Hinterlands

We travel into the Hinterlands.
The mist stands like a curtain,
All at once obscuring and enfolding the landscape,
Behind it's translucent veil.
There are monsters in the Hinterlands.
Creatures of pure, animate, Cold,
Which can pass through a man and stop his heart.
Beasts that appear to be more fang and fur, than flesh and bone.
Following the Forest Road we cross the Hinterlands.
These woods are deep and dark,
Ancient trees teaming with life.
Even the giant pines themselves seem to breathe and shift,
Nervous guardians over an uneasy peace.
It is often eerily quiet in the Hinterlands.
The apparent tranquility is a facade,
A carefully crafted lie of peacefulness,
Cunningly concealing the dangerous truth,
Of wildlife and OTHER life biding it's time awaiting prey.
'Ware the clearings in the Hinterwood.
The more crafty and sentient dwellers of the wood,
Make their homes in these open spaces,
And they don't take kindly to outsiders.
If you meet these folk of the Hinterland,
Show them not your teeth in a grin,
For it will be read as aggression,
And you may meet with a swift demise.
A show of the tongue through closed lips,
Like a contented bulldog,
Will express to the natives your passivity and welcoming disposition.
Guard your purse close in the Hinterwood.
For the aboriginal peoples are not the only life in the wood,
Of bipedal motion and opposable thumb.
Small, viscous bands of cut-purses make the forest their home,
And they are just as apt to cut a throat as they are a purse-string.
Time of travel matters not in the Hinterwood,
Day or night it is always dark.
The trees tower so tall as to not allow more than the merest trickle of sunlight,
Moonlight fares no better or worse,
Though entering the woods on a dark moon is never advised.
The wood is but the gateway to the Hinterlands,
Should you make it out their other end
You'll face a barren plain climbing toward mountains,
Peaks white and blue with ice and snow.
A long forbidding journey yet lies ahead.

Lost Futures

(Posted via my phone, later edited via PC :)

Lost and concerned, dazed and confused?

I never know what to do, my uncertain future has a hold on my heart.

The actions of my today are informed by my yesterday and shape my tomorrow.

The future terrifies me.

My past haunts me.

I live in the moment because it is the only time I can TOUCH..

The present is a present to my self with many wonders held within.

I want to hide myself inside that package,

surrender to an enveloping Now,

hide from my past and the terrible uncertainty of my future.

Is this box a trap?

Am I limiting myself,

and hindering the growth of my soul,

by stubbornly refusing to look either forward or back?

In my box, only living day to day, moment to moment..

am I missing the point of existence?

Time is an illusion, a man-made construct.

Who are WE to say you CAN'T live in the future or even the past?

Just because we "remember" something,

does that truly mean we've already "experienced" it?

Isn't it possible that,

what millions of people experience as Deja Vu,

are just future memories?

Our brains have so much processing power,

yet we only know of them using but a small portion of it.

Is the rest of the human mind just a giant space-time translator,

trying to keep us sane by making sense of our places in the universe

and displaying the sensory input in a linear and understandable output

that our perceptions can accept?

I don't know.

I simply know that I am concerned for my future,

(whatever that means)

and I feel LOST.

Sick...

It is a little interesting how something like coming down with a cold can lead to you forgetting about things like a blog.  More pressing things on my mind I guess. Like my SINUSES! Added on top of my abysmal attempt at flight of two weeks ago when I came off of a roof the fast and painful way, I have just not been that mindful of keeping up this blog lately.  With the bruised ribs from my fall, every sniffle and sneeze hurt my chest.  The sniffles aren't so bad, the sneezes are sudden and uncontrollable contractions of damaged muscles that do NOT want to be asked to JUMP in that fashion... those hurt :-P  I have decided that I will not take for granted all the little things like taking a deep breath, stretching, yawning, sneezing, coughing, sniffling, laughing, etc that just become more difficult and tinged with pain after sustaining a rib injury.  So this blog is just an update I guess, and an attempt to assuage my guilt over not having written a blog in a few days. 

I am already sick and tired of being sick and tired.  Hopefully I heal and recover from this illness quickly.  I will try to be more diligent with the blog posts. :)

KD

Warm.

Cheesy.

Yellow.

(wait..)

Orange?

(whatever)

Yummy!

Spoonfuls.

(Big WOODEN Spoonfuls!)

Comforting.

Delicious!

Gooey!

Creamy!

Mmmmmmmmm..!

Gone.

(  : (  )

Contemplating Explicitness...

I've just recently been considering adding an Explicit Content Advisory to this blog for the simple reason that SOMETIMES I feel inclined to write about things that are more than PG-13.  This is a simple thing to enable, if I so choose, Blogger.com has a little box you can check for that which then adds a content advisory warning each time someone visits your blog.  I did not do this, when I first created this blog, for two reasons; ONE, I did not feel I would be publishing much that would fall under a need for explicit content advisory and TWO, I worried that such an advisory page would potentially reduce my viewing audience, if only because the extra notification page is just a bit annoying.

Of course now I face the minor dilemma of whether I go ahead and enable the explicit content warning on my blog so that I may feel free to write or rant explicit without fear of blog removal by Blogger.com's censors, OR to censor myself whenever an explicit impulse strikes me..  I am leaning heavily toward the former.  It is probably my usual lack of confidence in my writing finding an audience that would have me worry about losing readers because I sticker a "Parental Advisory: Explicit Content!" sticker over it, and really, the minor annoyance is not THAT big a deal, right?  If any of my readers has any input or suggestion on this subject, please leave me a comment relating such.

Summing up: Don't be surprised if you click on my blog one day and are asked if you "Understand and wish to continue." ;)

He drives rain slicked streets in his Deliverator's car,

Fat, sticky tires clinging to the road like a slug to a leaf.

His machine crouches like a beast stalking it's prey,

As it accelerates and weaves through the concrete jungle.

He is ONE with his car, a perfect melding of man and machine.

The pizzas WILL be on time.

The sudden SLAP of a "poon" alerts the driver that he's picked up a stowaway..

Some brave entrepreneurial idiot is using the Deliverator to get themselves somewhere FAST.

He does NOT like unexpected passengers..

The driver's names, first AND last, are synonymous with hero,

And he fashions himself to be one, of a sort.

He determines to LOOSE this leech.

Glancing back into his blind spot the Deliverator spots the interloper;

Decked out in the flashy colors and modern body armor of a courier,

They are "skiing" off the back of his ride, dangling from the end of the suckered on harpoon.

Okay, damn... I'm gonna end that there.. I started this "poem" as an attempt to pay tribute to one of my favorite books by writing a poem BASED on it, about the main character. Any of my readers who have read Neal Stephenson's "Snow Crash" will have immediately (I hope) recognized Hiro Protagonist in his role as The Deliverator from the beginning of that great, fun, science fiction novel.  I feel like my attempt at an homage was just turning into a sort of butchered reinterpretation of events that Mr. Stephenson himself described far better in his OWN words, in the book.  So rather than sound like I may be ripping him off, or worse, doing a disservice to the tale told in Snow Crash by painting it less than it is, I'll abandon this exercise.  I was inspired to try such a thing by some of my favorite music artists who write songs about great novels that they love and manage to do so poetically and without infringing on the writings of those to whom they are paying tribute.  I will likely try this again, either with the same, or a different subject at a later time.  Perhaps I am being too hard on myself, and this poem was NOT going THAT badly... but for me it stopped even feeling like a poem and felt more like I was trying to tell the story and doing so badly :P  heheh :-D

I will end this post with a quote, directly from the book, a writing style that I can only HOPE to aspire to one day:

Image Copyright of lhn6856

"A row of orange lights burbles and churns across the front, where the grille would be if this were an air-breathing car. The orange light looks like a gasoline fire. It comes in through people's rear windows, bounces off their rearview mirrors, projects a fiery mask across their eyes, reaches into their subconscious, and unearths terrible fears of being pinned, fully conscious, under a detonating gas tank, makes them want to pull over and let the Deliverator overtake them in his black chariot of pepperoni fire." - Neal Stephenson, Snow Crash

Trasnsformative Folliage

Leaf-strewn lanes on a blustery Autumn evening,

Transform a modern street into a fairytale trail,

A winding woodland way through the dark forest.

What wonders may await at this fabled road's end?

Does an ever slumbering princess lie beneath a witch's spell,

Upon a bed of oak and glass bedecked with silken sheets?

Might there be a giant's castle at the end o' the  path?

It's rampart's flying flags depicting fantastical creatures,

Mighty gryphons perched on the tall stone turrets.

Could an even greater wonder still lie in a clearing ahead?

A circle of standing stones within a clearing in the woods,

Standing in its center, a proud and beautiful unicorn.

Alas, none such as this appears.. but what is this?

A sudden light before you at the crossing..

It is RED.

You bring your carriage to a stop.

The light turns.

Onward you drive into the real world and towards home...

Feed Me Back..

Hey everybody.  This is just a short post to humbly request that those fine souls who are actually taking the time to read this little blog o' mine take a few seconds more to click and give me feedback.  You don't need to post a full comment (though I greatly appreciate those) just point your mouse pointer at one (or more) of the little check boxes at the bottom of each post.  I even added a couple more options.  Now you could just click to say "I read it" or "boring" :) heheh  I know it doesn't mean much to you, but it is these little things that mean something to me.

Thanks for reading.

- Josh

Bloem

So.. apparently a bloem is a dutch word for bloom, as in the bloom of a flower.

Bloem

Okay.. not the worst thing in the world to have associated with what I had hoped was just another made up mash-up of a word combining blog with poem the way vlog combined video with blog.  I mean, a bloom or flower of a flowering plant signifies new life or the re-emergence of life like that which comes along every Spring.  I do hope that this bloem blog can be a re-emergence of my creative life.  A place for me to nurture and grow the seeds of my writing process and branch out my imagination.  I want to push myself to write, even if I am only writing about that WANT to write.  Maybe I'll surprise myself with what I come up with.  Maybe some divine inspiration will emerge and blossom into something bigger.  Or maybe I'll just write my silly poems and the occasional rambling story about my life or ghost gnomes on mars and life will just continue to ramble on. :)  I'm honestly good with it, either way.  I am in a new beginning in my life, a time a renewal and new growth.  Let the bloems commence!


In Bloom - Nirvana

Sell the kids for food
Weather changes moods
Spring is here again
Reproductive glands

He’s the one
Who likes all our pretty songs
And he likes to sing along
And he likes to shoot his gun
But he knows not what it means
Knows not what it means
when I say
He’s the one
Who likes all our pretty songs
And he likes to sing along
And he likes to shoot his gun
But he knows not what it means
Knows not what it means
when I say yeeeaaahhh



We can have some more
Nature is a whore
Bruises on the fruit
Tender age in bloom

He’s the one
Who likes all our pretty songs
And he likes to sing along
And he likes to shoot his gun
But he knows not what it means
Knows not what it means
when I say
He’s the one
Who likes all our pretty songs
And he likes to sing along
And he likes to shoot his gun
But he knows not what it means
Knows not what it means
when I say yeeeaaahhh

*Guitar solo*

He’s the one
Who likes all our pretty songs
And he likes to sing along
And he likes to shoot his gun
But he knows not what it means
Knows not what it means
when I say
He’s the one
Who likes all our pretty songs
And he likes to sing along
And he likes to shoot his gun
But he knows not what it means
Knows not what it means
Knows not what it means
Knows not what it means and I say yeeeaaahhh
mmmmmmmm
mmmmmmmmm

mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Blog re-launch

At first when I had the thought of restarting and trying to breathe new life into this lapsed blog of mine, I briefly toyed with the idea of re-naming it "Thing-a-Day", a blatant rip-off of Jonathan Coulton, a folksy, humorous, singer/song writer of whom I have recently grown quite fond, and who gained notice through his own musical project "Thing-a-week" in which he put out one new or cover song a week for a year.  After a bit of thought, I decided that, as much as I'd LIKE to be able to say that I would write at least one thing a day, I knew/know myself, and my horrible tendency toward procrastination, better than that.  Hence, Bloem a Week was born. :)  Still a tribute to (sounds nicer than ripoff ;) Mr. Coulton as well as to the band he ripped off.. I mean, was inspired by, They Might Be Giants, whose old Dial-A-Song service, back in the days of answering machines, served as the inspiration for Jonathan's musical project.  Lastly, but most certainly not least, I would be remiss if I did not include my friend Patrick Brennan, whose excellent art/writing blog 52 Fridays  not only ALSO follows this tried-and-true self motivator of weekly postings but also showed me what a blog can be and inspired me to someday maintain my own blog.

Now, despite the fact that I settled on "..A Week" as the 'suffix' to my blog's title, I will by no means use that as an excuse to limit myself to merely one post a week.  If I am able to maintain daily blogs for a while, so be it.  Someone said "Less is More" but, honestly, isn't MORE more??  So I will endeavor to write, as often, and whenever the mood strikes me, and, AT LEAST once a week.  I gave myself that self motivator in the title to do just that, motivate my SELF.  I like the me who writes, even if I don't always care for some of the silliness or aborted attempts at deep philosophic meanderings that spill out of his head and onto the keyboard. :)  So I will practice BEING that me.

- Josh

Alphabetty-Spaghetti

Always Bring Current Documentation.

Effervescent Fairies Glide Haughtily.

Introduce Jocular Kindness, Lavishly.

Meditate Now On Phosphorescence.

Quietly Reflect Serene Thought-forms.

Understand Various Widespread  Xenographies.

Your Zen-like Zealous Youth.

Xylomancy With Variegated Undergrowth.

Trans-formative States Revealed Quickly.

Psychic Observances Newly Made.

Leaving Knowledgeable Jobs Inexplicably.

Hypnotic Guidance From Elsewhere.

Delivers Consciousness Broadly Awakened.

Changes

     Everything changes..  This is what they say, and I have always known it to be true.  The one you are with may not always be thus, the future you plan may never see the light of day, or an unexpected and unforeseen event may suddenly enter into your story with life-changing consequences.

     The latter of these became true for me about two months ago.  I am torn between just spilling my heart out onto the digital page and sharing everything that happened, or just giving a general summation of the resulting outcome of events.  For now I will skimp on the details to protect the parties involved and because I believe in living in the moment and not dwelling upon the past.  My relationship of almost 5 years has just recently come to a somewhat unexpected end.  The relationship ended civilly and without animosity.  She and I remain friends, but what we had together is gone and we don't see any going back to what it once was.  I suppose for my first serious relationship 5 years is pretty good, but that is small consolation.  The spark of new love and potential for something new and wonderful is better consolation and I feel myself lucky to have found such for myself.

     This new track on my life's journey has already had its share of bumps and potholes but there has been bright sunny patches as well and I foresee more joyful times ahead.  I have never been a big fan of changes, however I seem to be coping well with these latest and adjusting to my new reality.  I feel I am being drawn back to my spirituality as well, and look forward to reacquainting myself with some old friends and making some new ones.

     I do not think that this blog signals a true return to my blogging, more that it is my attempt at updating the few readers I have and giving some explanation why my online presence has been so diminished these past 2 months.  I am in the process of looking for a new place to live with my new love while staying with my parents in the interim.  They have been great help and support, as always, in this latest of my life's trials.  I only hope to repay them someday, and sooner by finding a place for myself and returning their home fully to them.  I will write again when I am able to or when I am forced by inspiration to do so.  Until then:

Long Days and Pleasant Nights to Ye,
Josh

Blogger's Neglect

So I guess I dropped the ball on this blog for a week or so.  It's not that I did not think about blogging, or more to the point, the fact that I had not contributed anything to my blog in a while, I just did not have any clear inspiration and I was coming home pretty tired all week from my first real physical work in quite some time.  Even the inspiration for THIS blog is just the lack of inspiration I have had and to assuage my writer's guilt.

     I did have a few thoughts over the course of the last 10 days on some topics I could blog about.  I realized that there are some, perhaps even many, things that I do not feel I can share in this particular blog.  Things that if I wanted to write about I would publish anonymously or even in a private journal for my eyes only.  This is my public blog.  I want this blog to be accessible to any of my friends and family on facebook who might be interested in reading what I have to say on whatever various topics I choose to write about.  That said, there are certainly some aspects of my(and surely of anyone's) life that I wouldn't choose to share with everyone.  And I'm sure it is just as true that not everyone would want to know the things that I would not talk about here.

     I am still struggling for inspiration so I guess I will accept that this is all I have to contribute to my blog at this time.  Maybe I will just write a detailed account of what I did at work last week for my next post.  Could be incredibly boring but at least I will feel like I made an effort to write and share some of my life with others.  I did see both a sea otter and a beautiful soaring eagle at my job site last week.  Too bad I was not inspired to write a sonnet or something about the graceful beauty of an eagle's flight.  Okay, I feel silly and cliched now, so I will end this post.  Hopefully I will find something that I want to write about soon.  At the very least I can start recycling my old poetry on here.  I am sure some of it is in need of a little re-writing.

Who's the A-hole that went and made Cancer a dirty word?

Okay, well maybe not a DIRTY word, but certainly a word with negative connotations and practically synonymous with death.

     As you may, or may not, know my astrological sign is Cancer the Crab.  I don't find anything too offensive in being a hard exoskeleton having crustacean with pincers.  I do however resent the fact that my Zodiacal namesake has also been paired to one of the most deadly and dreaded diseases that one may contract; cancer.  Apparently it is all the fault of the early Greek physician Claudius Galenus who thought that the swollen veins surrounding a tumor resembled a crabs limbs.

 Now, I grant that that particular cancer cell bears some minute resemblance to a crab, especially when colored red like that, though I say that it more closely resembles a sea urchin.  Why couldn't the bad news you hope not to hear at the doctor's office be: "I'm sorry to have to tell you this but... you have Urchin." A quick google of "cancer cells" find many more images that do not resemble a crab, in fact many are in pairs and remind me more of testicles or 'gonads.'  "I'm afraid you have Gonads of the prostate.."  Alas, no, instead the poor shelled crustacean of the Zodiac gets his good name dragged through the mud and is forever associated in people's minds with the diagnosis equivalent of a death sentence.  

I even found THIS awesome representation of the zodiac symbol 

in an article about Farrah Fawcett's battle with, and succumbing to, cancer.

I guess I just wanted to write this blog to vent (and gripe a little) about being the only member of the Zodiac to be tied to such a distasteful and unpopular ailment.  It peeves me off a little.  Thanks a lot Doctor Galenus! Why couldn't you have seen a spider-looking cancer tumor, or the gonadal pictures that are all over the internet nowadays?  Ah well.. I guess I could be all dark and morbid and relish in the fact that my signs name is the only one so dreaded in hospital corridors.  Watch out for Cancer's.. they have a most deadly condition named after them... 

Alternate Mes

I had an idea for a post, it could even be an idea for a story or book, about possible alternate versions of myself.  Say, for instance, I had been born in a different century.  I could have been born into a far flung future(if humanity indeed exists far into the future) or into the distant past.

Perhaps there is an alternate me wherein my pirate garbed persona is not just a costumed affectation I don for SCA and other just for fun events, but is, instead, my true swashbuckling self; a salty sea dog aboard a ship of other scoundrels taking what we can from those weaker than us.  If an alternate, pirate, me exists, I am sure that he/me would not be a very nice person.  As much as Hollywood and books would like to have us believe in the fantasy of the noble and honorable rogue of the sea, the handsome trickster who may be a thief but he loathes to kill and he fights on the side of right, I doubt such fantastical heroic figures existed among the bloodthirsty lot of murderers, rapists and thieves who actually roamed the seas in search of ships to plunder and booty to loot.  So, Josh the Red, would likely look upon the version of me who is writing this blog as a weak-bellied land-lubber, and kill me for even pretending to be any kind of relation to his vile rum-swilling self.

Still, it would be interesting to live a day in the life of that cutthroat pirate.  Even to experience the more distasteful elements of his sea fairing and marauding, the actions of true pirates, that have been sanitized from all the Disney and family friendly pirate portrayals.  Murder, death, sickness at sea, kidnapping, rape, ransoming, primitive medicine and nutrition.  Truth is painful in many ways, even the true lives of our stories' white knights in shining armor were much grittier and less honorable than they are portrayed in the stories we tell today.  I wanted to go further with this post.  Maybe even write an imagined 'Day in the Life Of' Josh the Red.  Perhaps I will get around to that in a future post.  I would also like to hypothesize on a future-born self. I've met many people who say that they feel as if they were born in the wrong century, wishing they lived in simpler times like the olden days or during the renaissance(often seeming to overlook just how HARD life was in those times..)  I am not one of these, I am a lover of sci-fi and often wished as a kid that I lived in the world of Star Trek, where money is an outmoded concept and teleportation as a mode of travel and replicators that can make any meal you desire in an instant are a reality.  I do not know if such a Utopian vision of humanity can ever come to pass, but if it could, I would wish to live in THAT century.  Even the gritty, near-future world that William Gibson describes in his cyberpunk novels appeals to me more than our world of menial jobs, mortgage payments and reality TV.  I don't know.  Maybe I am just a dissatisfied soul, and I would find something disagreeable even in an alternate life where I was king of a peaceful empire and had my every need catered to.  If so, blame my pessimistic Cancerian nature.  I DO love the internet, so I am least grateful to live in the age of Google and information at our fingertips.  I know not everyone agrees that this is a good thing, but that is a part of what makes this me ME and I would not have it any other way.

New Old Post..

I failed to post in the past two days so here is a quick re-post from my facebook poetry:

The Ending Has Just Begun

They say all good things must come to an end.

The same must be true of bad things.

But sometimes an ending is just the beginning,

and a new beginning may be the end to an old story.

Endings can take longer than expected,

when expectations are based on false assumptions,

and prior experience of a simpler time.

This ending has just begun.

This ending is a story in itself.

This ending has it's own beginning

and this ending has an end.

This ending has just begun.

I don't know how to end this.

This is not the end.

But I don't know where to take this.

I don't know where to begin.

This may have ended before it ever began.

And maybe I'm a fool for beginning it to begin with.

This ending has just begun.

This ending is a story in itself.

This ending has it's own beginning

and this ending has an end.

This ending has just begun.

Now I've slipped into absurity and repitition.

Maybe it is time to just end this.

Or begin it properly.

But I am bad at endings.

So I will just say this:

The End.

Summertime Blues

Well, I guess this post would be more accurate if titled: Summertime Illness.. but I couldn't resist the song tie-in. :)

For the past week I have been partially incapacitated with an annoying Summer Cold.  I am not certain why I feel the need to describe it as a Summer Cold exactly.. it is presumably the same sort of cold one might catch in Winter, Fall or Spring.  But there is something extra depressing and draining about a Summertime Cold to me.  Maybe it is the fact that the weather (sometimes) is nice and sunny out and you are stuck in bed feeling shitty, or maybe it just seems to hit harder when it is warm and huddling under the covers in bed does not give the same sort of comfort that it does when you are ill in the winter months.  Regardless of why, I have always differentiated the Summertime Cold from other colds or form of illness.  They always get me down.  Though, to be fair, I cannot think of a single person that I know who gets cheered up by getting sick.  (Though I am sure there are some strange germ fetishists out there somewhere who WOULD! :D )  After a week of feeling run down, congested and coughing my lungs out, I feel like I am over the worst of it and have achieved 3/4 human status.  At least I no longer feel like blended poop, as my friend Coy so eloquently put it. :)  I am certainly smiley emoticon-ing more, and probably ACTUALLY smiling more too.

     I am not sure there is a real point to this post.  I wanted to blog something, and this is what was on my mind.  Aside from the Summertime Cold season(I know of at least 3 others who have or had it in the past weeks) it seems that we are in a period of dying, loss and memorial lately.  I just recently lost a close friend of the family, and found out this morning that a cousin of mine, who was my age but had been on dialysis since he was a teenager, passed away.  There is a sort of superstition that deaths come in threes, and I am really (selfishly) hoping that the 3rd death in this series does not hit any closer to home.  I fully believe that death is a necessary thing, and as my poem post of yesterday may have shown you, I do not believe death is necessarily the end.  I feel in my heart at least that my friend and former roommate, Scott, has started on the next path of his souls journey, and that the energy that was him and his spirit is not gone but merely moved on to other planes of existence.  He can still reach out to us if he chooses to or needs to send us a message.  Though I find it more likely that he will be moving on, not lingering, as some spirits do, to become ghosts or bringers of other paranormal activity.  We shall see (or not) I suppose.  I have not truly mourned the loss of my friend yet.  I am bad at dealing with loss and death.  I have been fortunate in my life to have little of such to deal with.  I feel like I will mourn soon, if only for my own selfish loss of a great soul in my life.

     Anyway, enough of the blues and talk of sad things.  Such things may be necessary but no one says we have to like them.  I hope these times pass quickly and times of love and light come to fill out the rest of our Summer.  Summertime should be a warm and joyous time.  Bring on the rays of light and running through sprinklers.  I'm ready for an end to the Summertime Blues.

Summertime Bluesby Alan Jackson 

Well I'm a-gonna raise a fuss I'm gonna raise a holler

About workin' all summer just to try an' earn a dollar

Everytime I call my baby to try to get a date

My boss says "No dice son you gotta work late"

Sometimes I wonder what I'm gonna do

'Cause there ain't no cure for the summertime blues

Well my mom 'n' papa told me "Son you gotta make some money

If you wanna use the car to go ridin' next Sunday"

Well I didn't go to work told the boss I was sick

"Now you can't use the car 'cause you didn't work a LICK 

Sometimes I wonder what I'm gonna do

'Cause there ain't no cure for the summertime blues

I'm gonna take two weeks gonna have a vacation

I'm gonna take my problem to the United Nation

Well I called my congressman and he said quote

"I'd like to help you son but you're too young to vote"

Sometimes I wonder what I'm gonna do

'Cause there ain't no cure for the summertime blues

Well I'm a-gonna raise a fuss I'm gonna raise a holler

About workin' all summer just to try an' earn a dollar

Sometimes I wonder what I'm gonna do

'Cause there ain't no cure for the summertime blues

Yeah sometimes I wonder what I'm gonna do

'Cause there ain't no cure for the summertime blues

No there ain't no cure for the summertime blues

My favorite of my recent poems..

 I wanted to start sharing some of my poetry here on this blog, so here 

is my favorite of my poems I have written within the last year:

When the World Ends

When the world ends

I will walk with you, hand in hand,

Under starlight, in the middle of the day.

When the world ends

When the world ends

I will stand with you, back to back,

Shotguns at the ready, popping zombie heads.

When the world ends

When the world ends

We will watch as all that we love falls

And laugh, for we know it is just the beginning,

When the world ends

When the world ends

We will joke about reincarnating as roaches

Upon the barren rock that may remain

When the world ends

When the world ends

We shall ascend as beings of Light and Soul

To embark upon a new journey together

When the world Begins...