Canibalistic Personification of HATE

 (Author's Note: First, this is supposed to seem kind of disorganized. The pattern the poem is written in is supposed to be mixed up. I don't have the mental capacity right now to be organized. Second, I hate science class right now. Those stupid proficiencies are taking up my life! I missed a party held in honor of the Packers AT MY OWN HOUSE because I had to work! So Science is eating up my life. I hate it.)


If science were a person, I think it'd be a cannibal,
It'd eat up Time,
And devour Pleasure,
And scare away Sleep,
While sucking the life out of Life.

Its assistant is Work,
Its goal setter, Stress,
And Stress's set goal
Mental Breakdown.

Science's enemy, ADHD,
Would soon be no more,
For Science, being Science,
Has its own method of making ADHD
And it's cohorts, Distraction
And Forgetfulness
And Restlessness,
Less of a nusaince
And easier to swallow.

This cannibal, now out of things to eat,
Moves on to bigger meals.
Science eats up Mind, and Creativity.
Muse runs in fear of the horror it's seen.
Progress soon follows, already bitten by science,
And even Work is swallowed by the raging cannibal.

And I swaer, if this doesn't stop,
Science will eat me out of house and home.

I've considered rushing away like the others,
But Obsessiveness, or maybe its twin OCD,
Or maybe it's Imagination's figment to make up for Common Senses absence.
But whichever they are, they won't let me.
So I'll have to suffer through.




Damnit, science.

In the Middle of the End of the Beginning...

Big city, bright lights, dark alleyways...

Even at ten at night, Chicago's lit up and bright as day, people rushing everywhere, places to go, things to do. As the lights blaze and the city hums, someone stands in a dark alley, a phone to their ear, their foot tapping. The phone rings, once, twice, then again, when suddenly, the phone clicks, and someone out in the suburbs answers.

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One hand grabs the ringing phone as the other frantically pushes buttons and jabs at analog sticks. The call button is push and the phone is transferred from fingers to shoulder and ear as both hands return to the game controller. With his eyes train on the screen, where a digital grim reaper is fighting his way across the screen, Greg answers.
"Hello?" He asks, only half listening for the answer.

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In the alley, the question is heard.
"Greg?" The girl asks, "Something's kinda come up...You're gonna have t-"
The words are cut off by a sound of celebration, then, "What?"
"I can't make it to he concert, Greg, I need you to fill in for me."

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Greg, still focus on the game, tries to remember what he's just heard.
"You need me t- WHAT?!" Greg drops the controller, all his attention now on the phone, as an ancient looking scroll sporting the words 'Game Over' appears on the screen and a skeleton begins to laugh at the boy in front of the tv.
"I can't... but...why..." Greg stammers before exclaiming, "Couldn't you call Chris?!"
"Dude, Chris is in Japan, remember?"
"Isn't there someone else? I can't do it! I-" Greg starts.
"Greg, I'm your instructor, remember? I taught you what you know, and I've heard you play everyday. I sure you can do this."

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There's a pause on the phone. A voice lacking most any trace of confidence asks, "A concert, Skye? Really? You want me to play at a concert?
"Were you listening at all to what I just told you?" Skye asks, "Or have you been preoccupied playing Skeleton Keys?"
Immediately the phone erupts into a guilty cry, "No!"
Skye snickers.

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Greg looks guiltily at the tv, still flashing the Skeleton Keys game over screen, as Skye tries again to boost his confidence.
"Dude, do you really think you'd be the first person I'd call if I didn't think you were good enough?"
Greg sits for a moment to try and fully take in this statement.
"I was the first one you called?"
"Of course."
Greg thinks for a moment. There were plenty of other people Skye could have called, but he was the first?

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A sneaking suspicion fills the air as Skye begins to wonder whether Greg's hung up on her. 'If he did...'
"Okay, fine," the phone suddenly comes to life, surprising her for a moment. "I'll go but when my mom finds out-"
"Is that the problem?" Skye asks nonchalantly, "Well if that's the case..."

                ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"The one that weighs a ton? Yeah, it's right here, why?" Greg crouches in his closet and pulls out a metal case, the contents of which are unknown, even to him.
"It doesn't weigh a ton, you're just weaker than a kindergartner." the phone teases.
"I told you, I let him win." Greg mumbles, pulling the case from the closet.
"Whatever. Just make sure you bring the case. As long as you've got a good excuse for being out so late and some 'witnesses', that case is basically your get-out-of-trouble-free pass."
"Okay, but how am I supposed to get there?" Greg asks skeptically.
"I'm sure you'll find something out."
"Yeah, that's helpful."

                ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Well, good luck then." Skye replies.
"Thanks." There's a click and the phone goes dead. Skye shuts her phone and turns to an open door in the side of one of the buildings. She walks inside without a word and the door begins to swing shut behind her.
"Hey, make sure you wash your hands now!" a voice calls from inside.
"That's what I'm doing, Scout." Skye calls, "Watch out for-" A crash. The sound of laughter is the last thing to come from the kitchen before the door shuts completely and locks. On the roof of the building opposite, a silhouette glares at the door, waiting. Waiting for his chance.

                ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Greg hangs up the phone, slinging the case of his should by the shoulder strap. He stand, pondering, until a look appears on his face, suggesting a cartoon light bulb would feel right at home hovering over is head. He grabs the phone again and runs to the stairs.
"Hey, Rick!" Greg calls.
"WHAT?" yells a clearly irritated voice. 'Good,' thinks Greg as he dials the phone, 'He's in a good mood.'
The phone barely rings once when it's picked up and an overly enthusiastic "Hello! emanates from the phone.
"I need you to drive me somewhere!" Greg yells up the stairs before turning to the phone, "Jackson. If anyone asks, I'm at your house tonight, okay?"
"Why? Are we hanging out? You wanna play a game? Should I-"
"No, Jackson. I need you to lie like you've never lied before." Greg says, trying to keep as quiet as possible.
"Oooh, okay. I get it." Jackson hangs up the phone as Rick appears at the top of the staircase.
"I'm not taking you anywhere! Why should, you little emo..." Rick stomps down the stairs as he shouts, getting cut off as he reaches the bottom by a voice from the kitchen.
"Rick, be nice to your brother," their mother calls. She looks out the door, "Greg, where're you going?"
"Jackson's house. I'm going to, uh, spend the night."
She turns to Rick, "Marcus, you can-"
"Moomm."
"You name is Marcus, that's what I call you, that's who you are, and you are the boy who's going to drive their brother to Jackson's house," Greg's mom gives Rick a look. Rick crosses him arms and scowls for a bit, before finally giving in.
"Fine." He pushes Greg aside and storm out the door, calling, "C'mon, Dummkoff!"
Greg glares after Rick before running out after him while his mom returns to the kitchen. In the empty living room, the tv flashes its messages while the skeleton laughs. After a moment, the screen flickers, then goes black before lighting back up. Again, the screen shows an ancient scroll with the words game over inscribed on it. The skeleton is gone, and in it's place is a figure in a black cloak with the hood pulled over it's eyes and a scythe in hand. It looks up and one a pair of red eyes glows from beneath the hood. The screen flickers again, before going black again, this time for good.

Snake Charms

It's such a time consuming thing,

Vacation.

There's packing,

and provisions,

and plans,

and lists.

There's loose ends to attend to,

and loose ends to be made.

Yet even in these stress filled times,

before a stress filled drive,

to a slightly less stressful vacation,

moments with a certain charm,

are still to be found.

Walking through the room,

to attend to some last minute packing,

preparations,

provisions,

something catches my eye.

A beautiful poses,

a sly grin,

a look in the eye, as if to say,

You wish you had this.

A wonderful moment

for pictures.

The trip through the house,

a scavenger hunt for a camera.

One thing I'm sure of.

My model won't be there for long.

Yet against all odds,

I return to the same statue,

the same muse,

as I'd left before,

waiting patiently.

And lo, as the shot is taken,

the moment immortalized,

the model,

once a statue,

breaks her stillness,

as she lies on her belly,

and casually slithers away.

Leaving me to continue,

through these stress filled times.

The Monsterous Thing That Ate a Month of My Life

I hate this animation. Or, at least, the animated part. The timing is off, I got slides mixed up, Movie Maker froze the computer every twelve seconds making a half hour project take 3 hours and deleting several dozen slides. So here. A two week project that took a month and made me work through several parties that would have been pretty fun to participate in, considering they were happening two feet from my face. In short, the monster that ate an entire irreplaceable month of my life. I just hope the internet crashes and burns before anyone I know sees it.

The Only Difference I Can See Between Most Politicians and Rich, Whinny, Spoiled Little Kids is a Change in Vocabulary

I really can't see much more difference. Politicians constantly argue amongst themselves, protesting or, put more simply, whining when they don't get their way. Politicians lie to get what they want, or at the very least don't tell the whole truth, which is really just as bad. They're impatient and nearsighted when it comes to many things and unfortunately, our economy is one of those things.

Our economy is like a bank account in the sense that money is constantly put into and taken out of it and sometimes, people have to take a lot of money out at once. This would seem bad at the moment, but if one is patient and just keeps up what they've been doing, minus the large amount of spending of course, the the amount of money in the account, and in the economy, will slowly but surely reach the point it was at before, if not higher. This is where the problem is; politicians, as I said before, aren't patient and can't seem to put the fact that their are still hard working people putting money into the economy together with the fact that more money is printed and put into circulation each day . This means that, rather than waiting for the economy to go back up on its own, they spend what's left of our money trying to make more money, which doesn't work.
Politicians are also like little kids, not only in their nearsightedness and impatience, but how when they realize they've made a mistake, they manage to pin the consequences on someone else, namely, we the people. Once they finally get it into their heads that spending money doesn't make you more money, they decide to raise taxes, making everything more expensive and more people have file bankruptcy due to the fact that they just can't afford anything. Concerta is a perscription drug that everyone in my family has to take everyday. Exactly how much does a months worth of Concerta cost? For one person, $200. For thirty freaking pills. Times that by 6 people in my family and 12 months in a year, that's $14,400 dollars my family spends on perscription drugs per year.

If the fact that taxes are now higher, gas prices are almost double what they were, and everything else is now more expensive, are added to that number, that's a lot of money. And, to add to the long list of things that are costing us more money, apparently, in a few years, people will have to pay to be able to view most websites. Popular things like YouTube and FaceBook and all those sites would be free, but for one to access sites that aren't as popular, like Wajas, one would have to pay to even view the site. All because of rising prices, due to the not very well thought out and, let's face it, stupid decisions of some politicians.

Breaking the rules is yet another trait that most little kids and plenty of politicians have. The constitution is SECOND amendment of the Bill of Rights states clearly "...the right of the people to keep and bear arms SHALL NOT BE INFRINGED." Last time I checked, 'shall not be infringed' means you can't make a law against it. What does the president, Barrack Obama, want to do? He wants to be Squealer the pig and go against the constitution and take away our rights. The new dictionaries and textbooks that were released are asking for the United States to follow in Russia's footsteps. All references of the American Slave trade have been renamed the North Atlantic...something. I can't remember the last part, but the point is they changed the name and some of the information to make th U.S. look better. Rewriting history; where have we heard that before?

Basically, we havethe equivilent to rich, spoiled little kids with big vocabularies running the country and going against the constitution and, to tell the truth, I'm starting to get kind of ticked off. Personally, I'd like to buy a coy of Animal Farm, Give it to Barrack Obama, tell him to read it, then look me in the eye and say that's not what's starting to happen here, because it is. The people in charge are canging things they have no right to change and are trying to re write history in a way that's more apealing to them. If I ever do give Animal farm to the president, and if he can look me in the eye and say that what's happening here isn't in the least bit like Animal Farm, then we'll all know that the president is either blind, or a liar.

Rant on Zombies

Why a rant on zombies? Because my dad is a zombie killing fanatic. Dad finished his Mass Effect 2 game awhile ago and soon found two new games on steam to obssess over for a few weeks. Left 4 Dead and Left 4 Dead 2. From aliens to zombies. You can ever guess what my dad will play next. One thing you can guess, though, is whenever there's a newvideo game in the house, especially a first person shooter, everyone in the house will soon be crowding around the computer/tv screen. (Yes, our computer doubles as a tv) The younger boys were quickly sent out of the room to do things they hate and would take hours to acomplish such as cleaning their room and I was sent to satisfy Kiergun's hunger for apple crisp. K2 was left to watch dad progress through the game undisturbed, other than by the shouts of "PWNAGE!" that came every so often from where my brother perched on the back of the couch, which is right in front of the computer.

The moderate peace did not last. Soon I was finished with the peeling, slicing, and cinnamonning of the apples and had resorted to watching my dad and his game from the vantage point of the back of the couch, torturing dad with my flood of questions.
"Where's the crying coming from?"
"The witch."
"What's a witch?"
"A type of special infected." Dad recieved a blank stare followed by the inevitable question.
"What's-"
"Zombies with special abilities." Suddenly, a zombie charge at my Dad's character yelling in some weird language.
"Dad!"
"What?"
"That zombie TALKS." Face-desk.
"What language is it speaking?"
"It's not talking, it's just making noise."
"You know what I think?" I asked.
"What?"
I whispered in Dad's ear, "I think it's talking zombie." Face-palm. This time from K2.
The next half hour went on like this. Then, finally, Dad's team made it to the rescue helicopter and the flew away from the zombie infested hospital they had been trapped in. Suddenly, a thought came to me.
"Hey, Dad?"
"What?"
"What do the zombies do after you leave?"
"I don't know. I guess they go back to wandering around."
"That is, the ones that don't throw themselves off the roof trying to catch the helicopter," chimed in K2, smirking at the thought. He got a punch in the arm. Another thoght came to me.
"Maybe. They create. A COMMUNITY."
"What?!?" Both brother and father stared at me like they'd just found out I was an alien come for their Pops cereal. Yeah, that look. Dad recovered first.
"Jordan, zombies can't create a community. Their brains are too small to comprehend the basic concepts of teamwork or relations...or goals," Dad explained, just as a giant horde of zombies basically used 'teamwork' to acomplish their 'goal' of incapacitating my dad's character. I gave him a look.
"That's a horde, not teamwork," Dad mummbled.

After that, the Schutzes came over, picking up Mom and dropping off Ben, Sam's younger brother, the house fire that happened a bit ago started, we saw the smoke from our front window, and piled into Dad's car, minus our shoes, which turned out to be a disadvantage when we finally got there, realizing the street was jammed up and the only way to see the burning house would have been to walk. Zombies were no longer talked about for most of the night. But I started think ing about zombies. What if they did form a comunity? And what if they did form their own language, like Zombese? What if zombies are actually vegetarians? And they go crazy when they eat non vegetarian foods? For some reason, I think that would be pretty likely. As well as the possibility of zombies liking apple crisp....Don't ask where that came from. But what if zombies really were vegetarians that go nuts when they eat non-vegetables? Would that mean that instead of shooting zombies when the zombie appocolypse comes, which my brother swears will happen eventually, we would just have to throw vegetables at them? Of course, then people like my brother and dad would be greatly disappointed. Throwing vegetables at zombies isn't really the same as throwing grenades at them, as far as my brother will believe.

There is one thing I'm certain about all of this. When you go to bed thinking about stuff like this, you either don't sleep at all, or you have wierd dreams about zombies attacking bowls of apple crisp. And if you're the kind of person that likes to make up characters and write stories, you end up waking up after have dreams such as the ones before mentioned, and realized that you have made up a new character who is a zombie named Derren who worships apple crisp and runs a giant rollercoaster in an amusement park. Again, don't ask, because I seriously don't know.

The Infamous Teasings of Time

(Click the picture please)

This is a picture poem I made about time because it never really does what you want it to.

Time is such a curious thing

When you want moments to last

It seems to take wing.

When you're in slump

And want time to fly

Time folds up its wings

And slowly crawls by.