Untitled
I likey haiku
Do you likely this haiku?
YAY, FIVE SEVEN FIVE!
Dictator
Get the bad, bad man
Gadaffi, that is his name
Genocide's his game
Bombs Away!
Boom, boom, goes the bombs
Dead, dead, is the enemy
Oh crap, wrong target!
Fast Food
French fries taste real good
So does a Big Mac with cheese
HURGGH! MY HEART'S FAILING
Good Advice
"Don't run with scissors
You may stab something you need."
"Nah, I will be fine."
Sunday Driver
Old Lady drivin' a car
Does not go fast, rides the brakes
I.... AM.... GONNA... KILL.... YOU!!!!
Volunteer Work
Let me get this straight,
You want me to work for free?
What a dumb idea.
Competitive Gaming
Playing Street Fighter
I lose; throw my controller.
It breaks. "This game sucks!"
Class
Sitting in this class
I contemplate suicide.
Rather die than be here.
Gotta Go
Where's the bathroom at?
I find it and go inside.
Stall says, "OUT OF ORDER."
3/22/11
The Happy Couple
I sat there staring at him and his big stupid head, as he slurped down a spoonful of Frosted Mini-Wheats and swallowed them with his stupid mouth. I can’t believe I had stayed married to his stupid face for the past thirteen years. He made this terrible grinding sound whenever he ate cereal. His spoon sort of scraped the roof of his mouth, and then he let his teeth graze the bottom of the spoon as it exited that hole in his face he called a mouth. The sound was enough to cause me to take a knife from the cupboard drawer and shove it through his left eye socket, piercing his stupid looking glasses and impaling his gray matter.
“Honey, can you pass me the milk?”
He muttered to me in-between indiscernible grunts and utterances. I smiled as I passed him the carton. He was turning forty-eight in May. I was going to be thirty-seven next week. It’s hard to believe that I had known this man since I was just barely an adult. He was examining the back of the cereal box and chuckling to himself in-between gulps as he read the cartoon that most fourth graders find immature and stupid. His laugh wasn’t that of a normal man’s laugh; my husband’s laugh was something on par with that of a hyena’s squeal. It truly was a stupid and pathetic laugh. I looked down at my watch and then looked back at him. For the first time all morning, he looked back at me and met my gaze and returned it with one of his own. He grinned widely at me, much in the same adoration and way he smiled at me on our first date.
He had such a stupid smile.
I politely returned the smile, only mine being purely out of pity. Only five more minutes and he would leave for work. Then I wouldn’t have to see him for another eight hours. My mind quickly began to race as I realized what day it was. It was Friday. That meant he would expect the two of us to go out tonight. I immediately began to think of excuses to use later in order to get out of having to endure a night of torture and pain with him. Perhaps I would tell him I was too tired, or perhaps I had suddenly gotten very ill while he was away at work. Yes. That could work. He would likely be stupid enough to believe that. In order to make it even more believable, I would begin developing my plan this very second. I opened my mouth to speak; to make a comment about how I currently wasn’t feeling well, but before I could say anything, he opened his big stupid mouth and stupid words began to flow freely from it.
“You know, it’s been awhile since we have gone to a nice place to eat. I was thinking that tonight after work, maybe you and I could go out to that Italian place that you like so much.”
The idea of enduring an hour-long dinner conversation with him was enough to make me want to kill myself. Once again I smiled faintly at him, and was about to reply when I then realized that he wasn’t done speaking.
“… Then afterwards maybe we can come back here, light some candles maybe have some wine… you know, just have a nice romantic night together.”
I had to nearly physically restrain myself from vomiting all over the kitchen table. Suddenly it all made so much sense. With him, it was never about a nice gesture, or doing something spontaneous because he cared, but rather it was always about sex. Everything was about sex with him. And the funny thing is, he was stupid enough to think he was going to get it later on tonight. As if buying me a nice dinner was enough to get me to put out. It’s as if he thought of me as some whore where all he has to do is wave some money around and I will come running. Little did he know that sex was the problem behind everything. If it wasn’t for his stupid problem we wouldn’t be in the situation we are now. I wouldn’t be sitting in this kitchen chair, alone with him, feeling useless as a woman, and even more useless as a person. Every time I look at his face I am reminded of the life we never had together, and I am just now realizing that the chance of life I could have once had is now gone forever. The doctor’s said his problem would just “fix” itself, but what do they know. They’re just as stupid as he is.
“Looks like I’m going to be late. Guess I’d better get going.”
He stood up from the table and placed his bowl and spoon in the sink. As usual, he forgot to wash it and instead left it for me to take care of later. As he began to walk towards the front door, he stopped for a moment and backtracked towards me. He then did something that caught me off guard. He leaned over and kissed me on the cheek, while whispering something directly into my ear.
“You’re the best. I love you.”
He then quickly turned around on his heel and proceeded to walk out the front door. The door slammed hard behind him, and I subsequently bolted and latched the door’s top lock. That very instant as I locked the front door, I had an epiphany. My husband loves me. My husband is still in love with me. In fact, he is so much in love with me that it can almost be called “stupid.”
My husband is a stupid, stupid man. And I am a stupid woman for allowing him to think that I love him back.
“Honey, can you pass me the milk?”
He muttered to me in-between indiscernible grunts and utterances. I smiled as I passed him the carton. He was turning forty-eight in May. I was going to be thirty-seven next week. It’s hard to believe that I had known this man since I was just barely an adult. He was examining the back of the cereal box and chuckling to himself in-between gulps as he read the cartoon that most fourth graders find immature and stupid. His laugh wasn’t that of a normal man’s laugh; my husband’s laugh was something on par with that of a hyena’s squeal. It truly was a stupid and pathetic laugh. I looked down at my watch and then looked back at him. For the first time all morning, he looked back at me and met my gaze and returned it with one of his own. He grinned widely at me, much in the same adoration and way he smiled at me on our first date.
He had such a stupid smile.
I politely returned the smile, only mine being purely out of pity. Only five more minutes and he would leave for work. Then I wouldn’t have to see him for another eight hours. My mind quickly began to race as I realized what day it was. It was Friday. That meant he would expect the two of us to go out tonight. I immediately began to think of excuses to use later in order to get out of having to endure a night of torture and pain with him. Perhaps I would tell him I was too tired, or perhaps I had suddenly gotten very ill while he was away at work. Yes. That could work. He would likely be stupid enough to believe that. In order to make it even more believable, I would begin developing my plan this very second. I opened my mouth to speak; to make a comment about how I currently wasn’t feeling well, but before I could say anything, he opened his big stupid mouth and stupid words began to flow freely from it.
“You know, it’s been awhile since we have gone to a nice place to eat. I was thinking that tonight after work, maybe you and I could go out to that Italian place that you like so much.”
The idea of enduring an hour-long dinner conversation with him was enough to make me want to kill myself. Once again I smiled faintly at him, and was about to reply when I then realized that he wasn’t done speaking.
“… Then afterwards maybe we can come back here, light some candles maybe have some wine… you know, just have a nice romantic night together.”
I had to nearly physically restrain myself from vomiting all over the kitchen table. Suddenly it all made so much sense. With him, it was never about a nice gesture, or doing something spontaneous because he cared, but rather it was always about sex. Everything was about sex with him. And the funny thing is, he was stupid enough to think he was going to get it later on tonight. As if buying me a nice dinner was enough to get me to put out. It’s as if he thought of me as some whore where all he has to do is wave some money around and I will come running. Little did he know that sex was the problem behind everything. If it wasn’t for his stupid problem we wouldn’t be in the situation we are now. I wouldn’t be sitting in this kitchen chair, alone with him, feeling useless as a woman, and even more useless as a person. Every time I look at his face I am reminded of the life we never had together, and I am just now realizing that the chance of life I could have once had is now gone forever. The doctor’s said his problem would just “fix” itself, but what do they know. They’re just as stupid as he is.
“Looks like I’m going to be late. Guess I’d better get going.”
He stood up from the table and placed his bowl and spoon in the sink. As usual, he forgot to wash it and instead left it for me to take care of later. As he began to walk towards the front door, he stopped for a moment and backtracked towards me. He then did something that caught me off guard. He leaned over and kissed me on the cheek, while whispering something directly into my ear.
“You’re the best. I love you.”
He then quickly turned around on his heel and proceeded to walk out the front door. The door slammed hard behind him, and I subsequently bolted and latched the door’s top lock. That very instant as I locked the front door, I had an epiphany. My husband loves me. My husband is still in love with me. In fact, he is so much in love with me that it can almost be called “stupid.”
My husband is a stupid, stupid man. And I am a stupid woman for allowing him to think that I love him back.
3/14/11
8.9
Recently I've been trying my best to follow up on the aptly named "DISASTER IN JAPAN". Typically I'm not one to follow the news, but it seems as of late everyone is more or less obsessed with finding out the latest death tolls and destruction numbers. Personally, I've really only been watching it for the photos and videos that have been taken as a result of the catastrophe. Now maybe you're sitting there and you are thinking to yourself, "Josh, why would you possibly want to see those videos and photos? What are you, some kind of morbid freak? It's like you have a thing for death!" And if by chance you actually happen to be currently thinking this, let me just answer you by saying this: No, I do not have a "thing for death", nor am I one to obsess over excessively morbid thoughts (although I do have them from time to time... but that's neither here nor there). Instead, I have been watching and finding these clips/pictures for a completely different reason. First let me tell you an actual story that happened to me just a few hours ago.
After deciding to skip my afternoon classes today on account of my Romantic Literature class being cancelled, I decided to head over to NYPD for a relaxing lunch (for those of you unfamiliar with what N.Y.P.D is I suggest visiting downtown Ypsilanti soon and checking it out, their deep dish pizza is quite amazing). Anyway, when I got there I noticed that an overhead television was displaying some of the more recent developments of the earthquake/tsunami. After ordering my food, I sat down next to the television and began eating while being simultaneously drawn to the horror that was on-display via the television. As I was nearly finished with my food, one of the workers came over and stood by the T.V. for a moment. I paid little attention to him until he spoke.
“It doesn’t seem real,” he said. The man was wearing a green shirt and blue jeans. His hair was about shoulder length, and he had a full beard. “My God, would you just look at that?” he went on, “It makes you feel so small… almost insignificant. I mean here we are safe in Michigan, in a little old pizza place, and half way across the world people are dying in the streets.”
For a moment I was speechless. Not solely because of the sheer frankness of the man’s words, but also because of the real truth that was behind them. I could only really reply with a simple, “Yeah. It’s pretty crazy.” After that the man nodded, and walked back in to the kitchen. For the next few minutes I sat there at the table, staring in bewilderment at the absolute chaos and destruction on the screen, with one sole thought in my mind: Human beings are indeed small, seemingly insignificant creatures.
There is something truly humbling about looking at the aftermath of what can only be described as an act of God. It truly makes you think for a moment just how fragile a human life is. Take for example the many Japanese that were killed during the initial earthquake. Almost no one had any real idea what was about to happen, and even less had an actual chance to react to the situation. One second everyone is going about their life like any other day, and a second later an entire village and more than half of its inhabitants are eradicated.
I think this is something that Americans in particular never really consider. Sure we read about “catastrophes” in the newspapers, and we hear about massacres in the news, but it seems we really never stop to consider that such an event can happen to us. I feel even now as I watch the news about Japan and how the death toll is now in the tens of thousands I can’t help but feel that I am still just as safe as ever right here in good old Michigan. But the truth is, none of us are ever truly “safe”. Anyone can expire without a moment’s notice; and unfortunately to the rest of the world, you will then just be another statistic in some book somewhere.
So I’ve said all that to say this: The next time you find yourself watching the news, and the reporter is spouting off the most recent death tolls as some new catastrophic event unfolds, and you think to yourself, “That’s how many people were killed? Well that’s not so bad”, stop and think again. Those “numbers” were human beings. No, they’re not just people from some other foreign country. They’re not terrorists, or Communists, or whatever type of people you want to call them; they were people, just like you and me. And finally, if you ever catch yourself thinking with this typical American mentality, remind yourself that it just as easily can be your name the reporter is reading from the list of the deceased.
3/6/11
The Art of Posting Without Posting
Hmm... Looks like I went ahead and created yet another blog. I think this makes six... strange. I seem to have some absurd fetish with creating blogs, designing them, changing around all the settings to my liking, and then never posting on them ever again. In fact this whole little ordeal strangely reminds me of a Bruce Lee quote. In "Enter the Dragon", Bruce Lee is asked by a rival fighter what his fighting style is, to which Bruce replies,"I practice the art of fighting without fighting." For some time now, I have tried to decipher what this little quote might mean, and after much deliberation I think I have finally figured it out. Old Brucie was likely saying that he was capable of defeating opponents (or fighting them) without actually fighting. Okay. Wow. I am doing a terrible job of explaining this. Let me try again.
During the time of "Enter the Dragon"'s theatrical release, Lee was known as an expert martial artist, and in the movie "Enter the Dragon", he is revered by many of his fellow rival fighters. Thus, Bruce Lee gave off an aura so to speak, an aura or rather a reputation that instantly created fear and intimidation within his opponents. But it goes even further than this. By mastering the art of fighting without fighting, Lee also had to acknowledge within himself that he was one of the greatest fighters who had ever lived; that's not to say that he was cocky or arrogant, but rather that he was simply confident of his own abilities and skills. Thus, whenever he entered a battle, he went in with having the idea that he had already won because he was so sure of his skills; therefore he did not even need to fight, because in his mind he had already won the second he stepped into the arena.
Anyway, I feel this quote can be applied to my writing at times. Although I have failed to keep up with some of my past blogs at times, I still know that somewhere within me lies the skills and abilities to become a great writer. I am in fact quite confident of this. Thus, from this day forth, I am going to try and post SOMETHING of worth on this site on a semi-consistent basis. So I hope those of you that are reading this, will continue to check in from time to time to see what I have to say (or rather what I have to write)...
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