freewrite

No child's voice was heard the day after
christmas lights were on
but no one really noticed
all the wine had been opened
football was always on the tv
if it wasn't for the chills of the wind
we would define ourselves as beach bums
one thing surfaced like waves on the beach
we were together
what I learned from the separation
was so simple
sometimes you just can't take family for granted
sometimes you are alone with your conflicting emotions
the one's close to you are farther then a handshake away
there is no finish line or award for just dealing with it
the middle isn't like a piece of turkey huddled in sandwich
but a ship going down surrounded by a deep dark ocean
freezing the bones of the crew
when we survive it is best not to look back

 

GUns and the Nra

Do you really think that our founding father's had assualt weapons in mind when they wrote the second amendment?
The best way for me to understand the other side is to say what if the governemnt said I can't buy R and B records anymore. I still can't understand why someone would want assualt weapons her one of those clips that hold so many bullets.
If the NRA wants to save face they should donate to such organizations as Nami or just to mental health in general. As far as I can tell they're not doing much with their so called influence on our society.
Maybe we should have psychological evauations for potential gun owners. Maybe even raise the IQ for owning a gun.
When guns are in a house with children, they should be locked up. I haven't heard any of that talk on the news.

12/8/12

THe first thing you need is the will to wake up, when the sky is crashing down or when everything is as predictable as routine.
Maybe there are snapshots in your brain of young bloods experiencing things for the first time. Maybe the last thing you want them to do is follow your path. MOst of all you want them to stay as young as they can. Other love one's enter your brain and you wish they were closer.
Your steps fall heavy for a cup of coffee. Your steps fall heavy because you don't know what Saturday will hold. You steps fall heavy because you just finished a race.
YOu step outside and it is about 70 degrees in December. But the sun doesn't shine as long this time of year. The clouds have rolled away from the rain the night before. Thank God the sun shines today.

Friday

THe F-150 growns into the night
it accelerates and gasps its last
the sound drowns in the saturated asphalt
I've never seen them before
paranoia can act like smoker shakes
going up my spine
Why were they infront of my car?
Why are they here?
serenity drizzles rain on tranquility
in darkness
except for street lamps
and the lights in my apartment
reflecting on the sliding glass door
NOw I feel I am the only one here
the cars are lifless in the parking lot

The most important, sermon

I know the only religious influence that seem to make the news are the extremeist. I listened to one of my sermons today, and the pastor said the Jewish law is impossible to follow, and when Jesus was asked what is the single most important thing. It is to love God- not protest at a soldiers funeral because you think GOd hates the gays. Also you often see women treated like dogs. It seems like some religious white men think they are only good for breeding.
Also said in the sermon, is to understand that GOd loves us unconditionally but we are train wrecks. Train wrecks that summs up my twenties. I was so hard of hearing that I had to lose it all, and I do mean all to turn back and follow Jesus. This has made me humbled.
Some of you are saying that organized religion causes most of the wars. Idiots start wars. I am tired of hearing that it is GOds will.
My pastor said be fanatical with your love for God. Since we are trainwrecks, I can't help but feel there is speculation with some of us. Fanatical, I think that is noncomformity. I think that is go against the herd. Nowadays there are several ways to conform. Try and be an individual that can stand alone and love the unlovable.
Some of you probably saying he contradcited himself by bringing up extremists and then using the word fanatical. There should be line drawn. Don't hurt anybody else.

 

Freedom

Maybe I am writing this for me more then anything else. Today I read an article in the HUffington Post talking about the stigma attached to mental illness. Specifcally it was about changing the name of schizophrenia. On facebook I liked this fan page that said Boeing is not giving the same rights to gay employees as heterosexual employees. Then there is immigration. Not to mention high student loans. Depending on where you go wether it is the south or north or in between people have their own opiinions on what their America should be. People question when exactly the government should step in.
Probably the most hated group are rich conservative white guys. Some of which did not get their money from working hard or investing smartly but by being born with a silver spoon in their mouth.
This election proved to me that you can't buy it.
What can we tell our future? By the future I mean kids. The 'have nots' are my biggest worry.
I personally think I was born into being middle class. However, there are decsions I have made that prevented me from being my view of successful. There has also been things that have happened to me that I had no control over. KIds will have to be stronger then ever.
I have been some what pessimistics about persuing dreams. Why do dreams often have to be fame and fortune? When I was a kid I wish I had done a better job at persuing brains. I wish there could be a flipflop between public service jobs and professional athletes, movie actors, rock stars to name a few.  Weird thing is sometimes the people who you think have it all are unhappy. With success maybe the grass is always greener... And with freedom do unto others...

A child's paint brush

Is the sky half full with blue, or half empty with orange
still a page to be filled by a child's paint brush

dotted and solid lines
for a child to write the story
that captures the sky

arms extended for mom to hold on

the orange rises
and the blue grows faint

the tree struggles to hold
on to their yellow leaves but can't

they shed their skin
to show the fall's skeleton

the child can't figure out
how to draw the cool
restriciting air

so he signs his name
and hands it over

About Shane

I was in a band with three other guys. We would make up our songs, and living a small town with not that much to do this was our purpose. I don't remember how long we were togehter but I ended up quitting the band because of writer's block. As a kid I didn't know how to handle writer's block. I also got tired of playing the same set list or the same songs. Writer's block made me feel worthless and stupid.
The THree other members invited Shane to be a new band. I was immediatley jealous. I asked Will the lead singer if he was a good guitar player. Will said yes and I could tell he ment it.
Jealousy is not the best way to get  to know someone.
THen I saw them live. Shit he is a good guitar. It made me feel worse because he was better then me. During the show I did my best to figure out the chords. I had never seen them before. I told Will this at the waffle house. "Yeah, he makes up his own chords." What the hell.
The band was True Solar Holiday. I guess it was an emo indie kind of thing. Shane could rock.
Dear Shane,
It is really shitty that we had the same illness but I never got to tell you what I have learned on my end. I feel there is unfinish business here that I can't do anything about. Now I have time on my hands which I try to educate and share my illness with others through publication and other things. I can't share with you. But I undertand what you were going through because I went through the same things. LOve Peace and Music 

There is such a thing as left nut jobs too

Like me you are probably glad the campaigning is over, all the emails, telephone calls, and what not are over. I am a democrat and even I got tired of the left, Even on facebook. I liked this fanpage. I won't name it but one day they had a post saying that one of Romney sons bought some voting machines and he gave it to Ohio or something like that. With the results of the election last night obviously this is not the case. But if Romney had won, can you image some left nut job harassing this poor young man. Obama won Ohio. Do you understand what I am getting at? We as Americans have to question the media. And what is the media it can be pretty much anybody.
On here I have mentioned Fox News and Right nutjobs. But the left can be extreme too.
If your guy won last night don't be a sore winner. Do you remember Al Gore? HOw about JOhn Kerry? I will admit this though I had a huge sigh of relief.

THe Storm

Sandy pumled the north east with wind and rain. A ray of sunshine was when the president and the governor of New Jersey shook hands bridgeing party lines. Meanwhile Romny looked some what out of place at red cross. What a gymp.
We are still being  bombarded by both parties with emails, commercials and social media. This of course is mainly happening in the battle ground states.
I know who I am voting for. In fact I knew who I was voting for during the republican primaries. Either way both men do not have the balls to say enough is enough. Personally, I think if one campaign said that they would put the money that is left over in their campaign towards the national debt even a little, there would be  a push in the polls.
There are people donating millions and millions of dollars so that their taxes would be cut or there would be a lacks in business regulations.
I have more respect for people doesn't matter what party their in that worked their way up to millionare status. I think people that had money given to them should spend time in the military. Romny's sons will not have to work a day in their life. THey won't even have to go to college. I think one is running for general assembly. How can Romny relate to us. I would like to say that every politician puts on happy face no matter how fake to relate to voters, and with the polls at  a dead heat I beleive your vote will mean something.  

Update on Waiting

Last night Obama said that New York Times aligations that Iran is willing to talk with the U.S. after the elections was a rumor or it was false. I personally would have gone along with it this. It would have stopped Romney's argument about Iran cold. All politicians lie. Sometime they lie to protect the country. I am sure republicans and democrats have different interuptations when the truth can be straight. THey lie just like your parents ied about Santa Clause. THink about it. Enough of politcians lying how about the media. Should the New York Times disclose their source or maybe apologise. They probably won't because, hey, it is the TImes and they can do whatever they want.

Waiting

Last night the New York Times posted a news story talking about that Iran was willing to talk about their nuclear program after our election. This makes since they want to know who they are dealing with.
A couple minutes after, a news oragniazation called reuters said that the U.S. didn't approve the nuclear talks which totally contracdicted what the Times said.
I did my best to research reuters.com maybe they were a more conservative news organization or something that tend to bend to the truth.
I read both stories and figured the truth will be heard from the horses mouth on MOnday during the debate or the next day. You can see the New York Times article if you do a key word search in the past 24 hours.
Now I am freinds with conservative and liberals on facebook. Conservatives would say it is just the lame stream media. Liberals would say fox news are liars just look at the fact checkers.
We can atleast agree that this story affects us all.
Another issue are the different revolutions and protesting going on in several Arab countries, I say let them have their revolution. We shoulds stay out of it.
You are probably thinking about the embasy in Libya. I didn't know what exactly to make of this, because, in my opinion, the truth hasn't yet come out yet, or both sides liberals and conservatives have their own side of the story. I thought of this idea, why not, give Al queda their own country. A country that can be govern how ever they see fit. This is country can be made by the surrounding areas. With their own country and with their own governemnt I personally think they would hang, in so many words, themselves.
Even though Bin laden is dead they apparently are a strong force in NOrthern Africa.
We can agree that not all Muslims are extreme. They are loyal to their religion and will stand up for it.
We should not be the caretakers of the world. Let the revolutions happen and give AL Queda some space, and, of course, get out of Afghanistan.
Then there is the truth about Iran. I don't think it will take military action. Military action will put us further in debt. We don't need to declare war on Iran.
We can also agree that we have our own problems here.   

When We Were Young by jason Jepson

Underage

            I’d left the small town blend, and my life was starting to change. Placebo was caught with an ounce of pot and some ecstasy. He was in jail. Gloria dropped out of college and was trying to make it as an actress in LA. I thought about Tactic's last words before I moved away, "You’ve got to find your niche."

            I’d been living in my aunt's attic room for a few days while my parents and I waited for the new house to be built. I wasn't looking forward to the real move because I’d be out in the suburbs away from the action of downtown. I had enjoyed living in the city rather then suburbia. One night I went to a bar that Captain told me about.

            The days were still long, and the heat was directing our every move, but it was dark now. As I stood on the sidewalk outside a jazz bar, God's headlight helped reveal the silhouette of a woman's legs as she bent down slightly to pick up the last of her groceries to put them in her car. The few remaining summer nights were making way for fall.

 “Compose yourself,” I thought, “you're nineteen, trying to drink at a jazz bar. They won't serve you at the bar, so sit at one of the booths and look busy.” I entered the double-swinging doors and noticed they were decorated with the letters R and R. I’d like to think they stood for Rest and Relaxation; instead, they were the first letter of the owner's name, an Asian man with a stained apron who was always willing to talk to the paying customers.  I didn't meet him during my first experience.  But when we did meet, he didn't fit my stereotype of a jazz bar owner. But anyone could tell he was proud of his bar.

            The cocktail waitress, a queen from Afghanistan, came to me with a smile. She wore a revealing, low-cut dress, which helped fill the tip jars at the end of every night. "Would you like a menu?"

"No, I'll have a beer,” I answered.

            I ordered the cheapest one they had. She left with my order, and my eyes followed her firmly sculptured legs as they skipped down a set of steps. Suddenly they were hidden behind the bar. She didn't look suspicious, but the doorman did. He sized me up, and I gave him a nod. The cocktail waitress finally came back with my beer and smiled.

            "When does the show start?" I asked confidently.

            "Usually about 10:30," she said.

            "Thanks." I smiled.  Not busted yet.

            It was still early, and I was the only one in the bar except for an older couple sitting on stools in front of the bartender, slurring the language of a potential divorce. I couldn't make out the language yet.

The band members arrived one by one. The alto saxophone player opened his case beside me.  Like the bottles of whiskey behind the bar, I stared straight ahead at the scene unfolding before my eyes.  He took out a rag and wiped off the excessive fingerprints on the instrument and smiled at the trumpet player, taking off his hat as he entered the bar. The drummer set up beside the window and had a conversation with the front man, who played the tenor saxophone, but there was no sign of the trombone player. I was the only one who seemed to notice. They finally  walked to the stage in a slow pace, each instruments whispering faint warm-up sounds

            The front man took his position at the soundboard, and the drummer played the cymbals, molding a soundtrack as the crowd stepped in, looking for an escape from their daily lives. The trumpet, alto, and tenor played chaos, while the drummer switched to the snare with a bass drum, forming a drumbeat that sealed in the already drunken voices of the crowd. I was not going anywhere.

            I counted the beers I drank and realized I was running out of money, but the show hadn't even started. The cocktail waitress came back to check on me.

            "How much is one beer?" I asked

            She looked at me as if beer was shooting out of my ears.

            Realizing the question sounded slightly underage. I explained to her that I just moved here.  

            "Two bucks." She stride away as the band played a song by Sonny Rollin off of his Saxophone Colossus album. I was hooked.

            The trumpeter played a solo. He walked around the bar with his stiff cheeks and profusely sweating forehead, making eye contact with everyone. Everyone was forced to listen. I thought he sounded like Lee Morgan. The other musicians did the same thing, not competing with each other, but telling the story of their shitty work week.  There was still no sign of the trombone player.

            As the cocktail waitress checked on the individual booth, Lee Morgan's wonderful imposter was in the aisle and blocked her from getting out, so she sat down next to me. She smiled and I smiled back. I wished I had money for more PBR, and the last thing I wanted was to be sober in a jazz bar--underage. The last few sips created a bittersweet taste for alienation and the jazz.

            Suddenly the trombone player walked through the swinging doors, already in sync with the other members of the band. I quickly knew I would became a regular, as the whole place erupted in applause, and the jazz band howled throughout the streets of Richmond. The melody echoed throughout the bottom of my empty beer can. I was content.

            When the intermission was called out by the tenor saxophone player, I asked for my bill as the cocktail waitress passed by.

            "You mean your tab," she corrected. “I’ll get it for you."

            Since the band had stopped playing, the bartender had turned on the stereo.  Sinatra sang “The Good Life.” I paid and felt bad for leaving a shitty tip, determined that I’d make up for it next time.

            I went outside, where two band members were drinking beer and smoking cigarettes. Another musician came out and told them he was going across the street to buy a hot dog at the convenience store.  I talked to the remaining musicians and asked if they would take requests when they began the next set.

            "Sure, what would you like to hear?" one asked.

            "`Blue into Green’ by Miles Davis,” I answered.

            They smiled at me. One of them knocked on the window that said "Rick's."

            The band leader, the tenor saxophone player, came over. He opened the door beside the window, where the band loaded their equipment in and out of the bar.

            "This gentleman has a request," said one of the band members.

            "Really? What would you like to hear?" asked the leader.

            "`Blue into Green’ by Miles Davis, and could you dedicate it to the cocktail waitress with the black skirt?"

            "Sure thing."

            The band members went inside to start their second set. I stayed outside, staring and watching as the band leader announced that tonight, and every Friday and Saturday night, featured vocalist Miss Lady E would perform.  I could hear her opening lines of “Summertime,” and I walked to my car, hoping my request would make up for the dollar tip I left the waitress.

 

What is Epic about you?

Back when I drank in bars, I was at Applebees, and it turned out some of my neighbors were there talking about cars. I didn't know anything about cars but I was still interested. One of my neighbors had this car that you could always hear when he was coming or going. It was grey with a spoiler on the back.
Eventually they asked me, "What kind of car do you drive?"
I answered, "Toyota Camry."
One snickered, and another shrugged their shoulders.
Then someone said, "That's almost as bad as prius."
They laughed and I even snickered. They were surprise by this.
THey mentioned this guy who the fast and furious movies were based on.
He said, "I've been faster up side down then most people have been their entire lives."
I was impressed but it didn't make me want to drag.
"Have you ever gone really fast?" One asked.
"I've been on a roller coaster." I answered.
One snickered and another shrugged his shoulders.
One of them started to explain to me the thrills of going fast. If I was in my twenties or younger I would probably take them up on their offer to ride with them.
Over the years I have gotten use to the typical man questioning me. Chances are most guys out their wouldn't understand not only writing poetry but sending it off only to be rejected. Writing. I Invest in my own writing like my neighbors invest in their cars. I can't see myself doing anything else. It is in my blood just like turing wrenches is in their blood.
As my mom would say it is a "Pissing contest."
I didn't mention to them that sometimes I feel the need to put on the gloves and go at it. I didn't mention to them that in basic training I was the only one to volunteer to carry the M240 bravo, which is a machine gun that weighed about 25 pounds, when ever we went out marching.
My dad has said to me and my brother to have a balance.
During little league my dad would not only help coach the team but sometimes after dinner we would walk to the baseball field near our house and he would hit pop up and grounders to me. He took time for me.
At a young age I have questioned the typical man. I would question the stereotype. Afterall they would question me for driving a Camry to put it one way. I didn't want to be like them.
I found that when I went to bars I was with a bunch of guys. One guy would be talking and I would be searching for the women.
In my opinion the barfly is not what you want to be. I am all in favor of after a busy work week or something like that to go out and have a couple. The point of this is not to ask the male race to sober up, but quit competing with each other. And if the light at the end of the tunnel is fogged with beer then do your best to make a change. Seriously I am not saying don't drink, good times are nice.  

 

The Sickness in Writing sbr143

THE SICKNESS IN WRITING

 

            When Hemingway spoke the words, “Writers are alone,” what did he mean? Did he mean writers are alone in their thoughts, or did he mean that in most cases writers are misunderstood? Or was this his isolationism speaking.  Was he possibly depressed?   What are the underlining factors for those writers whose work we consider great but who seemed to battle mental health concerns? 

            A writer with a mental illness like me can feel alone and misunderstood.  Worse case scenario is that the writer is not taking the proper medication.  Their writing becomes a handicap, causing them to feel as if they don’t belong or as if there is a dark cloud overhead. Medication may not get rid of the entire cloud, but perhaps make it becomes less dark.

            I’ve been writing in a journal since the seventh grade. The journaling later inspired poetry and then short stories. Writing was a release for me, and I felt it came naturally. It was my way communicating because I was born with a speech impediment. I couldn’t say “R’ sounds. I had plenty of things to say but hardly said them out loud in fear of being tormented by the other kids. In fifth grade an experience was monumental for me. That was where my speech therapist said in her words, “You will never talk like the other kids.” Forced into being an outsider I think that statement helped me prepare for schizophrenia.

            How has schizophrenia changed my writing? Without medication I would write pages and pages about things I thought were going on. I would write down the voices in my head. MY words then only made since to me. I obsessed over my writing. It was the only thing I wanted to do. I thought I was changing the world with my so called special powers. I was indeed a troubled mind.  

            I think about my own life and how my writing has changed as I have worked through my mental illness.  I was depressed, maybe even suicidal. My writing was cynical and maybe seen as dark. A short story that I wrote might have the main character die. I thought that was the best way to end a story. Now, if I have a dark thought or write something that is dark, I don’t like the feeling inside.  I take medication now, and that has changed my outlook.  Now I hate killing a character. I often write about little kids--their innocence or their playful ways.

            I definitely have a story to tell but I realize I will never be recognized as much as Hemingway and DR. Thompson. I will still write. Writing is breathing.

I often write about my theory about why I have this illness. I mentioned the speech impediment which was probably a great stressor for me as a baby boy. In my early twenties I thought I was being stalked by an ex-girlfriend. I often thought she followed me in her car, and I thought her friends spread rumors about me at my job and other places. I am told delusions do not get cured or are the hardest thing to cure. I still have that delusion. I stopped writing about it.

I was in the army, there were definitely stressors there. I was also in my early twenties. I had a bad bump to the head where I was knocked out for a second. I experienced hazing where five guys tried to duct tape me. I fought so hard two of them left to tape another guy. I fought off another two; however it took a man bigger and stronger than me to bring me down. Imagine fighting for your life and losing or having your own guys punish you for being the new guy. 

I thought the hazing split my world into two realities. There was the everyday reality and there was an under the surface reality. In the under the surface reality you would hear voices in your head and see the person in your head or so I thought. I thought in order for a person to do this they would have to look me in the eye so I did my best to wear sunglasses as much as I could, because the voices in my head and other people’s head could influence them. IN other words they could make a person do something they wouldn’t normally do.  

Hemingway was alone possibly because of post traumatic stress. He experienced war which changes everyone who experiences it. Thompson did a lot of drugs. Some would say because he thought they were fun others maybe because he was lonely. It all sounds like debilitating depression. If anything these two great writers had multi mental disorders. I personally wouldn’t change them, however.  

Ernest Hemingway and Hunter S. Thompson both were famous writers who committed suicide. If they had experienced the breakthroughs in mental health today, I wonder if they would have written some of their greatest works.  Hunter Thompson died a few years ago, and I feel sure he had enough money to afford help.   However, if he had received help earlier in his life, would he have written his famous works such as Rum Diary and Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas?

            Am I fortunate to read the great works which were written by a troubled mind or is it unfortunate?  I feel blessed to have their writing as their epitaph.  Their writing holds the key to how they might have thought even in a troubled state of mind.  But I will never be able to tell them that I have been there too.  I know how they feel.

            After the break up with the ex-girlfriend, I woke up one morning and my tail pipe was cut off. I always thought it was her. Then again I didn’t live in the best neighborhood so who knows. I also thought a publisher was stealing my words. He had a disk of mine and I pretty much told him to give it back. I had a tire iron in my hand to threaten him. I wouldn’t do something like that now, but there are days where I feel that my words are all I have in this world rather they are read by others or not.

            Many of the greats of literature, as well as the other arts seem to be plagued with mental health disabilities. As a mental health consumer I feel blessed to have read and benefited from their darkness.

projector

The projector in the sky is off
the blue screen breathes
still cloudless
where is all the light coming from?
the atmosphere may swallow us too
the tree waves goodbye in the breeze
today no celebrities or drama
shade from no sun
cool breath ignored by glass doors
flannel covers naked skin
not dismal no depression
high on balconies and
mood disorderlies

Predator's web

From a distance you can't see it
it isn't until you are right in front of it
when you see the the net to catch the prey
kids run and play under it never stopping
I don
t see the spider
he must be hiding
this web is attached to a tree's branch
delicately esquistly made to capture
the weak
flies and other insects
yet the spider isn't visible
the spider thirst on blood and we wait
and sit observing his artistry
easily destroyed yet
once the prey is captured
the reward for the spider for waiting
Finally I think of women and marriage

Explaining Men in their teenage years and twenties

We go on a path for as long as we can only to find there is a gap. This gap is massive, and you can't jump over it. You could go the way you came but in the back of you mind you wonder how can I bridge the gap. The gap is inbetween boyhood and being a  man. We are often asked at that age, "So what are you going to do with your life?" Some boys claim they know how to answer but this will not stop the opstacles no matter how small that everyone faces. Some men fall in love so they find their other half to share life with. Some go to college, and they may do well but they may drink alot and find themselve just another drop out. NO real answer is fool proof. we are all fools and in my opinion, the fool and the struggle are beaultiful. THe detours that create new paths the unlikley aquaintance turns into more then a firend and just the moments we have,the few seconds or minutes we have to breathe, and look back are a gift. Are you satifyied in these moments? As a dude I find it helps to pray, and a prayer does not have to be the mona lisa on the wall but just a simple thank you.

Oct. 4, 2012

Early Fall, heaven opens up its eyelids to remind us in our own alone that the heat embraces us all. The top of the tress change color as the leaves stay green closer down down down to the trunk. The few words I know can't capture the bliss of heaven's eyes opening up to show God's pupil. At the close of the week we welcome daylight impressions summer slowly retreating with nonchalant cool nights. we are in the middle of breathing air conditioning and exhaling the heater. No fan to spin and no blanket to cover us. We feel comfort inbetween the closing and beginning of the seasons. We do not look forward to hunkering down in the cold but cheer with hot cider pregaming it. Observing the game of inches highlighting an American made game. On my own I channel surf, thinking of dad as he takes a load off in his comforable chair. I only show interest when his team scores. It is entertaining, when the pigskin slips and falls from hands and dad can't stay still. I laugh at the man resembling a child realizing a dream 

Ya heard

I want to be heard
now only these walls to hear
need a microphone
and my lungs to shout
surpressed
maybe a contradcition
before leaving out my front door
from aquaintances more as firends
but feel as if I am better alone
in my bed restraints
maybe it is just
not wanting a crowd
but just one
I am asking for your senses
hearing and seeing
if you don't want to put
touch on the table that is fine
If I was a painter
I would paint the voices
or the voices in my head
voices flow invisible
my impediment brings questions
my speech can only
be seen before and after the storm

Jordache

I needed a new pair a shoes for school and basketball. I played basketball at my church.
My dad took me to an inexpensive shoe store and pretty much let me loose. That is where I saw them. Jordache sounded like JOrdans as in MIchael Jordan. I thought they were expensive maybe Mr. Jordan made these too. NOt only that but they were black and since I was with my dad he let me get them because my mom didn't like black tennis shoes. I guess she thought they were associated with the so called bad crowd.
I tried them on, they were comfortable, and I honestly thought they made me jump higher.
I went to basketball practice and my coach nicknamed me windex, because I would, so he said, clean the glass backboards getting the rebounds. Yes these shoes did make me jump higher.
School was a different story. I grew up in South Roanoke where nike and addidas reigned. I thought my shoes were made by nike even though I couln't find the nike swoosh on them.
I got made fun of untill I thought I was going to cry. I don't remember if it was because I was wrong about these shoes that didn't actually make me jump higher or because I couldn't afford the same shoe the kids in my neighborhood could afford.
Rich kid evolution has for the most part nothing to do with strength but it does have something to do with name brand clothes. It all seems ridiculous now on both sides.
 

rough draft of speech

Rough draft of speech

 

We all need an outlet or something that takes us away from the everyday stresses or struggles that comes with life. Some of you are probably thinking about that coffee break, the Taj mahal, going on a walk or maybe you are happy to be here and you are anxiously waiting for what I have to say.

            This speech is going to discuss writing or art as means to describe our demons. Hemmingway said, “Writer’s are alone.” Silvia Platt said, “I am a tortured soul.” Jack Kerouac was kick out of the U.S. marines and he even dropped out of college. They’re people or individuals out there that don’t seem to belong with their surrounding or the mainstream. Yet when they face an empty page or empty canvas it envelope their senses like a rose garden. It is their outlet it what makes them feel normal.

            It isn’t until something catastrophic happens to these artists that we hear depression, schizophrenia or anxieties. Except for Jack Kerouac suicide seemed like the only option. Their words are now their epitaph.

            Do you think that if these writers received help or the breakthroughs that are happening today were in these writers’s prime would they have written their greatest works?  If Silvia Platt was put on anti-depressants would she have written the bell jar? If Hemmingway had emitted himself earlier to the hospital with the breakthrough we have today, would he have won the Nobel Prize?

            I will never be as recognized as these great writers. I get an injection every four weeks and I take my medication orally so yes my schizophrenia is treated for the most part. I still have to ignore excess, off the wall thinking or delusions. Can help but wonder or should I question my poetry or other forms of writing. I will not have that masterpiece. You want to know what; I am satisfied with my life. I have no awards no following, and I will always write my poetry and other writing. Once you realize you are never going to be famous it takes the pressure off.     

Give them a choice

Being a vet I get some of the best health care. The reason I bring this up is because of the health care law. I think the fact that it doesn't turn away people with pre existing condtions is awesome.
Recently Romney called this an entitlement. Meanwhile he has had every oppatunity to succeed. His dad was rich and he calls free health care an entitlement.
The president even wants to raise taxes on individuals making $250,000 or more. How about if we give them a choice. Taxes are a very general term. Let's say the rich had a choice on where to pay. It can be with defense, social security, or health care. Maybe give them the choice to evenly dispute their "taxes."
When I think of republicans I think of people who only get behind and issue when it affects them directly. For the most part they don't want to be inconvienace by the epa or unions, because chances are they worked hard enough in their life to be on top. Sometimes it is infact nepatism. The rest of us shouldn't feel jealous we have our own struggle.
Or this is alittle but more extreme if a family is making more then $250,000, then make a son or daugher join the military.
Serving a person's country is probably a big reason why they join the military. Another reason are the benefits. The military doesn't care about your social class especially if you are enlisted in the army. I was enlisted in the army do you think the army cared if my parents lived in suburbia.
 

The Rant

Saw a documentary called the other F word, and do you want to know what the other F word is? Family. This documentary had a bunch of punk bands in it such as Pennywise, Bad religion and others in California. Members of the band are considered successful because they can support themselves with their music.
Now Pennywise's lead singer had a wife and kids. He often feels pressure with people in the so called scene about being "Punk rock." Meanwhile he cares alot about his kids and they are reaching an age where they want to rebel. He has to be a dad.
I bought a Pennywise album when I was in, I think middle school. I didn't like it. I thought it sounded like so many other bands out there, and I couldn't say that I was that into the vocals.
During the documentary though I found myself really respecting the singer. He actually instead of being on the road and making money and playing shows, canceled some tour dates so he could go to the father daughter dance. He got a bunch of crap from his band mates who didn't have kids and I thought his band mates were idiots.
They showed the guitar player at the mic telling the crowd how messed up he was. as in beer or , what ever his drink was for that night.
THe end of the documentary the singer actually quit. He wanted to spend time with his family.
I went to the grocery store and a buggy that sounded like a punk drum solo. I went to check out and I stood behind a mom and a daughter. The daughter kind of looked ridciulous. However, she did have a Descendant patch on her vest. I honestly wished that her generation would find their own music. I remembered the documentary and figured free advertising. This is one way how the descdants pay their way. It doesn't seem to punk rock to me but I am all about family.
This rant is going to change its focus. Everything had been done. Music specifcally new music all sound the same as old music. Even if there is an innovator for today's society they will be swooped up by corporate greed and their art will suffer.
I think this is kind of humorous a punk band gets successful and their not happening anymore.
 

How I see business

How I see business is based on personal experience. NOw I've never been in the position where I had to worry about profits.
I think of my brother's restaurant. My brother has a good work ethic. I think he and my sister-inlaw should have  afree meal there whether it for their anniversay or a birthday or whatever. I think the other employees should have the same thing.This has not entered the mangement's heads. It is a nice restauart in Roanoke.
ANother way I see business is from an old high school job I had. Where we made our own ranch dressing-with the powder, and the buttermilk and what not. THey found out making it this way saves money. NOw it was tedious I persoanlly at the time would rather be smoking cigarettes but it was all part of the job.
This restaurant, where we made the ranch dressing, was a small business. LIke the middle class it was trying to save money. So doesn't it make since to grow AMerica from the middle class out. If you cut the middle class taxes they will save and spend on small businesses. Who know maybe my old reataruant will get regular ranch dressing.  

A state of Virginia

To the mountain that intersect this state
to the foliage in autmn
and the people in slow paces
yet raising the speed limit
multi colored Va
I leave my soul to
envelope
with the sunrise
to the cities like Richmond
to the traffic in NOva
saying the central
of Roanoke and
the moonshine
together let's speak of the glory of the south
conflicting maybe but still washed in
our freedoms
For now I am in the state of Virginia
and I can't leave
for now the glass is full
and Virginia yelps
like a wolf to their young
we are all here together
To the Virginia underground
to you above ground
we sing to love this
state we're in
 

untitled

The eyes of the goddess sharp edged broken mirror
scattered on the ground
whispering, I love you
in different languages
as it all went up in smoke
stinging my eyes
because I stood to close emotionally
not geographically
our lost children wander in exile
until the goddess and I come closer
until then It is I love you
in different languages
a lost breathless
emotionless kiss
for another stranger
scarred by the broken mirror

To live out loud

And in the grips of insanity
what carries my hope
what keeps me laughing
when the voices seem to control my mood
I've often said, Once you've lost it, you can't lose it again
I laugh
and no one else does
NOrmal so boring you might say
when my imperfections shine
like the one line of poetry
I am a writer
unoticed
changed by the real world
and in adulthood I value my smile
the struggle is beautiful
once you can look back at it
I find myself crying
it is better then scissor cuts
when I was an adolescent
or cigarette burns
NOw I've quit smoking
I have settled but these words might say otherwise
I am alone in the bliss
As a young man there was no one to tell me I would be this content at this age
I laugh
I sing
I dance
there is still fear
that I am trying to ignore
I ignore so that I might live out loud

Tomorrow I might feel differently

We are imperfect. Our parents came together. They were imperfect. NOt to mention look at it as a Biology stand point We are full of mutations. Think of nature. TRy finding a straight line in nature. What angers me is mankind delusion of perfection. Things move to chaos. Some of you probably don't like when I get religious but deal with it. We are imperfect. LIfe is imperfect strive to follow chaos not perfection. And chaos isn't necasrily the end of a world but it is apart of imperfection.
Perfection isn't rememberable, but imperfection tells the best funny stories.
THe sermon I hear today was about facing your fear. I am not as brave as I was as a younger man. You could say the real world kicked my butt. You can also say I had to go crazy inorder to be a mature adult. Ha. I shared the sermon on my facebook and Twitter page. Please listen.
Some of you think that Christianity is opressive. How can God be opressive when he helps you to conquer fear. There is a verse in the bible, the truth will set you free

weird poem about the rain

It keeps raining off and on
like a faucet or quick shower
the thundering soap drops on the floor
as the shower comes on again
we are under sheltor
as the rain makes up it's mind to rain harder
there's mist on my arm
the sliding door is open
Luckily I live alone
because of the tempermental shower
clothes are on
and cool air breaks up summer heat
as the seasons change, I sneeze
with the mist on my arm
Saturday night
and I don't think the shower will detour
the weekenders drinking their easy fix
temporary, temporary
change of rain
(car alarm)

Jason's Grass

Jason’s Permanent Grass

 

Jason liked all the colors in his crayon box. He had a brother who was already reading and spelling his own name. He had two parents who hid on purpose the permanent magic markers. Jason didn’t understand this. He wished his brother would help him out but his brother was too busy reading.

             There was a grey pencil on Jason’s coloring table where he set in his faded blue jeans and white t-shirt. When Jason thought of his grey boring pencil, he thought of a cloudy rainy day, a day where he couldn’t go out and play; a day where the greens of the grass could shine reminding him of the stains on his jeans.

            Jason’s crayon box didn’t just have green. It had what he believed was every color. It had so many colors with a dull point at the end that this viewer couldn’t name them all. It had midnight blue, gold, golden yellow, forest green, red orange to name a few.

Jason often figured why have a room in his house with just one color. His kitchen was all yellow, why not some shades of green. His kitchen reminded him of the sun but the sun helps to grow grass.

The kitchen needs grass he thought to himself early on Saturday morning. That’s right he was in bed thinking about drawing grass with a permanent marker in his kitchen that had no grass. It made since to Jason what a surprise.

Jason thought real hard about where is Mom put his permanent markers or his parent’s permanent markers.

Let me see, he thought to himself, I was coloring with them on the dinner table when mom got mad at me and snatched them away.

Jason would tell anybody with his own words that the dinner table was brown and it needed color.

Jason remembered hearing the hall closet opening. Luckily his daddy hadn’t put a lock on it like his mom had told him to do time and time again.

Jason figured he would need the dinner table chairs to get up there, and he was wide awake anyway so he got out of bed. He yawned once, stretched with his bright red bunny feet pajamas, and then went to the dinner table to drag the chair to the hallway closet.

Jason noticed the permanent markers lying slightly off the top shelf. He put the dinner chair in the right spot and climbed up. On top of the chair, he was still too small to grab the markers so he used his tippy- toes and grabbed them with his finger tips.

 Two of the first words Jason ever said were, “Permanent Marker.” He loved to color even before he couldn’t pick them up all the way.

He ran with his 2 year old feet with his permanent markers to the kitchen. There weren’t as many colors in this box as his crayons. Jason slid out the green, took the top off and then wondered if this was a good idea.

Jason saw the yellow, and sprung into action scribbling the walls with grass.

Jason’s actions of the morning woke up his brother Philip. It was hard being an older brother and Philip wondered what his kid brother had gotten into. Philip put on his house slippers and slid into the kitchen.

An outside observer wouldn’t understand Jason’s genius with the yellow wall paper symbolizing the sun and grass all around the kitchen.

Jason will be in trouble, Philip thought. He smiled devilishly and ran to his parent’s room where they were snoring fast asleep.

Philip shook them up gently.

“Mom, dad you’re not going to like this.”

Need I remind you that it was Saturday and the Jepson family especially the parents like to sleep in on Saturday’s. They followed their oldest to the kitchen in fast steps.

Jason’s mom gasped him horror and his dad’s glazed over. They could tell by the marker still in Jason’s hand that this was permanent marker. There will not have a lazy Saturday today they both thought too themselves.

The rest of the Saturday, was spent by Jason’s parents cleaning the grass on the sunshine yellow wall paper of the kitchen.

Months later they moved from that house but Jason’s grass still stood on the walls of the kitchen.  

 

Perception in our reality

I looked up perception today and saw a bunch of five dollars words that I didn't know what they meant. SO I will use the example they used, They used the European Peacock butterflies. THese butterflies have wings that bear eyes so birds think the eyes are the eyes of a preditor.
Romney claims (and he says this alot) that under Obama's health care law there were cuts up to $716 billion taken out of the medicare trust.
According to Politifact, Neither Obama or his health care law literally cut funding from the medicare budget. The new health care law insituted a number of changes to try to bring down future health care cost in the program.
Now the Gop's convention theme: "You didn't build that."
This was from media matters. On this website there was Obama's actual quote. I will sum it up,
Obama:Individual drive, infrastructure, teachers contribute to small business success. The quote by Obama ended by saying,"Youre not on your own, we are in this together."
Media Matters says Fox News and friends deceptively Edited Obama's comments on small business.
I will go back to perception. I don't think all conservatives are bad, and I am sure that there are some extreme liberals that have done their fair share of editing. I urge you to check the facts. Check the evidence untill you are blue in the face.
The media gets their money by creating contraversey.

Gonzo after the rain

Sky racing neon stripes
one headlight fading
cresent moon
more action
then stagnant asphalt
parking lot white lines
moist evening
from numerous rain
but not to heavy
the crowd burst
with the cricket chirp
the old man exhales clouds
evening drips into the cup
windshield rainbow
while non other are seen
lights are on music stands
music of engines heard around
debating air conditioners
creep little pedestrian ants
balconies empty
dumpster full
speed bumps and stop signs
ignored
never ending mosquito bites
itching to stay outside 

Ambassador of You

I can be a bit of a nerd. I looked up ambassador and part of it said, "An unoffical represenative< traveling abroad as ambassadors of goodwill.
I think about when I was a volunteer for this prodimatley African Amercian school. I didn't want them to think that all white people were bad. The challenges at this particular school was tough. Some did shine.
So what can you conclude, be the ambassador of you rather it be goodwill or a rock star. I urge you to be as open minded as you can be. How do you want to be remembered by the next generation? Do you want to be an influence? If you give to them, I assure you they will give to you.
I am just saying... 

Everything is Possible sermon

We are still in Mark.
When my pastor was speaking during this sermon I got an illustration about faith. I figure just for me but I am willing to share.
Imagine, or maybe it is like this,  you have a hole in your heart or soul like Springfield Gorge. You visit the gorge or hole and sometimes that hole visits you. Hear me out. Faith. Do you believe you can get across? Maybe build a bridge, make a rope swing and swing across or jump across. Or maybe you just want to put  a dead end sign there and tell kids to not go near or they will fall in. How can you get across? Are you willing to get across?
My pastor went into that faith can't exist without doubt. He also said in so many words that we are helpless like little kids and that is when God works for us.
A few things comes to mine about my own life. I won't go into it because some of you already know how I personally have been helpless.
How about this story. I haven't touched a cigarette since Father's day. I used to smoke so much that my fingers were brown. I used to smoke so much that I was throwing away ten dollars a day. People who know me figured if I was around then I will be smoking. If I was at a sit down restaurant with my parents then I would have to stand up and go outside to smoke about twice or more.
Now it isn't always a hole but it can be a weight. Smoking was a weight on my shoulders. I had tried to quit. I used the patch, the gum, and even tried cold turkey. Mom had not necssarily given up on me but had stopped bringing it up about how I should quit. Dad was annoying he brought it up often.
It took a scary moment a bad cough and chest pains to realize cigarettes were taking their toll on me. Now I am addicted to lacenges.
When I smoked maybe after coughing a lung up or just looking around my apartment at the clouds of smoke I would pray. "Jesus, I want to quit but it is too hard. Jesus, help me. Jesus is it your will?"
Now I still have cravings, but now I have a little bit more money. Last night I was at a bar. There was a smoker to my left and a smoker to my right. DO you think their cigarettes smelled good? Of course they did, but I had my lacenges and like us all I value control.
Life is alot less stressful when you can talk to God when ever you feel like it. 

what is left of the mountain

the melancholy mountains
vulnurablity
roaring streams and waves
break it all down to plains
the gound fights it
but water cuts and smooth away rock
the sky smothers the sands
the clouds adds a dregree of softness
but even that blows away with
the snores of the wind
we grow tired
a break down
from our toes to our necks
as we grow old
future generations
complete the cycle
to venture in our steps
not taken
possessions are left
maybe are passed on to youth
material things can't breathe life into
a decaying body
only thoughts
emotions
feelings
are remembered
with no true value
but they last like the oak
they last in the form
of tears laughter and clarity
they last in rage and regret
sometimes satisfaction
like coolness of thundertorms
in the hell of Summer
misery will not consume
what is left of the mountain

Losers should write history; a call to weirdos

WHen it comes to reading I usually can't stay on the same book. I started  A FArewell to Arms but then started reading THe BIrth of the Beat Generation.
I read some writing about William B. The guy had some issues and I cant help but feel if they had the break threws in Pshycology now then maybe the beats wouldn't happen. I read part Of gensburgs diaries and couldn't help but see that the misfits understand this country better then the mainstream. Afterall the majority has had a history of being wrong in this country such as slavery and segragation to name a few.
If we would have listened to the so called losers the so called misfits before hand would we be in this mess.
Burroughs was a part of a well to do family. After he graduated from Harvard his family sent him to Europe so you can't say he did have the oppatunity to succeed in the comman since. I've read JUnky and thought it was a great book. It is about him on drugs.
For those of us who do not have the money, who don't seek the right partner and who don't have majority's view on whatever. I can't help but think we should be part of the mainstream. The funny thing is if you look at clothes for kids now they are similar to what I used to wear. A good friend of mine would come to school with bed head and now that is the style with gell of course.
The struggle, some use medication most do not, how can you not see the losers view point. I say loser because I was called a loser several times in my life and now have some pride that I am not conforming to society materialistics ways. I buy what I need. The runaway slave had a voice. The rebellious teenager has  a voice. We should really listen to what the past and present have to say. Chances are it isn't the voice of the country club or from the woman with the fur coat but the man serving these people.  As a whole we've had the same opportunities so write it down on whatever you have. Write your story down. Someone will read it. Educate people about yourself.

Just Another Creepy Guy

When I go to the grocery store, I try my best to say hello or do as little as a smile to a stranger. Nobody expects this. Today I was in the beer asile and a man had shiner bock. I said,"Shiner Bock that sounds like a good idea." He didn't say anything. I guess he was surprise or even scared. I beleive we are all Americans or even human beings so we should be able to talk to anyone, even if it is just pleasantries.
Was I trying to make a new friend or even have a drinking buddy, No. I simply think, "nice weather we are having" will break through lost expressions.
It is important that you do this in grocery stores or movies theatre not bars. Dinking lowers your inhibitions at it is usually unreal.
Today I found that white people are more reserved. African Americans were different. As I got my six pack of shiner block I stood behind this African American woman who had a tiny buggy of groceries. She looked at them and then decided to leave. She looked at me and said,"I came here for greeting cards."
I noticed one in her buggy and said,"There's one."
And she said I need more.
Then there was an African AMercian man who checked me out in the line. He was close to my age. The youngens or his work associates were talking about Madden, you know the video game. And he said I've been playing MAdden since 1994. I personally don't play video games but I was interested. The Asian bagger asked him what are you favorite video games. I didn't recongize most of them except MOrtal Combat. THe man checking me said his mom wouldn't let him buy the game but he played it in the arcade. Remember arcades?
I can't help but dig little coversations like this. People are cool. Politcs won't unify us but beer will possibly even video games. We need to be able to talk to each other face to face.
  

Fugazi on Pandora 2

I don't think it gets much better then hearing MInor Threat sing Steppin' Stone. In my earlier years I would prbably feel the need to throw something or break some glass, but now I just listen. Punk Music something like food that your parents will never understand. Pixies to Nirvana drinking dos equis doing the Gonzo thing and feeling good.
You know what I am considered a yuppy now so I am going to do my best to explain punk rock to someone who would other wise not understand.
Imagine this day- Your alarm clock doesn't go off at the right time, you scramble to get your clothes on, no time for coffee you step outside and step in dog shit, this creates a smell even though you took a shower, driving to work you stop suddenly and a car hits you from behind. You call ahead to work while the police come. Police come and they determine it is your fault, You don't have the money for an attorney so you have to pay, you go to work with the back of your car mashed up. You arrive at work and find the bosses son got the promotion you worked so hard to get, nepatism. Anger rage all the things your God says you shouldn't have inflict you however they are very human which is imperfect. It takes an unlucky person with nothing to understand punk not a real house wife.

Transformation. Thank you to Brian Gullins. Response to Guess speaker of Area 10 church

Transformed definitly but just because you have changed doesn't mean there isn't an action or even a single word that makes you feel contrainted like you're in a jail cell or even makes you cry. When he started talking about abuse I lost it. Maybe it takes a break down to be transformed. That one word abuse shuts me down. I don't want to be in public and I don't want to share my feelings.
My prayers are simple. They are usually help me. I pray for this for the simplest things.
Several days I feel the weight on my shoulders I do my best to get rid of it. I have forgiven( my whatever you want to call them) but I don't think I can sit in the same room as them.
This afternoon I was awaken by thunder. I saw no lightening but the rain washed away the dirt. I saw that this particular sermon was 50 minutes long which I thought was long but I listened to it anyway.
I think it is still sprinkling outside. I feel like walking my mile walk and getting outside this prison cell. The door is always opened.

Separation

Separation

I’ve dropped out

I’ve moved down

But for then

I was split in two

All ears

I could only listen

Occasionally I tired

To make them laugh

Even if I was the fool

2 individuals

Experiencing a low

I tried my best to suggest

It could get worse

It never did

It grew from one conversation

Into a union

Making our family whole

We grew

Standing on a solid rock foundation

That will take the end of the world to break

Until then

Enjoy your grand kids.

The First Time I wanted to Write

The first time I wanted to write , I didn't know how to write, however I knew my alphabet. My families' cat, Muffin, just got ran over by a car. I thought it was my fault, because I didn't shut the screen door fast enough. Muffin ran out to the street. We rushed to the vet, and I was late to school. Muffin ended up being okay but it took awhile.
Later on that evening, my family and I were visiting a neighbor. I always had a notepad. It was there when I started to want to write in a journal. I asked my dad to help me out.
Even then I figured a journal should be private so I gave up on writing untill the seventh grade.

Selfless

She didn't have a vacation until close to eighty.
Before then she fed her love once including
her kids and grand kids before she ate.
then there was the jocky lot in Anderson south Carolina,
she was so excited by the deals
for the most bizarre things, she said, the word
jocky lot in one mouth full without breathing
the jocky lot which was one masssive yardsale
she raised four kids
with about five grand kids
selfless she would given it all
and she did to her love ones
but her first vacation was at the beach
she questioned whether or not the sand would hold her up
when she stepped on the sand she thought it felt like sugar
she spend an extended period of time watching the birds
and collecting the treasures on the beach
even the treasures she didn't keep
she gave them to her neighbors in
the nursing home.
the selfless seek contentment
not with money but the satisfaction of others

PRESS RELEASE

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

2008- COMING OF AGE STORY A MODERN DAY “ON THE ROAD” THAT REFLECTS THE EXPERIENCES OF AMERICAN YOUTH IN THE NINETIES

When we were Young

 is released by author Jason Jepson

In this fictionalized memoir, author Jason Jepson writes about growing up in America during the 1990’s. The story opens not long after the Columbine shootings. Jonah, the young protagonist, is himself a bit of an outsider, but his shaved head and off-beat way of dressing belie his true innocence and naiveté.

When we were Young chronicles the life of Jonah from high school through graduation and the summer before he finally starts college. Like a modern day Kerouac, Jonah and his friends spend their days and nights in their small Virginia town drinking cheap coffee in the diner, wandering around looking for something to do and experiencing a few drunken nights and an  occasional sexual encounter with a girl. Later when Jonah moves to the capital and lives in an apartment without heat and becomes a struggling young writer, we can’t help but root for him.

When we were Young is a coming of age story full of typical experiences of middle class American youth in the nineties. Jonah’s story is neither unique nor remarkable, but Jepson’s ability to write it all down with such clarity and candidness makes this a journey worth taking.

----------

For further information contact: Ray Robinson at 317-228-3656, via email at RayR@DogEarPublishing.net,  or through the website at: www.dogearpublishing.net

When we were Young

Jason Jepson

Dog Ear Publishing

ISBN: 978-159858-757-9                     176 pages                                                                                                              US

Available at Ingram, Baker&Taylor, Amazon.com, Barnes&Noble, Borders and fine bookstores everywhere

Quote from Winston Churchill

"We have always found the Irish a bit odd. They refuse to be English."
He said something else (atleast I think it was him) something like he understands when he was young being liberal but as an older man being conservative.
Two people that I love immensely have posted things on facebook against my view on chic-filet. One was that is was freedom of speech, the other one was a pic of Linsey Grahm eating chic-filet.
Do you remember freedom fries? I personally always wanted to go to Paris. People have forgotten about it now.
This quote speeks volumes to me. My thoughts go way back to high school with the whole freak and prep little separation there. What side were you on? I can have a beer with anyone now.
Our right to disagree is AMerican, however when there is no compromise it can be anarchy.
Raised by educators I don't understand why conservatives always want to cut the education budget. I wish someone would explain it to me.
If you are only communicating with people who feel the exact same you do then you are stuck in the mud.
As a moderate I agreed with investing in enviromental savy businesses. MOst didn't work out. Now should we have not invest in the enviroment? No but maybe it shouldn't have been as much.
Obama Care. My fellow mental health consumers would most likely be turned away from an insurance company for pre-exisiting conditions. That is really all I understand about the new health care law.
Bigotry. I think it can have a different definition for everybody.