Oddball Magazine! (jagged thoughts)

3style

manthestorm3 — Mon, 02 Jan 2012 07:41:18 +0000

yeah,
here we are, time is now,

walk slow into the undertow

my mind is a revolution,

you can see it glow,

like ten feet of snow,

under a hole in the ozone,

we keep it going to all the lights turn off,

they go dim, but it aint about me,

its all about, us…. here we go, let the beat bust,

listening to RJD2 and cleaning out the rust

and writing to the only thing i can trust,

its the oddball flow, that keeps me going,

walking on the moon, watching the world glowing

from a far, shoot down the last shooting star,

put it under my pillow, watch me illuminate

and explode, yeah, i got time to sing…….

then I have time to work…

make my writing worth something,

then just writing,

just like writing hoping I inspire you,

to search for the freedom

somewhere blue

cause its

the school of truth, and

Im almost home,

all names of my books I wrote, I keep in a row.

writing to the beat, four four time,

lets me place each syllable in a place of mine,

like under the moon, oceans and trees,

Begin to see something, in everyone, us, glowing like diamonds

in a mine, this oddball thinkin, got me shining,

like a new moon, like a sunset, dim, but not gone yet,

keep it in time, you can bet,

i got this down

each type set mark,

I see a spark, l’m trying to light a fire under your seat,

with man the storm and sick ass beats,

keep each beat the pulse of my heart,

four measured ventricles to the end of the record,

beat the drum, and let the sound move you,

to believe in something beautiful, get too close

to the rocks on the coast, and the time stops, and down goes the boat

liquid smooth

cause its time to leave this house, haunted by ghosts, so clear

like seeing twenty twenty

all I want to be is somebody,

keep this going like energizing

sand in a zen garden

let the time stand still, and me keep walking

in slow motion, hyper speed, trying to end this rhyme

with something worth while to read,

man its the new year, and we continue to forge on,

to this beat and to this song….

if you know it come on, sing along.

and on and on, we sing

until you write your own song,

you can hum along to mine,

or you can learn to write.

and sing your own.

louder.

Oddballs Christmas Story by Jason

manthestorm3 — Sun, 25 Dec 2011 17:19:15 +0000






: There once was a town it seemed that was always cold. Even when it was warm it still was always cold.

The people were mean. The people weren’t green. The people weren’t clean. They all forgot their dreams and no one could sleep.

Not even sheep, could make them dream. They all had forgot there meaning, and what it meant to be free.

They lived their lives as shadows. they lived in poor man castles, some were drunk and staggered, and some were slaves in shackles.

They all had forgotten, what once was their motto,— to live in darkness, you could never cast a shadow, and in the darkness, shadows never follow

and when the light shines from the sun in the seasons, whether frost bitten hands, or those wearing mittens, the sun always shined on the ones who asked for wisdom

and one did….the lonely boy on christmas.

and this lonely boy just wanted one thing for christmas, a dog or a kitten, wrapped up with a ribbon, a bright blue ribbon. If he had a dog… he could pet him with his mittens and watch him chase pigeons, and play fetch with the children.

But it never happened, no gifts were given to him on this christmas.

or any christmas.

there he sat in the town of castles and shadows, where the cold seemed to sting, everyone and everything.

and he began to reminisce of his families last christmas, the last time he was given a kiss on his head, and that warm feeling he had, and the last words ever said by his dad.

“you must live by yourself we can no longer take care of you”

and he said to them “I’m just a boy…what do you expect me to do?”

but his father and mother, they didn’t love one another, and they didn’t really mean to say what they said, so one day they both got into their cars and left.

But before they left they both kissed him both on the cheek, and said

“I’m sorry son, that we have to leave. Here are the keys this is your very own castle. And never leave, always stay in the shadows. We will always be with you, but we must leave and we hope for your forgiveness

and then they had left the lonely boy on Christmas.

PART 2

At the same time there was a young widow, who always sat by the window, with a sad glow, waiting for her husband to come home.

He and her, also lived in this world.

The world that was mentioned in part one, a world of no fun, where noone could smile in fear of being stung. because the cold was too cold, and some were too poor to buy coats, and besides,

the castles were hidden by shadows, and moats protected by ghosts, but still there was hope that her love would come home. and every day she wrote from a journal

that was given to her, from her husband who had disappeared, in the cold of the winter, and made her from married and happy, to a way too young widower.

Her name was Rosaline, and she was only eighteen when she found the man of her dreams. But one day he left to go to the store, and was never seen anymore, and

people had said that he had gone missing, in a cold storm, on a frosty Thanksgiving, and they stopped searching after a few weeks, cause noone could survive out in the

cold on those peaks. But Rosaline, never stopped looking out that window, till one day it started to snow. and then it suddenly stopped. And out from they sky an angel just dropped.

PART 3

Before I tell you how the angel dropped, and why the snow stopped, we must go back to the spot where the boy sat patiently, waiting for the day, when his family

would come back, and how all he wanted was that dog for christmas, a little dog wrapped up with a bright blue ribbon, but really

gifts were not on his wish list, just a little slice of happiness, outside of all that darkness

That day the boy decided to leave, he said to himself, I’m going to get a tree, so he left his castle and stepped out of the shadows, and headed to the forest outside of

the meadow, and began a long walk out of the darkness and into an even darker forest. He could have went left, and went towards the shore, he decided to go

north, and ventured forth towards, the forest and the trees, and the bright north star. He knew little of where he was, but it was better then where he would be, and

besides it was christmas he wanted a tree.

Before he left, he dressed in his warmest clothes, hat and coat, and scarf to protect his nose, and the only possession he had with him, was a backpack of provisions,

and a compass, and a map. And off he went, and took his first step out of the darkness, while in that same town a widower wept.

Part 4

Oh Where did he go, got lost in the snow? She sang to herself, while she sat by the window. Oh where did he go? And when will he return, to give me his love, I so desperately yearn”

She repeated these lines, like she was hypnotized, the saddest moment in a beautiful life. She was only 23 when he said good-bye and went out into that cold november winter, and was never seen alive, but keep faith good reader, a good love never dies.

“Oh where did he go? When will he return? why did you leave me, it wasnt your turn.” She sang this song in morning, she sang it still mourning, and that was when she realized, that her eyes were not blind, and in her heart she believed he was alive.

At the same time she sang by her window in that empty house, the compass was pointing telling the boy to go south.

But the map said that the meadow, was the way to go, but his heart told him to follow the star, and into the dark, he ventured in, to the deep forest, where

the trees lied there in.

PART 5

Well dear reader, you must be weary of me, so let me tell you how the boy found his tree.

And also a brand new family.

It starts where we left, with the boy’s lonely trek, and ends, well were not quite there yet. So the boy began his climb into that deep forest, while the angels sang to him,

this simple chorus. Follow the star son, follow the star, follow the star son, follow the star. Yes, the boy was lonely and scared, for sure, but in his head and heart he

was strong and secure. People would leave him, for that he was sure, but never his family, that scar was the worst, and his head began to hurt. But before the tears

started to fall, he took a step and all of a sudden he was not by himself, and while he was down and thinking about life, he somehow had wandered onto the thinnest of

ice.

PART 6

Oh reader, Oh me oh my, What did this boy do on that thinnest of ice. He walked oh so carefully, and he could hear the ice creak, and then there was the crack in the

ice he could see. He thought to himself, dang if I wasn’t thinking about all my problems, I might have seen this coming, and i could have done something, instead

of being stuck where I am, and then something happened.

The ice cracked, and splintered

and cracked, and splintered and cracked,

and the ice fell underneath his feet, and the boy was suddenly over his head, and while under the coldest degrees, he began to see,

Christmas wasn’t about getting presents or trees, it was about being happy. He was under the water gasping for air, trying desperately to be freed from a horrible death indeed ,

then at this moment

a hand reached out to him. And now enters the man, Jim, the widowers husband.

PART 7

Hey Kid!! Hey Kid!! Can you hear me? Grab my hand! Hey Kid!! Hey Kid!! Can you hear me, grab my arm, I’ll pull you in. That was the voice of the widowers husband.

All the boy could hear was a muffled sound, but saw the arm, and tried desperately to get out. He grabbed the strange hand that had come from above, and Jim pulled

him out with the strongest of tugs. Jim pulled the boy off of the ice, and made sure that he was alright. Can you hear me kid?! Can you hear me?!

But the boy was barely breathing, cold and shivering. What could be done to save the lonely boy on Christmas?

Jim started a fire with some sticks around him, and hoped and prayed that something could heal him. But as the fire grew stronger, soon the boy breathed in, and looked into the eyes of the man that saved him.

And at this very moment, the widower was sleeping, and dreaming what seemed to be the same thing. It was about a boy who fell on a dark night of the thinnest of ice,

and her husband was surely alive, and saved this boy’s life.

PART 8

The widower hadn’t left her house since her husband had disappeared, but she had to leave, her heart was telling her so, that she had to go, out of the darkness and

back into that snow. And as she left, she took a deep breath, and that was when she realized for the first time her self, that the darkness she lived in, this town, of castles

and shadows, there were more places to see, like the place in her dream. She visioned a stream, lit up by a bright star, and there she ventured out into the dark.

And there she sang.. My heart tells me to follow my dreams, and I will sing this song until he hears me. So she began singing. My heart tells me to follow my dreams,

andI will sing till my angel hears me. And just like that, the star lit up the whole place,

and though they were far apart, she could see his face. By the place in her dream, right by the stream, where she would find her Jim, and where she found…..me.

Part 8

Yes I was the lonely boy on Christmas, but now that I have grown, I am no longer alone. My family, Rosaline and my father Jim, we live outside of the darkness, where the shadows live. And though you must find your own way, and sometimes follow that dream, to get the biggest tree, or play station three, all you really want is a good family, and maybe a dog. Like the dog that I have. But really in the end a mom and a dad, and people that love you. And believing that the right star will shine above you.

So there you have it.

Merry Christmas to all of you, and all of yours.May love and light unlock all your doors.

Merry Christmas

from Jason

editor

: Image by Q, A, O, P, Space via Flickr

There once was a town it seemed that was always cold. Even when it was warm it still was always cold.

The people were mean. The people weren’t green. The people weren’t clean. They all forgot their dreams and no one could sleep.

Not even sheep, could make them dream. They all had forgot there meaning, and what it meant to be free.

They lived their lives as shadows. they lived in poor man castles, some were drunk and staggered, and some were slaves in shackles.

They all had forgotten, what once was their motto,— to live in darkness, you could never cast a shadow, and in the darkness, shadows never follow

and when the light shines from the sun in the seasons, whether frost bitten hands, or those wearing mittens, the sun always shined on the ones who asked for wisdom

and one did….the lonely boy on christmas.

But it never happened, no gifts were given to him on this christmas.

or any christmas.

there he sat in the town of castles and shadows, where the cold seemed to sting, everyone and everything.

and he began to reminisce of his families last christmas, the last time he was given a kiss on his head, and that warm feeling he had, and the last words ever said by his dad.

“you must live by yourself we can no longer take care of you”

and he said to them “I’m just a boy…what do you expect me to do?”

but his father and mother, they didn’t love one another, and they didn’t really mean to say what they said, so one day they both got into their cars and left.

But before they left they both kissed him both on the cheek, and said

and then they had left the lonely boy on Christmas.

PART 2

At the same time there was a young widow, who always sat by the window, with a sad glow, waiting for her husband to come home.

He and her, also lived in this world.

The world that was mentioned in part one, a world of no fun, where noone could smile in fear of being stung. because the cold was too cold, and some were too poor to buy coats, and besides,

the castles were hidden by shadows, and moats protected by ghosts, but still there was hope that her love would come home. and every day she wrote from a journal

that was given to her, from her husband who had disappeared, in the cold of the winter, and made her from married and happy, to a way too young widower.

Her name was Rosaline, and she was only eighteen when she found the man of her dreams. But one day he left to go to the store, and was never seen anymore, and

people had said that he had gone missing, in a cold storm, on a frosty Thanksgiving, and they stopped searching after a few weeks, cause noone could survive out in the

cold on those peaks. But Rosaline, never stopped looking out that window, till one day it started to snow. and then it suddenly stopped. And out from they sky an angel just dropped.

PART 3

Before I tell you how the angel dropped, and why the snow stopped, we must go back to the spot where the boy sat patiently, waiting for the day, when his family

would come back, and how all he wanted was that dog for christmas, a little dog wrapped up with a bright blue ribbon, but really

gifts were not on his wish list, just a little slice of happiness, outside of all that darkness

That day the boy decided to leave, he said to himself, I’m going to get a tree, so he left his castle and stepped out of the shadows, and headed to the forest outside of

the meadow, and began a long walk out of the darkness and into an even darker forest. He could have went left, and went towards the shore, he decided to go

north, and ventured forth towards, the forest and the trees, and the bright north star. He knew little of where he was, but it was better then where he would be, and

besides it was christmas he wanted a tree.

Before he left, he dressed in his warmest clothes, hat and coat, and scarf to protect his nose, and the only possession he had with him, was a backpack of provisions,

and a compass, and a map. And off he went, and took his first step out of the darkness, while in that same town a widower wept.

Part 4

Oh Where did he go, got lost in the snow? She sang to herself, while she sat by the window. Oh where did he go? And when will he return, to give me his love, I so desperately yearn”

At the same time she sang by her window in that empty house, the compass was pointing telling the boy to go south.

But the map said that the meadow, was the way to go, but his heart told him to follow the star, and into the dark, he ventured in, to the deep forest, where

the trees lied there in.

PART 5

Well dear reader, you must be weary of me, so let me tell you how the boy found his tree.

And also a brand new family.

It starts where we left, with the boy’s lonely trek, and ends, well were not quite there yet. So the boy began his climb into that deep forest, while the angels sang to him,

this simple chorus. Follow the star son, follow the star, follow the star son, follow the star. Yes, the boy was lonely and scared, for sure, but in his head and heart he

was strong and secure. People would leave him, for that he was sure, but never his family, that scar was the worst, and his head began to hurt. But before the tears

started to fall, he took a step and all of a sudden he was not by himself, and while he was down and thinking about life, he somehow had wandered onto the thinnest of

ice.

PART 6

Oh reader, Oh me oh my, What did this boy do on that thinnest of ice. He walked oh so carefully, and he could hear the ice creak, and then there was the crack in the

ice he could see. He thought to himself, dang if I wasn’t thinking about all my problems, I might have seen this coming, and i could have done something, instead

of being stuck where I am, and then something happened.

The ice cracked, and splintered

and cracked, and splintered and cracked,

and the ice fell underneath his feet, and the boy was suddenly over his head, and while under the coldest degrees, he began to see,

Christmas wasn’t about getting presents or trees, it was about being happy. He was under the water gasping for air, trying desperately to be freed from a horrible death indeed ,

then at this moment

a hand reached out to him. And now enters the man, Jim, the widowers husband.

PART 7

Hey Kid!! Hey Kid!! Can you hear me? Grab my hand! Hey Kid!! Hey Kid!! Can you hear me, grab my arm, I’ll pull you in. That was the voice of the widowers husband.

All the boy could hear was a muffled sound, but saw the arm, and tried desperately to get out. He grabbed the strange hand that had come from above, and Jim pulled

him out with the strongest of tugs. Jim pulled the boy off of the ice, and made sure that he was alright. Can you hear me kid?! Can you hear me?!

But the boy was barely breathing, cold and shivering. What could be done to save the lonely boy on Christmas?

And at this very moment, the widower was sleeping, and dreaming what seemed to be the same thing. It was about a boy who fell on a dark night of the thinnest of ice,

and her husband was surely alive, and saved this boy’s life.

PART 8

The widower hadn’t left her house since her husband had disappeared, but she had to leave, her heart was telling her so, that she had to go, out of the darkness and

back into that snow. And as she left, she took a deep breath, and that was when she realized for the first time her self, that the darkness she lived in, this town, of castles

and shadows, there were more places to see, like the place in her dream. She visioned a stream, lit up by a bright star, and there she ventured out into the dark.

And there she sang.. My heart tells me to follow my dreams, and I will sing this song until he hears me. So she began singing. My heart tells me to follow my dreams,

andI will sing till my angel hears me. And just like that, the star lit up the whole place,

and though they were far apart, she could see his face. By the place in her dream, right by the stream, where she would find her Jim, and where she found…..me.

Part 8

So there you have it.

Merry Christmas to all of you, and all of yours.May love and light unlock all your doors.

Merry Christmas

from Jason

editor

Absolution by Lisa Finck Cordeau

manthestorm3 — Mon, 12 Dec 2011 04:47:54 +0000

Be peaceful, quiet and calm

Running over and over this qualm

Guilt, tears and shame

I am to blame

Not for all, but maybe for some

Absolution some day will come

Accept it for what it is

I say NEVER, I know what ’tis

To have a dream so close

Something you want the most

Out of reach, just beyond

Your grasp, thought you were strong

Silent cracking, can you hear

A heart realizing it’s greatest fear

A million pieces scattered on the wind

Somewhere I must’ve sinned

So great to warrant this

Punishment is what it is

A thousand sorrys escape my lips

Gasping sobs, my toungue trips

On the words I need to say

I will say them every day

To appease and bring it close

This dream I wish for the most.

Living in a Soulful Sea in memory of Susan Greenberg, by Jason Wright

manthestorm3 — Thu, 27 Oct 2011 01:31:47 +0000

My Aunt Sue died last night

Haven’t been feeling right since,

Cause if God controls everything

Then why does he let us call it quits,

Or let lungs and limbs stop defending off

poison in the body, drink too much coffee

Blood pressure goes up, too much caffeine and nicotine in the blood

And your up, and can’t sleep.

If God wanted us not to suffer then what does that make for me, Aunt Sue, Jeremy and Jimmy?

All part of my family, and cancer got them all.

But the soul leaves the body, and they all rejoice in harmony, in a soulful sea, totally free, from the pain and brutality of cancer and all other things theres no answer for.

But couldn’t something? Science? God? Work together to cure it all?

Like when a dude gets lit up for wearing the wrong color chucks, in his own neighborhood, what happens to his family…his friends? His pain is gone, but the pain lives on in the eyes of his kids, and on in their song.

My Aunt Sue, she decided she would die without suffering through chemo, but the body can only break and then finally it goes.

As sure as a New England winter, you know it will always snow, someone will fall to cancer, that’s what we wear the pink ribbons for.

I say the body is made of salt and water.

And an ocean is filled with salt and water.

If we live in a world where parts of the ocean are undiscovered….then couldn’t the answer be somewhere in that water?

That soulful sea that lives in the world of green leaves?

Couldn’t’t the calming effect of a tide pool understand you better then you do?

I don’t know I think of things like this,

Like its easy to say FUCK CANCER, but the problem still exists, and even when I’m done with this little trip to Davis and back. They’ll still be heart attacks, some from fat, and some from smack, and though cancer kills more smokers then I can even comprehend….When I’m done reading this poem, I’m gonna still smoke a cigarette.

So why do we do this?

Our lives we live are not soulful seas. Not the ocean breeze, nah, were swimming in a cesspool, and its in our food and in our air we breathe.

So that’s the fact, we get like 50 good years of living, tops.

Then the body breaks down and all that fun you had.

Every cheeseburger, every cigarette

Every drink you had, it all comes back

Whats up with that?

Living healthy sucks. Smoking and drinking and coughing up from the lungs sucks, and I’m broke,

but still shell out 8 bucks for a pack,

Whats up with that?

Then we drink too much, and regurgitate what we drunk, and we call this fun? Kids looking forward to 21?

I know I am very unhealthy, and even more int the mind, but well that’s fine, and I’m sure It’s time to change around my life, wish I could believe these words I write.

I guess since theres no answer to this question

I hoped I’d sent a message but if I don’t…

I guess its easy to revolt

Rise up with all of us who lost someone to this,

Scream it loud

FUCK CANCER,

Lets do something about it….and hope the message sticks

Rest In Peace Susie Greenberg.

Lets Build This Thing Together by Jason Wright

manthestorm3 — Wed, 12 Oct 2011 01:32:00 +0000

This begins now.

I feel good again, its been a long time. Poets, artists lets reconvene, and put life back in to ODDBALL MAGAZINE.

I’ve been depressed I’ll admit it, kind of hard when you have mental illness. But I’m back and I hope you are too. So lets build this thing together.

Im on a new medicine. It’s called wishful thinking.

(also new thyroid medicine, no more late for work, no more severe depression)

this is a poem, from my new book I am writing titled “School of Thought”

I think that I might lose my job tomorrow

But I feel like that every Friday

I feel good.

The new prescription works

Woke up and set a personal best

Less then 6 hours rested

And still got up, and did my best.

Early to work, early to rise,

Keeps food on the table

And love in your life.

Might turn on the computer

And navigate to the old website

Time to breathe new life

Into dead megabytes.

Im going to kick the magazine back into high gear

Yell from the hallowed halls

of the database

“IS ANYONE STILL HERE?”

And if you are, I thank you

A new book.

A new medicine.

A new me.

And this feeling isn’t going away any time soon

I’m like a new chapter

A fresh fish

A sweet apple

A megapixel

Dilated and rattled

But still face any battle

Been battered

But never shattered

Back in time

Rewind my history

Rewrite my future

Feel the conclusion is far from over

The clouds have gotten lower

But its still sunshine in my summer

Stop and GO (free prose) by JSNWRT

manthestorm3 — Thu, 11 Aug 2011 23:22:17 +0000

Image via Wikipedia

when I write,

I try to be the best, like the quest Im on, to be sure shot and head strong, to kick flows like nothing you ever heard on the radio

To see the sites, while I still can move, every night I stand on the stage, and prove it to you, that poetry is not dead, its moving like inertia, you stop we keep moving, and you know that’s unheard of, to quit this poetry thing, cause its impossible when you know the emperor has no clothing, and you know it, but keep the words going like the ebb and flow of the ocean, a manic mind moving, striving for improvement, can’t read what I write sometimes, and just feel stupid, but when I get up on the mic, its teacher and student, but this wordschememovement, is the rudest truth, that we belong to the earth, and it does not belong to us, so be down with each other, be real with each other, keep the consonants and vowels together, and be real with your brother. That’s the realest truth there is, to be cool and learn lessons each day you live.

And on we go, this is JSNWRT, the consonants, constant no vowels, moving to Soul Position, listening to RJD2 on the ones and twos. The pro’s prose,

I think I must be, the bes

t then I can be, cause if Im not then what do I got, an empty stomach, and a ink blot test, like what can you see can you see this yet, it is green and blue, like the world, and mother ocean, our ocean is bloated with oil, the world seems to be burning down, London’s Burning as we speak, and that just happened in about a week, cause we never stop or slow our speed, quick to erupt when we see the corrupt, but where’s the love, and what happened to free speech?

The meek will inherit the earth, but until then, what can I do, I can’t let people walk all over me, you shouldn’t too, point out a bro dude, and tell him to fix his collar, and that his fake tan sucks, and that youd rather be listening to your own music, rocking your shell toes, or rocking your chucks. Listening to music is the biggest freedom, and sets me apart from them, because I am more exposed, then the emperor with no clothes, cause I listen to this and that, from straight up flows, hip-hop to folk rock, theloniousmingus,birdparker, you know im talking about jazz.

Back when I was a young cat, my dad used to call me jazz, and only a couple believed in this poetry that I do, but now, I think im getting the point out, that this is true lyrics and flows from the prose prose JSNWRT, writing to ignite sparks in life, cause Im sick of being nothing, and driving with no direction,

Im going to flood the engine, and get it going till my name is known in your section.…and on and on I could go on…

But I believe that its best to stop, while you still got your flow on.

We Both Know How We Got Here (Andrew Borne and Jason Wright)

manthestorm3 — Tue, 19 Jul 2011 01:40:05 +0000

Image via Wikipedia

Oddball
4 j-sun w/ luv

on the night Jason went crazy
we lived in a yellow house filled with j names
jen and jake who loved each other madly!!!!
jen threw an ashtray at his head once and I had to call 911
because I thought he was having seizures, who was faking but
still pretty fed up
they loved each other alright and I never heard a word of it
then there was joe who was dealing drugs and we smoked crack together and
tim made a video of him smoking crack to the fugazi song waiting room
without any irony that the band said was straight edge
anyways I don’t remember much but I do remember that
Jason was talking about jesus living on the moon and this was before jesus found me and

"The Path" photography by Sabrina Gravanti

satan lived on mars or maybe the sun, I’m not sure
he had a middle east or rather eastern religion/philosophy class
that made him go crazy and he was thinking about the Buddha and
everyone thought or at least Jason thought that we could read his thoughts but
we were just drunk and Jason said some semi-racist things but I knew he wasn’t racist and I know now where he was coming from and going
anyways the other j name was julian who was left behind by dasan the only black person
I saw on a frequent friendly basis and he was out of his mind
julian then said some pseudo racist things in the form of a poem and joe was offended because he was a drug dealer.anyways julian stripped to his underwear and wigged out joe the other kid who didn’t really live there and we had to kick himout.
eventually joe left too

"The World as I Know It" by Sabrina Gravanti

but Jason left on his own and he walked with henry Rollins down i-95 singing to America
and trying to meet p-diddy
I guess someone picked him up and thought he was crazy
and I guess he was
but he was cool
because he wrote a s load of poems that I really admired both the quantity and
the quality of
and sometimes disturbing
one time we were later recording music and Jason said, inspirationally
make love, drink wine, Buddha bless
that’s what jesus says
and I loved him for that
he also become my cigarette burn buddy
just like my mom except this time it was mutual and we were both drunk.
we drank a lot and I did a lot of stupid things
like balsamic vinegar, bacon, egg salad, chocolate syrup, etc.
and oh yeah the skate board at the kids head and many many more fed up things
smash smash smash, etc,
did Jason destroy, no
he just created he was awesome and I was evil
I slapt him once for no reason other than I wanted to see his reaction
he is solid gold as a friend
no bs
gin and tonic till you vomit

"Blueberry Coast" by Sabrina Gravanti

psyche ward celebrity
oh yeah and he tried to do some kung fu with the customers at the movie theater
before he was fired
and there were many flies on my wall
man the storm friend
God bless you

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Andrew,

I am not afraid.

Here is your poem,

This is what you made.

You made me see a part of me.

A part that I have forgotten,

You wrote it down, in memory of me,

But I am not gone.

You can tell me, that I seem free now

That I am no longer, out of my mind

Maybe I am, but the chains bind….they still

Hang around my hands

Like wires or vines.

See…You see the sense that I had,

The truth I tried to forget.

Mania is a truth, that seems true till

You alienate…

Your friends,

Your lovers,

Your family,

Your self….and all that is left is a memory

A poem written from another

Morning view.

All that’s left is empty beer bottles

Cigarettes and incense

Burned into arms.

The burns heal, leave scars,

But in truth,

We are stars…

And some of us burned out

But stars like us

We shine.

The Giving Tree by Leah Barsanti

manthestorm3 — Sat, 02 Jul 2011 13:38:24 +0000

The Giving Tree

Eloise was a tree. She grew tall and strong and green feet

roots sprouted leg trunks sprouted branch body and branch arms sprouted leaf head and hair.

Eloise was a tree.

James was a woodpecker,

He visited her on Sundays when it didn’t rain and ate bugs off her skin and ran his feet through her hair-

They were cold but she didn’t mind,

But James was a woodpecker and birds fly south for the winter,

She couldn’t follow,

She had to remain true to her roots.

Eric was a squirrel,

He came to Eloise on weekdays that he didn’t spend in his girlfriend’s hole,

He burrowed into her and it hurt a little,

But he was warm and she was glad for the companionship,

But Eric was a squirrel

and eventually he went off in search of his nuts and she never saw him again.

Harold was a lumberjack and she fell for him,

Of course he was just using her for her body,

They all were, in the end.

Afghan Den by Michael McSweeney

manthestorm3 — Sat, 25 Jun 2011 13:40:05 +0000

“Afghan Den”

Crumpled sheets of foil rot in the sunlight,

tucked in concrete corners of an old culture center

by hands and eyes that shield. The camera

flash illuminates the clouded minds, groups

of squatting, dirt-filled men who cough and mutter.

They see things I don’t, but have before:

the indescribable illusion, comfort

like the blanket someone puts over you

while you sleep, and when you wake

it’s something you can only hope for

again. The men smoke opium and stare at me

through the laptop scorching my legs.

I’m sitting in class and the professor tells us

that the closest route between two points

is a straight line, but I already know this;

as a young man oceans behind in life

I can’t do anything about the world

that lives behind a fate-thumbed screen.

Can You Save a Sinner With a Swear Jar? by Jason Wright

manthestorm3 — Wed, 08 Jun 2011 02:07:05 +0000

Walt, Can you save a sinner…with a swear jar?

Look we all see the world in two degrees,

One that sees the world as what it is,

And what we think it should be

And then another part that seems more like

What I see, a world of prayer and profanity

My dad tells me and Lisa agrees, that my poetry

Is beautiful, but when I swear, it brings it down a notch

Then I think, well shouldn’t all poetry be appreciated,

And then I think about hip-hop

I guess I went off my rocker, at the show the other night

My friend Rob came up and told me, during the set

That damn man, you got to think of what you said.

I don’t see it as a bad thing or a good thing,

And im not preaching religion, or anything at all…just writing another poem

From oddball to all y’all

‘

But if I offend you what should I do, why am I wasting

Time on this, defending what I do…I know enough

That I can write without it, but if what I write, when Im down

Depressed, or up and lifted, that I can’t change the words

As they are written.

Damn, then wheres the freedom?