share......Think about it, young brotha. We can share food...money...knowledge...and most importantly, education."
And the only thing I can think about that we all share is when we click on that "Share" button on Facebook, Twitter, Myspace.
-Chris Smith, C/O 2008
—Stephen Colbert, on KFC’s pink buckets of chicken
After two loong years, I've finally reached my first college graduation. The first of three degrees to come, I've attained my Associates of Science degree.
Graduations are always boring, I just want to walk across the stage, shake hands and decompress!
only see with one eye
And have half a mind to make you blind.
Your unconscience colors create the tranquilty that keep the common man calm.
Before you seen these things, the world had no meaning.
Remain aware of the beauty that surrounds you
hidden where ever rain drops land.
Nothing dries up faster than hope.
Flowers and forests need the life that you provide from the
abundance of sweet water dripping from your clouds.
Your unconscience colors create the unique qualities that keep the common man quiet.
Before you speak outloud, look them in their eye.
That say they're your friends
But in real life they your enemies
And then you got some mutha-fuckas that say they your enemies
But in real life they eyes is on your money.
See the enemies will say they true
But in real life those niggas will be the snitches.
Its a dirty game y'all
Y'all got ta be careful about who you fuck with and who you don't fuck with
Cause the shit get wild y'all.
Keep your mind on your riches, Baby
Keep your mind on your riches.
-Tupac/Heartz of Men
Since my high school days and these college years, I've played basketball down the street and made a few friends stictly off the hoop. We'd only talk and shoot the shit between games, discussing what shit is going to be like after graduation. One friend, in particular, who was in a gang and into drugs, had planned for the Navy which I thought was a great way to get out of everything. About a year goes by and I see him walking down my street so we slap hands and the conversation went like this:
Me: What's good, bro?
Him: ahhh, shit, nothing. Just got my ass beat by two cops on Saturday...
Me: (noticing his face) Ohh, woorrd?
Him: Yeah, one kneed me in my face. 'Cuz some niggas was talkin' shit so I had to, y'know...
Me: Aiight, man. Stay up. I'll catch you around.
You see why I get mad? I'm 20, he's 19. I don't understand what it is that keeps young adults from improving their own conditions, doing something, anything that will keep them from struggling in life. So many, TOO many of my contemporaries wake up every day and put on a XXL white tee and just chill on the block for the rest of the day, not caring about shit except for the next blunt, the next Laker game, the next Drake single, or who's going to pick them up for the next "kickback".
I've never been into this stigma before so I wouldn't know what it takes to get out of it. For me it has always been one productive move to the next. I can't hold anyone's hand so I mantain the image of how to get where I need to get in hopes that those younger than me can see whats up.
In this conversation, you can see how I quick I became disappointed in my boy. It's not entirely his fault though. I'm disappointed in the fact that I've lost dozens of friends to stupid ass cliques, weed, and other dumb shit around here. And then I look for a common factor between them and to an extent, it makes sense: the absence of our fathers.
But you can't try to scapegaot this. Dealers don't offer discounts because your daddys not here. If you got in a gang because all your friends did, then you can only blame yourself. I have lost plenty of friends, 3 of which were my bestfriends, to about 10 gangs and I've never bothered to join in with them.
So why do I hate wasted youth so much? Because it never comes back. Whatever is not realized now will only be a heavier burden later. If you don't know how to make a resume or fill out a job application then you're only making things harder on yourself.
Right now, we have breaks in between classes to laugh and chill with friends. We need to find something to believe in right now, as opposed to having someone else tell us what to believe in later. Don't waste a day because later, we're going to have kids and a career and the last thing we want to do is run into an old friend who's still doing the same shit as 5,10 years ago.
The still images do not move, the mouths never spoke;
unconsciously retelling the story of the most vivid feeling ever to be unreciprocated, malleable in my mind.
The colors created sound
And the Radiance made me blind.
These dreams gave me the greatest feelings of performing my Jazz on Jupiter and finding my Mecca on the Moon.
Sleep has become a stage and once the curtains close, my heart reconnects the accordion to continue this cliffhanger.
Clinging onto my creative imagination, I unconsciously recant the story of the most vivid feeling ever to be captured and released in my mind.
The colors collide with reality
And the Radiance made me blind.
One night I dreamt of getting gold for the greatest story ever told and woke up
Watching the News and drinking Orange Juice.
*Written in one day.
Held out for a purpose.
These palms once clutched soil and worms.
They've bled, and have since crusted over to sickle-shaped scars.
These empty hands have never trembled yet they've turned to fists in sight of death.
These fingers form spider webs to trap truth.
Lies aren't lost; these hands speak sign language for the mute.
In times of drought and famine, these hands dug wells and trenches, constructed aquaducts and laid seed for vegetation.
These hands were once trusted by a lioness to deliver her cubs under the rain of an Afrikan night.
Frightened by the face of the world, the last out of the womb embraced its Lord with a bite across one hand
Four knuckles in length.
This hand bled, and has since crusted over to sickle-shaped scars.
These hands have tamed wild rhinos and fed Impalas.
With the most advanced technology known to man,
These hands carefully crafted parachutes from napkins, paper clips and string
Four knuckles in length.
Gold rings and an angel wings tattoo hid the true identity of these hands when the palms, which once
clutched soil and worms became empty.
These cracked hands are aquaducts for captured tears and build underground wells
of the strongest brick known to man.
Held up for a purpose.
Two fingers scream for peace the way they make women scream for me;
The way I screamed at the face of the world when I was born
And bit my father across his hand
Leaving a scar four knuckles in length.
This piece took me 2 weeks to write. It contains 9 metaphors.
See how many you can find/translate yourself. I'll share with you the breakdown in about a week. I want to hear what you think.
How could I say "yes" to her, without first saying "yes" to myself?
The monument that was falsely constructed out of unreciprocated passion has been torn; the foundation stands yet it is not grand enough for the structure set to replace.
There is another vacant space unoccupied by wilted feelings with a sign from the owner that says "Yes!"
I have finally been liberated from the cluthes of a beautiful unknowing pseudotormentor and now I can breath and when I exhale, I can believe in YES!
Give up your seat for the women on the bus.
Hold the hands of little children who are lost in this generation.
The world can be an ugly place when the devil is the conductor of your train.
The way you hold the door open for strangers angers demons.
Donate a dollar to the decrepit homeless, conscience of the temptations that lure you on every corner.
Who grabs your outstretched hand?
We love to reach for open hearts.
The world can be a beautiful place when peace is the constructor of your brain.
When you share a meal, somewhere in the world a fire burns out.
Turns out, those good deeds feed and nourish those in need of the sweet water you drink.
I was wrong.
This week, I felt on top of the world. Prior to this week, shit seemed to blur by- dull hours turned into long, dragging days and everyday became gray. Tuesday proved to be one of the best days of this whole 21-unit semester and it took a secret admirer to make me seize the day.
After a 5 hour shift at the hospital and class, the weather was that right kind of temperature and crispy. With a cold can of Coke, I laid under the shade behind my school for a cool half hour, had The Smiths in my ears and chilled. Day seized.
I'll be doing this more often, before the weather gets to the 90's. Getting in touch with my tropical side.
I see one man who "squats" in front of a fabric factory every day. Throughout the night and into the morning, he sits on several paint buckets on the side of the building that hides the Sun. On my way home, around sunset, he sits on the opposite side with all his belongings again away from the Sun. He never takes off, he never changes spots. I noticed one day that his building is the only one on the entire street with no graffiti on it.
Those paint buckets that he sleeps on are given to him by the owner of the building. They let him "live" there and he paints over any tagging or graffiti. He takes good care of those grounds. I never see the graffiti but I always see the new patches of gray paint that cover it up. This man takes pride in his work.
I see a homeless man who may have been left with nothing but he still feels efficient in a way. I think Los Angeles needs to see more of this mutualism.
That just happened here in California last week.
And I'll back that nice little piece with something that happened about 2 weeks ago:
"RICHMOND -- Gov. Robert F. McDonnell, reviving a controversy that had been dormant for eight years, has declared that April will be Confederate History Month in Virginia, a move that angered civil rights leaders Tuesday but that political observers said would strengthen his position with his conservative base." McDonnell said he did not include a reference to slavery because "there were any number of aspects to that conflict between the states. Obviously, it involved slavery. It involved other issues. But I focused on the ones I thought were most significant for Virginia."
This is most definately real, and this is the type of shit that frustrates me about this country. Notice how many headlines these two events made. Idl don't know how many, but it was not enough. Tiger Woods was on the News everyday for weeks! Over a personal family matter! I hate to admit this but, as I heard in the barbershop, being against the Negro seems to be what he media is all about.
The protesters at that rally said they want NONWHITES out of the Southwest. So that means, to me, they want to distribute the hate equally to blacks, Hispanics, and anyone else who is not white.
I want to make another point. Only about 5 people were arrested at that rally, and those were the ones growing rocks at the members of the National Socialist Movement. Now, had it been a big group of African-Americans protesting to get all whites out of California- ohhh the cops would have a FIELD DAY!! They wouldn't be described as a "group of peaceful protestors". They would be considered as an "angry mob" and all that.
It saddens me that it is 2010, and there is still this type of hate and prejudice in the country that I want raise my children in.
I want to know how you feel about this. No matter how old you are, it concerns you. Open your eyes and ears just a little more. Time most definately repeats itself. Do you think you would do what it takes to fight for respect in this country?
Complete inside the dark I borrow to proceed and remain intact, my mental is so unstable
And they talk and judge a man they have no clue of what I'm capable til I show a side of
Me no one had thought could be within, I told ya no I'm not no loser won't see you in hell
so I can write about my life of sin
a couple bottles of Gin
incase I don't get in"
From Compton you'll ever hear
The first nigga only put out albums
Every 7 years (haha)"
Cops is anxious to put niggaz in handcuffs
They wanna hang us, see us dead or enslave us
Keep us trapped in the same place we raised in
Then they wonder why we act so outrageous
Run around stressed out and pull out gauges
Cause everytime you let the animal out cages
It's dangerous, to people who look like strangers"
|Dedantheman:||we can write a poem togetherr|
|Her:||i want to write about love, but it's like. you can't just write about LOVE. it has to be something specific. and that i just don't know yet.. any ideas?|
|Dedantheman:||what do you get when you mix love and unity|
|Dedantheman:||something deeper than you and me|
|Dedantheman:||something further than eternity|
|Dedantheman:||something deeper than the core|
|Her:||no no. i can't write about love.|
|Her:||i just like looking at you,|
i don't care to compare thoughts about chemistry, or even mix love and unity.
i just like your silhouette on my eyes.
|Her:||ohh. i don't care to compare notes about chemistry.|
|Dedantheman:||if math is exact then we are perfect. backed by the science of numbers we are two fractions for a whole|
|Her:||hmm. i don't like that line :/ can't write after it.|
|Dedantheman:||on paper we are etched as everlasting roman numerals|
|Dedantheman:||the rock is unknown so our love can never be written in stone.|
|Her:||ughhh. i'm sorry. i can't write right now.|
It's hard saying goodbye to your first car. I saw myself cold dippin' in this for at least another 3 years. I've got so many memories but now it's time to start over and make new ones.
I remember sitting on the bus benches on my way to work and looking at every car pass by thinking whether or not I would drive it or not. Then my pops dropped this car on me while I was a senior. The first thing I did was get a box with 2 12 inch subwoofers and an amp. The first song I bumped was Ice Cube's "Friday"!!! I was acting a FOOL because my rear view mirror was rattling so much and my whole car was THUMPING!! I took the streets all the way home just so I can get more reactions to my shit. Then Lil Wayne came out with that "A Millie" song and it was GAMEOVER! The song was trash but it made my car BUMP! I loved it when my car made car alarms go off. Good times...
R.I.P. to the G ride.
I'll let you know what comes next. Hopefully it rhymes with BELL CAMINO!
"I'm tormented by the need to create. Don't let the psychiatrists give your their drugs because it slows down your wings...when something sounds so amazing and groundbreaking I'm reminded of why I live. There's no such thing as fact anymore. Only opinion. The closest thing we have to "fact" is common opinion. Everything is an opinion. The way you dress is an expression of your opinion. Your religious beliefs are your opinion."
The exoskeleton of values never break, it clings to the branch until a beautiful butterfly burrows from the bottom and blossoms with a brilliance.
A second birth begins on the brown earth where life once was constrained to.
Now two wings and a few more eyes feel the absolute freedom of flight and precise, unadulterated sight.
The violet sky, along with pleated lines combine to persuade natural minds towards warmer wings when weather gets weary with winter.
Religion clings to both wings as particles of pollen from every flower and power plant.
Life depends on the bee who stings the poor and wise.
Within the metamorphosis of Monarch butterflies, paradigms of life are molded into modern day Mayan pyramids miles below miracles of the sky.
The moon was once a thing of solar disguise until the sun blossomed from its burning cocoon.
It took me more than 2 months to write this. There's a lot said in here, alot of real shit.
This is one of my top 10 songs of all genres. I feel this song is a representation of mankind's longing to escape the responsibilities of a competitive society. Thom Yorke is one of the few alternative artists that are conscience about today's society. One of my favorite writers.
A handshake of carbon monoxide."
Him- You gotta take a number first, man.
Me- Oh nah, I already been helped. I'm just diggin' that shirt, man. Where'd you get it?
Me- 'Cuz I've seen it before and I just want to know where I can get one, feel me?
Him- Oh...Nobody has this shirt, dude. I got it online.
Me- Oh, alright then. Fo' Sho, man.
Now I could've proceeded to harass this man about his damn shirt but I knew what was up. He didn't want anyone else rocking this "exclusive" shirt. If he really wanted me to know where to get one he would've simply said "Oh yeah, just go to www.buytheshirthere.com and it costs $XX, dude! " I know it's just a shirt but I'm not going to let it go until I FIND it. And when I do, I'm going right up the Admin office everyday of the week and have him help me out with bullshit while I'm wearing that damn shirt in front of him.
It is well known and documented that The Home Depot parking lots are host to many Hispanics looking for work: Day Laborers. These are men who are willing to go to your home or construction site and do whatever work is needed from carpeting, tiling, roofing, sanding, gardening, plumbing, etc... They do it all without the formal training/certification and they do not ask for high wages. It's just on-the-spot "What do you need, how many of us do you need, and this is how much."
These men sit on the curb or on the beds of trucks just posted up until someone comes in need of some help. I can respect that because many of us sit behind a computer screen every now and then looking for some part time job...or ask for someone to hook them up with a job...or complain about the job we have now...or scrounge off our parents...or waste financial aid checks on bullshit. They actually sit under the sun all day, 7 days a week-posted until Home Depot closes.
Despite the lack of education and language barrier, they are the hardest workers in all of California. Say what you want about them being illegal but I find that to be an ignorant argument. I hate that term and it's not because I am Hispanic myself, but I find that for an honest family man to be considered illegal in this country is ludicrous! What happened to the "Land of Opportunity"? I guess it turned into "The Land of stealing oil and bombing for the Opportunity to triple profits of private companies".
When I see myself working as a Pharmacist, the only difference I see with this man is that I'll be wearing a white lab coat with my name "Dr. D ".
He has a family, he needs to eat, and my man is getting every noodle out that cup! In order to lead the sheep, you've got to be a wolf. If you're studying 2 hours a day, and your classmate is studying 4 hours a day, who's going to get the better grade? You see, my man got the steal-toe boots on because he's well prepared and equipped. 75 cents for that cup of noodles while you pay $5 for your Subway. Don't sleep.
Oye, Comprade! No te duermas!
yeah, Crack is wack and reefer sucks, you might think this deep as fuck
but this like my weaker stuff
they ask "Is this his day-to-day 'cause this is like a week to us?" "