Bored to Death

Composed 6/6/16
Description: Sorry for the hiatus. Summer is not a relaxing time for me, but rather a time to jump into a lengthy practicum (alongside work and social responsibilities of course). Speaking of educational matters, here’s a little something inspired by my adventures today.

Flood my veins with words of wisdom
Hammer secrets to my bones
Let the knowledge seep into my brain
But I already know

NU 203

Composed 3/25/16
Description: A rare prose piece from me. A description of a place in which I am forced to reside once a week for several hours…

It’s a hulking, ancient building amidst a concrete jungle. Today, gray – sky, air, rain. Inside, mud-spattered, dust accented patterned tile, arranged in ill-advised juxtaposition. The place is obviously old, without renovation since its original ribbon cutting, crafted by the wrinkled hands and bills of ancient cults of bald, spectacled men smoking cigars by the sparking fireplace. The endless faces of its patrons, a thousand eyes, stare, watch, smile blandly in their frames. Souls captured and sold – a warning, a premonition, a foreshadowing. Have they ever really left this place?

You turn and enter between gaps of cursed guardians. Perfectly square, dull tan and beige, the place boxes you in. A prison of monochrome uniformity. The metal chairs screech against the dull tile floor like demons clawing their way out of hell.

It is more a prison than any prison I know, giant concrete blocks and all. Only now the prison is a whitewashed reflection of high school nightmares, combining confinement with insecurity, awkwardness, and incurable boredom.

Not even windows give a peek into the outside world. Buzzing florescents coat the room in an aura of delusion. Reality vanishes in favor of a buttercream LSD trip. A power surge would send us scrambling into complete darkness. Not a shred of natural light filters through the cracks in slab. And the steaming heat, like the flames of hell, siphon away your desire to live, to go on…

The place sucks battery life even faster than it sucks out your soul. Technology dies rapidly as it reaches out for contact, any signal of hope, of life beyond these walls.

But no one answers. Only the drone of the establishment and the groans of your peers interrupt the silence…

The Only Thrill

Composed 7/11/15
Description: n/a

He tore by in yellow streaks of flame
The Gs pulling hard like a hurricane
In the wind he hears his fans calling his name
The price and prize of luck, money, and fame

Life is fast
When your life is rich
When you cruise on by
And your fingers loose the twitch
You want it
You will it
That need to survive
Cause life is too easy
And the price isn’t high

When you take turns at seventy five
Your heart beats to live or it beats to die
You hope your truth grips and your lies slide by
Cause if you fly into the street you won’t make it alive

And that’s the truth
When you have it all
The only thrill
Is the chance to fall