I really shouldn't be around people.
I feel my anger surfacing.
Innocent people.
Makes me want to question the individuals innocence.
I'm the idiot, ultimately.
Such a repetitive notion I keeps repeating.
How redundant,
That sentence itself was.
On edge,
And for a person who doesn't know me.
Please don't test me.
Perhaps you were 'joking'
Of course,
Make the appeal,
Certain words.
However,
Are chosen selectively.
Not necessarily consciously.
But we all know your primary objective.
Yet we let out subconscious figure the details out.
And we consciously choose to stay oblivious to the actual reasoning behind our emotion.
Babble babble babble.
Small minds frighten me of my own self.
Of what I used to be.
I'm not easily understood.
Nor do I want to be.
Lets be honest.
I know, for certain,
Nothing.
Trust.
Such an overused,
word,
Yet it's most valuable
In the time of deception.
The famous question.
"Why should I trust you?"
Yet the moon seems to shine through the thin clouds.
I don't want my anger to surface.
playing with me.
Thoughts are becoming more entertaining.
Yet free will,
Is true freedom.
And I will not give in.
Hopefully?
I don't understand anything.
I'm questioning my move,
Yet here I received nothing but,
What?
Small worlds scare me.
How can I believe,
In what I am.
If I'm not even able to leave a nest I have been accustomed too.
I'm not sad.
I'm angry.
And it's my fault.
I will not take an excuse.
Because,
Believing in your own excuse,
Is takin further steps back.
Right?
I don't want the people I love,
to see my anger.
"Get over yourself"
Is what I would be thinking in your shoes.
Perhaps.
One way or the other.
It's not me.
Never was.
Never will be.
Never has.
Pleasing words,
Are for bitches to play with.
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
Thursday, July 18, 2013
Like no one else
Childhood,
such an innocent experience.
Regardless of the crimes that were committed on such young souls.
They remain innocent.
True innocence,
such a beautiful thought.
Think about it.
Innocence.
Something we have forgotten the feel of,
realizing certain stains don't wash off.
Youth,
When i was a kid,
I wasn't given much.
Stories well hidden in my mind.
Few have surfaced.
I lied,
many have surfaced.
The few that haven't scare me the most.
Because when certain memories surface,
there is something dark that follows it.
When people have seen my darkness,
their eyes,
their Look,
Their reaction,
Disgusted.
Never knew such could exist.
There has been a lot of anger in me.
And this is in a retrospective way,
I hope this doesn't scare anyone.
I would imagine it would,
or could.
Regardless,
regardless.........
Anger was the only force that kept me driven.
Anger,
Anger.
People do not understand anger.
that's why when people are so quick to get angry,
I laugh.
Pathetic,
I think
Just fucking pathetic.
YOU don't KNOW real ANGER.
Because if you DID.
BULLSHIT,
doesn't make you lift a god damn finger.
But hey,
people are different,
some are easier offended than others.
We have to respect that.
What a fucking JOKE!
goodness.
Passive-aggressive?
She just called me that.
Yes you.
I suppose writing this here,
and you reading it there,
does seem passive aggressive.
My last days?
I just want to say goodbye to you
every chance I get,
the way that I want.
But come on Lady,
I have been begging you for years now.
I just want to see if you can return it for a couple of days,
it's okay,
I know you got commitment issues.
But damn,
But Damn...............
I believe I am a sculpture.
I am the Artist.
I know beauty.
And my motivation,
My earliest.
My deepest.
My strongest,
motivation.
Has been Anger.
Really,
no exaggeration.
True feeling of isolation.
Young and old.
Remember,
first grade.
FIRST
Grade.
Teacher said to point at me,
"POINT AT HIM!"
so they did,
and so they did.
"Laugh at him?"
I was confused.
I didn't even make a joke?
But you get it though right?
I remember when the school principle grabbed me by the hair and slammed my head on his office desk, 2nd Grade.
second.
Listen,
i know what you are thinking.
but this is just what I am willing to talk about,
regardless of knowing that perhaps no one is listening.
But heyyyyyyyy.
I fuckin punched in faces of any racist,
male or female.
Oh yes,
i have,
when i was under the age of 9,
given a little girl a proper whoopin.
I don't give a fuck!
Anger,
like I said,
people do not really understand.
I understand that there is someone who is even angrier than me,
looking at me,
telling me,
You don't understand anger.
I understand that.
But I do believe I am the person,
who lives at the border,
who just made it out.
Not letting anger,
CONTROL, me.
And for those who have not made it out.
Where anger conquered,
YOU DROWN IN HATE.
Hate,
Ahhhhh.
People don't understand hate.
You that do,
see as I do,
How people,
use,
HAte so ordinary.
HATE,
any boy girl looks at me the wrong FUCKING way.
I have beaten up more german white boys then anyone you'll ever meet.
Fuck 'em.
Is what I said.
When I was angry.
PAtrick.
The most racist,
kid, I think.
Perhaps the most violent racist.
There were kids who were more racist towards me,
actually one.
Dominic,
was his name.
Skinny small kid,
talked shit behind a crowd.
Soon,
not even the crowd could protect him.
Anyway,
Patrick,
i believe was more violent than racist.
His racism just directed his violence towards me.
only me.
The Only kid,
who fought back.
I forgot the Moroccan kid's name.
Yugoslavian Kid,
Mevluddin.
Anyways,
point is.
No one fought back.
NO ONE!
No one.....
Not even my brother,
or sister,
or father,
But my mother,
she fought back.
That is why I LOVE her.
She taught me that I suppose.
Your earliest memory as a child is seeing your mother,
fighting,
fist fighting,
two people,
in an elevator.
That was kindergarten.
We moved from that housing complex when I graduated kindergarten.
I had a crush on my teacher,
and I had my first kiss,
with,
Katarina.
She was cute.
Why she play hard to get though?
I hope my teacher did not get jealous?
why I can't remember her name?
She didn't give me a kiss?
Or I was just too scared.
Nahhh,
Patrick though,
I lost early ones,
Humiliated,
because when he won,
all the kids got to celebrate.
they like to throw punch,
when they celebrate.
Pussies only come near a beast, when it's DOWN.
Let's be honest,
that is what little bitches,
and I mean that in the most behavioral way,
Like to do.
I have been spat on,
while down.
And that is how I knew Dominic was the biggest racist.
the spitting.
I mean come on.
Well that is how I know now.
Part of rough times is,
you do not have time to process things.
Especially being 7.
I reacted,
and did,
what my instincts told me to do.
I have been sharpening my blade,
before many.
That is why I see humor in so much,
the shit people take serious.
The shit that people take serious....
First grade,
Patrick won that year.
gave me some beat downs.
2nd and 3rd,
Mine.
Except no one celebrated when I won.
Fuck 'em.
Is what I said.
I celebrated.
I know how to celebrate.
Dragged him......
there was this rectangular area with plants in the middle.
But it was waist level,
so all around people could sit.
The sitting area was made out of concrete,
is my point.
I dragged him over,
he had long hair such as myself.
Grabbed him,
smashed his head,
believe it when i tell you,
i split his head open.
I mean he started bleeding pretty bad.
That's splitting someone's head right?
Then,
He laid on his stomach,
Got on his knees with both his forearms on the floor,
full stretched.
I sat on his back,
pulled the back of his hair,
and started squirming,
and everyone was watching,
and everyone was watching,
I was calling him a wild hog.
I cannot help to think,
but to make gay jokes.
I do understand if someone was trying to explain the story using the words that I used,
there would be a need for phrasing.
But these words are really what happened.
I didn't care what it looked like.
All my focus was to
humiliate,
degrade,
dehumanize,
him.
And they were all watching.
A stupid little girl would say something,
i would beat the shit out of her.
Kick her in the fuckin face.
Anger,
does that.
Like I said,
I barely made it past the border.
And my stories are not even that bad.
I believe.
3rd grade.
I fought cleaner.
I just did.
Don't ask me why.
I didn't know back then.
So why does it matter that I know now?
Joshua,
Jewish kid.
My nigga,
shout out.
Tim,
lived with his father.
Mother was gone.
My nigga,
Shout out.
Alexander,
My best friend.
Shout out.
We live our lives,
and
experience.
dark,
harmful,
poisonous,
contagious,
Through it,
I held on to one thing.
Don't ask me why,
I just did.
Beauty,
and let it drag me.
Beauty alone has dragged me out of the dark.
It's the only thing that hasn't left me.
Regardless of who left me, or who hasn't accepted me.
I am a sculpture,
I am the artist.
I Know Beauty,
I see Beauty.
Like no one else.
such an innocent experience.
Regardless of the crimes that were committed on such young souls.
They remain innocent.
True innocence,
such a beautiful thought.
Think about it.
Innocence.
Something we have forgotten the feel of,
realizing certain stains don't wash off.
Youth,
When i was a kid,
I wasn't given much.
Stories well hidden in my mind.
Few have surfaced.
I lied,
many have surfaced.
The few that haven't scare me the most.
Because when certain memories surface,
there is something dark that follows it.
When people have seen my darkness,
their eyes,
their Look,
Their reaction,
Disgusted.
Never knew such could exist.
There has been a lot of anger in me.
And this is in a retrospective way,
I hope this doesn't scare anyone.
I would imagine it would,
or could.
Regardless,
regardless.........
Anger was the only force that kept me driven.
Anger,
Anger.
People do not understand anger.
that's why when people are so quick to get angry,
I laugh.
Pathetic,
I think
Just fucking pathetic.
YOU don't KNOW real ANGER.
Because if you DID.
BULLSHIT,
doesn't make you lift a god damn finger.
But hey,
people are different,
some are easier offended than others.
We have to respect that.
What a fucking JOKE!
goodness.
Passive-aggressive?
She just called me that.
Yes you.
I suppose writing this here,
and you reading it there,
does seem passive aggressive.
My last days?
I just want to say goodbye to you
every chance I get,
the way that I want.
But come on Lady,
I have been begging you for years now.
I just want to see if you can return it for a couple of days,
it's okay,
I know you got commitment issues.
But damn,
But Damn...............
I believe I am a sculpture.
I am the Artist.
I know beauty.
And my motivation,
My earliest.
My deepest.
My strongest,
motivation.
Has been Anger.
Really,
no exaggeration.
True feeling of isolation.
Young and old.
Remember,
first grade.
FIRST
Grade.
Teacher said to point at me,
"POINT AT HIM!"
so they did,
and so they did.
"Laugh at him?"
I was confused.
I didn't even make a joke?
But you get it though right?
I remember when the school principle grabbed me by the hair and slammed my head on his office desk, 2nd Grade.
second.
Listen,
i know what you are thinking.
but this is just what I am willing to talk about,
regardless of knowing that perhaps no one is listening.
But heyyyyyyyy.
I fuckin punched in faces of any racist,
male or female.
Oh yes,
i have,
when i was under the age of 9,
given a little girl a proper whoopin.
I don't give a fuck!
Anger,
like I said,
people do not really understand.
I understand that there is someone who is even angrier than me,
looking at me,
telling me,
You don't understand anger.
I understand that.
But I do believe I am the person,
who lives at the border,
who just made it out.
Not letting anger,
CONTROL, me.
And for those who have not made it out.
Where anger conquered,
YOU DROWN IN HATE.
Hate,
Ahhhhh.
People don't understand hate.
You that do,
see as I do,
How people,
use,
HAte so ordinary.
HATE,
any boy girl looks at me the wrong FUCKING way.
I have beaten up more german white boys then anyone you'll ever meet.
Fuck 'em.
Is what I said.
When I was angry.
PAtrick.
The most racist,
kid, I think.
Perhaps the most violent racist.
There were kids who were more racist towards me,
actually one.
Dominic,
was his name.
Skinny small kid,
talked shit behind a crowd.
Soon,
not even the crowd could protect him.
Anyway,
Patrick,
i believe was more violent than racist.
His racism just directed his violence towards me.
only me.
The Only kid,
who fought back.
I forgot the Moroccan kid's name.
Yugoslavian Kid,
Mevluddin.
Anyways,
point is.
No one fought back.
NO ONE!
No one.....
Not even my brother,
or sister,
or father,
But my mother,
she fought back.
That is why I LOVE her.
She taught me that I suppose.
Your earliest memory as a child is seeing your mother,
fighting,
fist fighting,
two people,
in an elevator.
That was kindergarten.
We moved from that housing complex when I graduated kindergarten.
I had a crush on my teacher,
and I had my first kiss,
with,
Katarina.
She was cute.
Why she play hard to get though?
I hope my teacher did not get jealous?
why I can't remember her name?
She didn't give me a kiss?
Or I was just too scared.
Nahhh,
Patrick though,
I lost early ones,
Humiliated,
because when he won,
all the kids got to celebrate.
they like to throw punch,
when they celebrate.
Pussies only come near a beast, when it's DOWN.
Let's be honest,
that is what little bitches,
and I mean that in the most behavioral way,
Like to do.
I have been spat on,
while down.
And that is how I knew Dominic was the biggest racist.
the spitting.
I mean come on.
Well that is how I know now.
Part of rough times is,
you do not have time to process things.
Especially being 7.
I reacted,
and did,
what my instincts told me to do.
I have been sharpening my blade,
before many.
That is why I see humor in so much,
the shit people take serious.
The shit that people take serious....
First grade,
Patrick won that year.
gave me some beat downs.
2nd and 3rd,
Mine.
Except no one celebrated when I won.
Fuck 'em.
Is what I said.
I celebrated.
I know how to celebrate.
Dragged him......
there was this rectangular area with plants in the middle.
But it was waist level,
so all around people could sit.
The sitting area was made out of concrete,
is my point.
I dragged him over,
he had long hair such as myself.
Grabbed him,
smashed his head,
believe it when i tell you,
i split his head open.
I mean he started bleeding pretty bad.
That's splitting someone's head right?
Then,
He laid on his stomach,
Got on his knees with both his forearms on the floor,
full stretched.
I sat on his back,
pulled the back of his hair,
and started squirming,
and everyone was watching,
and everyone was watching,
I was calling him a wild hog.
I cannot help to think,
but to make gay jokes.
I do understand if someone was trying to explain the story using the words that I used,
there would be a need for phrasing.
But these words are really what happened.
I didn't care what it looked like.
All my focus was to
humiliate,
degrade,
dehumanize,
him.
And they were all watching.
A stupid little girl would say something,
i would beat the shit out of her.
Kick her in the fuckin face.
Anger,
does that.
Like I said,
I barely made it past the border.
And my stories are not even that bad.
I believe.
3rd grade.
I fought cleaner.
I just did.
Don't ask me why.
I didn't know back then.
So why does it matter that I know now?
Joshua,
Jewish kid.
My nigga,
shout out.
Tim,
lived with his father.
Mother was gone.
My nigga,
Shout out.
Alexander,
My best friend.
Shout out.
We live our lives,
and
experience.
dark,
harmful,
poisonous,
contagious,
Through it,
I held on to one thing.
Don't ask me why,
I just did.
Beauty,
and let it drag me.
Beauty alone has dragged me out of the dark.
It's the only thing that hasn't left me.
Regardless of who left me, or who hasn't accepted me.
I am a sculpture,
I am the artist.
I Know Beauty,
I see Beauty.
Like no one else.
Saturday, July 13, 2013
Sushi? Sure.... :D
With all of the things said,
and done
First and foremost,
Happy Birthday to me.
I would like to thank my mother for not giving me up to the turkish family who could not conceive,
but then again,
who knows the lifestyle I would have been accustomed too.
I grew up not celebrating birthdays,
because the prophet was said to have been born and to have died on the same day.
Making the balance even?
Assuming death does not give reason to remember the person in a celebrating fashion.
Because the life given to us,
the day we arrived, is a gift.
And death is treated like Thievery,
interesting.
How we react to such.
No matter which beliefs we choose to carry with ourselves in our graves,
certain moments,
show our true state.
Yet you can say,
Invalid?
Unreal?
Irrational, is what most like to call it.
or those who use the term enjoy saying the word.
The world of irrationality.
Or the world of emotion.
Where our hearts? truly? Lie?
Lately I have been doing a lot better not acting upon my emotion.
Yet sometimes I feel the sense to indulge.
Is it really the right thing to do?
Find reason behind your own actions?
that you do not understand the real meaning behind?
Did I mention today is my birthday?
No words to say,
really.
But yet there is a lot to discuss.
Figuring out situations,
only leads towards more scenarios to deal with.
Yet there is a certain joy to new things.
Perhaps because it is new.
Feeding our curiosity.
I hope my curiosity never dies.
In my case I hope curiosity kills the cat.
On my mind all day.
Getting a grip has never made me feel so in control.
Not saying I am in full control,
there is too much joy in letting control be taken from me.
Makes me smirk,
I enjoy the feeling I get when someone makes me smirk.
I enjoy people who
Or their own projections they have placed upon me.
Not many can see me.
The only one who surprisingly can
Don't feel special.
It's my birthday remember.
So I am moving pretty soon.
Excited? perhaps.
Nervous? Yes because I enjoy that feeling.
Scared? Not today.
Anxious? only when people are standing near high places.
Sad? yes.
Happy? Don't think one move dictates such an assumption.
So I just turned 23,
seems a big age to me,
i definitely feel like 22 was a good learning year.
I guess I can only learn things the Harsh way,
or maybe everyone can only learn things the harsh way.
If you are trying to understand and learn the truth.
Yet 23 is still so young.
thirties seem young.
Age is too much of a mindset for me.
or it definitely is turning to be such.
I have met people younger than me who have shown me how to grow.
I have met people older, who have taught me that being older doesn't mean a damn thing.
It is going to be an ambitious year,
maybe more quiet till about new years.
By then I can imagine the scene shall be turnT up by me.
Let's face it,
I am generally attracted to loud noises,
and my love for dancing definitely finely tuned my senses towards steering me towards the right people and music.
I'm trying to keep a lid on my ego.
He seems to want to talk more,
today.
Don't blame him,
it's our birthday.
23 huh?
year of the Jordan?
That's what a person said to me,
and I cannot stop saying it.
If only I could remember who that person is,
so I can give him credit every time I say it.
I always make sure to give credit for something that I say, that was taken from another person.
The curse of being to conscious towards peoples behavior, has led me to realize that certain people take things they see in other people,
and use it as it is their own genuine doing.
Yet I know the traits I have picked up from other people.
If it is the way they argue,
Hand gestures,
emphasis on certain words.
It's all natural.
to see, and to pick up,
to change ultimately.
Not into something that you see,
but into something unknown.
Your old and the New you.
Ideas and mindsets however,
to me,
belong to those who say them or think them.
I hear a good idea, I will share it,
and what I enjoy more,
simply based on how it makes me feel,
is afterwards acknowledging the person who shared such with me.
Well,
i told myself I am not making any plans and I would accept any offer made by anyone who i consider a friend.
I am being taken out to Sushi.
Writing session
ended
Happy Birthday to me
and done
First and foremost,
Happy Birthday to me.
I would like to thank my mother for not giving me up to the turkish family who could not conceive,
but then again,
who knows the lifestyle I would have been accustomed too.
I grew up not celebrating birthdays,
because the prophet was said to have been born and to have died on the same day.
Making the balance even?
Assuming death does not give reason to remember the person in a celebrating fashion.
Because the life given to us,
the day we arrived, is a gift.
And death is treated like Thievery,
interesting.
How we react to such.
No matter which beliefs we choose to carry with ourselves in our graves,
certain moments,
show our true state.
Yet you can say,
Well that is just an emotional reactionSo that makes the reaction................. what?
Invalid?
Unreal?
Irrational, is what most like to call it.
or those who use the term enjoy saying the word.
The world of irrationality.
Or the world of emotion.
Where our hearts? truly? Lie?
Lately I have been doing a lot better not acting upon my emotion.
Yet sometimes I feel the sense to indulge.
Is it really the right thing to do?
Find reason behind your own actions?
that you do not understand the real meaning behind?
Did I mention today is my birthday?
No words to say,
really.
But yet there is a lot to discuss.
Figuring out situations,
only leads towards more scenarios to deal with.
Yet there is a certain joy to new things.
Perhaps because it is new.
Feeding our curiosity.
I hope my curiosity never dies.
In my case I hope curiosity kills the cat.
On my mind all day.
Getting a grip has never made me feel so in control.
Not saying I am in full control,
there is too much joy in letting control be taken from me.
"Letting"
is the keyword if you did notcatch that.
Makes me smirk,
I enjoy the feeling I get when someone makes me smirk.
I enjoy people who
speak to me,and not what they believe is me.
Or their own projections they have placed upon me.
Not many can see me.
The only one who surprisingly can
is you.
Don't feel special.
It's my birthday remember.
So I am moving pretty soon.
Excited? perhaps.
Nervous? Yes because I enjoy that feeling.
Scared? Not today.
Anxious? only when people are standing near high places.
Sad? yes.
Happy? Don't think one move dictates such an assumption.
So I just turned 23,
seems a big age to me,
i definitely feel like 22 was a good learning year.
I guess I can only learn things the Harsh way,
or maybe everyone can only learn things the harsh way.
If you are trying to understand and learn the truth.
Yet 23 is still so young.
thirties seem young.
Age is too much of a mindset for me.
or it definitely is turning to be such.
I have met people younger than me who have shown me how to grow.
I have met people older, who have taught me that being older doesn't mean a damn thing.
It is going to be an ambitious year,
maybe more quiet till about new years.
By then I can imagine the scene shall be turnT up by me.
Let's face it,
I am generally attracted to loud noises,
and my love for dancing definitely finely tuned my senses towards steering me towards the right people and music.
I'm trying to keep a lid on my ego.
He seems to want to talk more,
today.
Don't blame him,
it's our birthday.
23 huh?
year of the Jordan?
That's what a person said to me,
and I cannot stop saying it.
If only I could remember who that person is,
so I can give him credit every time I say it.
I always make sure to give credit for something that I say, that was taken from another person.
The curse of being to conscious towards peoples behavior, has led me to realize that certain people take things they see in other people,
and use it as it is their own genuine doing.
Yet I know the traits I have picked up from other people.
If it is the way they argue,
Hand gestures,
emphasis on certain words.
It's all natural.
to see, and to pick up,
to change ultimately.
Not into something that you see,
but into something unknown.
Your old and the New you.
Ideas and mindsets however,
to me,
belong to those who say them or think them.
I hear a good idea, I will share it,
and what I enjoy more,
simply based on how it makes me feel,
is afterwards acknowledging the person who shared such with me.
Well,
i told myself I am not making any plans and I would accept any offer made by anyone who i consider a friend.
I am being taken out to Sushi.
Writing session
ended
Happy Birthday to me
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)