The Color Of Hunger

Archive for February 2010

Feeling The Pain Of The World Today….

Posted by: on: February 14, 2010

We never change our ways. Living in a water world of fake promise and faded future. Trapped here. And the people who can’t handle it are swimming in it. Searching for dry spots, but this pool has no steps or fancy rails. No shallow end. And no drain. So it fills up. And eventually seeps over the sides. Floods are constant. Damage is inevitable.

But the people are reaching out this time. They don’t want this. Stray water is uncomfortable.

Me?

I just get lost in it. With it. Above and below it. I sink and then I float. All the memories get tangled in filters. Spiderwebs of youth form inside them. Only a few remain. And I’m the outsider looking in. I grab for a piece dangling to my left. All I come back with is sticky. Drowning, but not from fear – curiosity is a tricky fellow.

I’m so tired of it now though.

I head for the ladder, right over left. Repeat. Right over left. Repeat. But these rungs are too slippery. And I am far too heavy.

Confused, my feet leave me at the ankles. I fall backwards, plunging below the surface yet again. Cold, wet, numb. I know this water all too well. But why is it so hard to get up? There’s got to be a reason for it all. But why can’t I find it?

Frustration sets in. Tears on fire. Slicing their way across sharp cheekbones, erasing hope as they greet the chin. A plastic surgeon with a butter knife. The flame is always cold once it reaches the lips. I’m left to taste the embers. Darkness falls, the people are crying out. And I’m right there with them.

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

My Life As A 5th Grader….

Posted by: on: February 12, 2010

Man, I loved hogging the drinking fountain in elementary school. There was only one too, in the ENTIRE school. (Great Northern – it was a two-story brick building, housing give-or-take forty kids, K-6th.) “Neiner, neiner, neeeeiner.” Drink, drink, drink. Then I’d do that thing where I’d fake like I was finished, wipe my sleeve across my mouth even, for added effect, just to bend down and drink some more. Haha! That was the best. Especially when I’d get the kids I didn’t like waiting behind me. They wouldn’t say anything. Of course not. That meant defeat and losing when yer twelve years old is simply not acceptable.
 
So twenty seconds would go by, and then ten more, and then twenty seconds after that, until finally they’d get so impatient, they’d go to the bathroom and drink from the sink faucet. I’d get to a point where I couldn’t swallow anymore cuz I was choking on the water from laughing so hard. It’s tough enough trying to muffle laughter when yer a fifth grader, but when kids start resorting to the bathroom sink because you currently hold all access to the water fountain, shit just gets soooo much funnier. I guess it’s the equivalent of asking for a water cup at Mickey D’s and in turn, filling it up with Mountain Dew. And then giggling quietly in the corner booth with the rest of yer friends because, dude, you just scored a free cup of pop. Take that Ronald! Mwahahaha!
 
Karma would always find a way to bite me in the ass though. I’d get back to the classroom after the pass over period to find my spelling test on my desk, a big red ‘F’ smeared across the front of it.
 
“What the hell is this!? I don’t deserve this!”
“Yer right, you deserve an F minus. But unfortunately they haven’t put that into the grading scale yet.”
 
I’d look to my friends for help with that sad frowny face, you know the one. Mouth open, nostrils flared, eyebrows resembling upside down pinball flippers. Like when the heating bill’s a hundred bucks more than last month. (“That’s it honey, we’re switchin’ ta blankets and bonfires. Blankets and bonfires!”) Haha. My friends would always side with the teacher though. Always. It never failed. I suppose power in numbers is a little less effective when yer in elementary school, but come on, I was all for trying new things.
 
“Huhu, you spelled ‘green’ wrong? How do you spell ‘green’ wrong? Huhu.”
“Don’t give me crap, Davey. I mixed up the past and present, okay.”
“Green’s not a verb, Bree.”
“Damnit Davey!”
 
The teacher would write that ‘F’ in the darkest shade of red he could find, too. Just for me. All the other kids’ letters would be perfectly placed in the left corner of the page, all pretty and fancy and cursive and sparkly. Some a playful blue, others a happy orange. Shit, even the D’s were written with one of those nifty purple highlighters. Then you’d get to mine and it would look like something just got murdered. (You’d search for caution tape and a body, but come back with pieces of soggy marker paper and a guilty Sharpie.) All you’d see was red. A page of red. And the ‘F’ was like, fucking CARVED into the paper. It took up the entire page, so you knew it was mine from like eighty feet away. I could hear kids whisper from the back seats.
 
“There’s Bree’s. So much for a writing career. Huhu.”
“Huhu, true that. What a loser. Hey could I get a drink of that? What? It’s not my fault the line was long.”
 
Actually, I was a pretty good student in my younger years. Didn’t talk very much, kept to myself a lot, got my shit and got out. Kinda like Wal-Mart’s motto, but personified. Haha. However, despite being a goody two shoes, I was constantly assigned the front desk. (Come on now Teach, aren’t the bad kids supposed to be sitting where I am?) But no. Even if the seating arrangement was alphabetical, I’d STILL end up in the front of the classroom. Usually by some stupid chart the teacher printed off. I guess to make it easier for substitutes to take attendance? Whatever the reason, I absolutely hated it. It pissed me off too, cuz I knew I had no power to change it. Can’t say I didn’t learn anything though. Haha.
 
I can honestly sit here and tell you, without hesitation, that I was the BEST cheater in the ENTIRE fifth grade. Sure, there may have been only six of us, but I’ll take credit where it’s due. Haha. Seriously though. I wouldn’t even refer to it is as cheating. I called it ‘adaptation’ and I was damn good at it. Of course, I had to be. I sat in the front desk for Christ’s sake. Standard cheating procedures were way too hard to pull off when yer front and center and texting wasn’t an option cuz I had no phone back then.
 
So I experimented here and there, found some things that worked, found some things that didn’t (writing notes on my palms in ballpoint pen before lunch had its downfalls), and eventually came across a creative little method known to most as “The Pop Bottle Label Switch”. It’s genius. You’ll need a color printer and the process is rather time consuming, yet very VERY effective in the long run.
  1. Buy the biggest plastic Mountain Dew bottle you can find. (It doesn’t hafta be Mountain Dew, anything light in color will do just fine.)
  2. Peel the label off gently, making sure not to rip or bend any part of it.
  3. Scan the label with the printer and open it with Photoshop or any program that allows you to add text to yer image.
  4. Smudge out the ingredients section and replace them with yer notes.
  5. Print off yer ‘new and improved’ label and re-stick it in the same spot it was before. (I always used a small piece of double-sided scotch tape. It looked the best cuz it fit perfectly and I wouldn’t have any excess tape hanging off the sides.)
When you take yer test, don’t bring the ‘notes’ out right away cuz it’s too suspicious. Wait for like a good five minutes and then take a casual drink, leaving yer drink on the corner of the desk when finished. I cannot tell you how many times this has worked for me. The results are too good to feel guilty for. Haha.
 
=]
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Naked Dreaming….

Posted by: on: February 7, 2010

THEY’RE
 
Creating an attachment, they can’t rush this.
Attachments can’t be rushed.
Links of destruction, sex fueled by Saturday night tendencies.
 
Too rough, slower please.
Ignorance is a frightening form of inner bliss.
She fights, but he prevails.
Too far gone; trying proves pointless tonight.
 
Thinking with feet, her strides become clumsy, unbalanced.
He echoes his behind hers, hungry echoes – not to be taken lightly.
 
RUNNING
 
The purple sky watches as she stumbles between curiosity and fear,
A valid contestant – this chase a game of lust and rapid heartbeat.
Masking tears in raindrops, she grows impatient.
Where did he go and where am I?
 
CLUELESS
 
An engine backfires in the distance,
Mechanical noises pierce the evening air.
‘Let’s go!’
A demand, an order, a perpendicular expression of horizontal desire?
 
Undoing hostility, the poison of persuasion is left pumping through her conscience.
Is he the question or the answer?
Or neither?
Weak at the knees, she forces forward motion despite it all.
 
IN
 
He lights his cigarette; dry shaky fingers strike the cold metal wheel.
Challenging her, he penetrates with restless pupils and foaming irises.
The waiting game’s just too easy to cheat,
The rules, too hard to follow.
 
Bodies move, hands venture,
The most fun she could ever have without laughing.
Foggy windows began to cry as warmth is born.
 
NAKED
 
Reality begins to fade back in,
Awake, senses heightening, introducing Normality The Antagonist.
She’s aware of surroundings now, but before was way better.
Maybe he’ll return, jog backwards, and come get her.
 
DREAMS.
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Electronic Music (In Da Club)….

Posted by: on: February 4, 2010

I think my favorite part of electronic music has got to be the fascination that comes with adding one instrument at a time. One measure, yu’ll get the synthesizer. The one after that, the bass’ll kick in. Third step’s the speed variation. And then you got like a minute left in the song, and all the noise comes together, gets combined together into this huge blizzard of awesomeness and yer left to wonder why they don’t play this shit on the radio. But they’ll never play this shit on the radio. For one reason.

It’s too overwhelming.

It’d be like if the DEA made ‘magic’ mushrooms ‘legal’ mushrooms. People wouldn’t know how to react because it’s different every single time. Yer a slave to emotion on shrooms. The same with electronic music. If you feel good, lit, alive, then you wanna share it with the whole world. Everybody needs to know what you know. And you know fucking EVERYTHING. And then you find yerself asking those anti-yes and no questions out loud in a crowded room. Not really to a certain someone, maybe to the shy kids on the corner couch, maybe to the rich ones.

Why does this have so much control over me?

Why can’t I feel like this all day, everyday?

Why haven’t I discovered this before?

Is this like, trippy or what, man?

Hey at least we got the clubs. Ahhh, the clubs. Stuck in the middle of a mosh pit in front of a main speaker, with recycled energy soaking yer lower back, so powerless to involuntary movement, so submissive to numb thoughts. Just dancing the night away to yer favorite beats

Free.

Clubbing would be non-existent if it weren’t for electronic music. Maybe it’s just me, but I can’t see anybody shakin’ ass to a Nickelback song. It’d be like attempting the Macarena minus a Mexican and paralyzed from the waist up. FAIL.

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

B.King vs. Mickey D….

Posted by: on: February 2, 2010

Mouth washing air, I’m stuck at a stand still. Like trying to make a U-turn on the sidewalk in a 2-ton dump truck. I catch blurry portions of peeling billboards as the bus crosses into unfamiliar territory. Advertising is a funny thing. The art of arresting the human intelligence long enough to get money from it. It’s so cliché, but it works so well. You can’t tell me you don’t wanna make a stop at Burger King after seeing one of their, like, twenty minute whopper commercials. The King’s so cool, too. You can’t deny that shit. You want to, but you can’t.
 
How awesome would it be to show up at yer senior prom dressed like the King?
 
“Dude, where’s yer tux?”
“Dude, I’m the King.”
 
They should make a commercial where the King meets a queen. But to make it interesting, the queen should be black. And be the McDonald’s mascot. Then they’d have this huge love affair and nobody would like it, cuz they’re rivals of course. But it’d be all over the news, front page on all the newspapers. One of those concepts where if you try ignoring it, it just makes it worse. But then like all the overly publicized relationships, their love would fade and eventually die. Left only to be described in ‘remember whens’ and verbs of the past tense.
 
“I loved you, King. Why didn’t you ever love me back?”
“I did love you. I loved yerrrrrr….fries?”
“Eat crown, asshole.”
 
Haha!
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , ,

iplaytrack1224@hotmail.com

I am a student of life. 22 years young. I observe. I experience. I learn. I am driven by creativity. And music. Good music. Indie and electronic. I love sensory details. Life is crazy. But meant for living. I have no regrets in mine. Only lessons. =]
February 2010
M T W T F S S
« Jan   Mar »
1234567
891011121314
15161718192021
22232425262728

Blog Stats

  • 3,865 hits

Blog at WordPress.com.

Theme: Albeo by Design Disease.

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.