DECLARE!

Hot Cheetos and Takis...OH SYRIA...

Not much to report other than the fact that I have been OBSESSED with watching this video of some Minneapolis youngsters wrap about their favorite snacks, which are relevant in the title. Part of an after school program that rewards kids with recording their own music for good schoolwork, these kids are little bosses, and I think that this should be a #1 hit on principle alone. This shit will have you singing..."SNACK, SNACK, SNACK...CRUNCH!"



The poem below was one that I wrote a few months ago after a particular incident that took place in Idlib, Syria where a car bomb claimed the lives of five people. Of course, if you've followed the news, you've seen that more lives have been claimed, and the struggle is still ongoing. I submitted this piece to the New Yorker, and it generously got denied, so I thought I'd self-publish it on here.

OH SYRIA

Oh holy light,
Your cursed shell ignites a spark
Within the boundaries of my village.
You search the remnants of burned buildings,
A dead child wakes, gasping for one more breath,
Or a drink of water.
Yet, he falls fast asleep
And breathes no more.

Oh dictator,
How you have created a divide,
Those to the left, those to the right,
One fist can strike a fine blow,
But one blast can steal a million voices.
Though he tried to steal Damascus,
The emblem of his wavering flag
Cutting the wrists of those who wouldn’t drown,
Would not go down
To the sound
Of troops carrying fire-red guns,
One bullet to take them all.

Oh Muslims,
Thine hearts made of metal,
Struck with the shrapnel
Of soldiers unnamed.
They smile at the bloodshed,
Wipe their sweaty heads,
And dance around the graves
Of lost children.

Oh Idlib,
You are remembered,
One bomb, five lives,
One shot…
…can shake the earth,
But who will be there when she gives birth
To a day when silence has no need
For the breathless yell of a thousand feet,
That march toward your new-born ear,
Uttering the quiet prayers
Of those who were born to fear.

Oh Syria,
Your body lays to rest
On isolated waste
Of gutted cities
That feed on the ashes of burned-down tenements.
And we lay out on scraps,
Feeling the roaring of another explosion,
That engulfs our mothers and fathers.
And when the ruins of this land
Fall toward its knees,
One more entreaty will glisten
Under the fiery sun,
Set in motion by the rhythm of
Their fateful march.
“Guardians of the homeland.”
Let down your shields,
Your tattered tresses,
And remember the will of the silenced,
The prayers of the scorned,
Who only wish to be born…
Who only wish to be born…

Disappearances

Harry Belafonte...Girl in a Coma...I Disappear...

SHIT...It's been a while since I even looked at this thing. I guess I've undergone some weird hibernation where the digital world just didn't satisfy my yearnings. I'm not going to try and pretend like while I was absent from this static blog that I was off enduring some sort of spiritual awakening in some third-world nation. No, I wasn't doing ANYTHING. Just being lazy. But, I figured why not share a little of that laziness with the rest of the world...or at least to the three people that read this. Firstly, let's talk about Harry Belafonte. I'm not ashamed to admit that the first time I heard "Jump In The Line" was watching Beetlejuice when I was 7 or 8, but last night I found myself dancing wildly to it in my room, surely causing a ruckus. But that's neither here nor there. You can hear the wonderful track below:



Also, I recently wrote an article for my local paper about an indie-rock band from San Antonio, called Girl In A Coma. You can read it here. If you haven't heard of them, you should give them a listen. They're not insanely groundbreaking, but the passion in their songwriting is extremely evident, and it makes listening to them enjoyable. I've only heard a few songs from each album, but they do a nice cover of The Velvet Underground's "Here She comes," and I also liked the first track of their newest album, Exits and All The Rest. You can hear "Adjust" below:



Also, I've been writing more and more, and while this poem isn't especially recent, it was a hearkening back to my angsty high school days, when The Faint was the band of the hour, and you couldn't get enough to drink before the night was over. You can read "I Disappear..." below:

I disappear…
Such a fancy line from a lingering high school infatuation,
The Faint is what they were called.
Such a delicate assertion that where
You once held more than a backwards glance,
You can pick up and leave
Before the suitcase is even packed.

Your picture can fade
In the memories of those who claimed to know you,
Claimed to trust you,
And before they were through sending you snickers and smiles,
You flew away…
…lost amidst a sea of wandering faces.
I disappear.

Two words
That calculate one single movement…
The turning of a back.
Easy to leave,
Hard to stay,
But would we have it play out differently?
Would we like to stay to consume more,
Purge less,
And realize that our mind is utterly blank,
Drained from the prospect of sharing one more cigarette.

I’d rather flee…
But I’m shackled by guilt,
Chained by reprehension,
And yet, I stay.
I want to drown in it,
Feed on it,
And taste the foul aftertaste of
bitter wine,
But what the fuck am I supposed to do with an empty glass?

That's all.