five deadly everythings...

Dinner

one evening
as we sat eating
dinner
my father
ate
pretty violently

he's usually
a peaceful man
quiet
and unassuming

but that day
he kept banging
his utensils

cLanG
CLANG

slapping slabs
of meat and potates
eggs and ketchup
onto the face
of his plate

(the menu that night
like was father,
was odd)

until finally
the plate smashed

into a bunch of
pieces
as sharp as the noise
that preceded the
silence.

his food,
a yellow and red
clash of
asian anger

he walked out of the room.

My sister and I
continued to eat
staring at our plates
glancing
as my mother
cleaned up
the mess her husband
created
and left behind.

"Please, don't tell
anyone"
she made us promise.

I didn't tell.
And I didn't ask either.

And to this day
I still don't know
or
understand.

-J.

Posted by Scene -- at 1:21:00 a.m. | Permalink

nothing to do...except do

When will I ever be able to get dates and times right? Today, Priscilla invited me to go to her first Salsa dancing class, because Mike couldn't go due to his exams. Dancing class is weird enough, but I got nothing else to do so I'm like "aight". Then I remember that tonight is American Idol, and even though it's not set in stone, me and Chris usually watch it together, so I decline the invitation. Then, at 8:00, the time that the show is supposed to start, I realize that today is Monday and Idol is not on tonight. I have made this mistake like every week since the show started. Anyway, Priscilla's class was gonna start at 8:30, so I screwed myself over in both repects, and now here I am typing on a fuggin' Blog...

I feel bad cuz I keep ditching Mike and Priscilla. Nothing personal, it's just been happening a lot lately. Ah well.

Also: Mike's going clubbing this Friday with his U of T buddies (also his birthday), and I nonchalantly agreed to go--forgetting that Friday is the day before Christianne leaves. Ah well, sorry Mike. I guess I'm cancelling again. Fukk.

Been reading the Bruce Lee book, and it's really working wonders. Not only is the taoist stuff hepling me find myself again (haha...fukk, how cheesy does that sound??), just the simple fact of reading Bruce's writings is inspiring me to write more...about evertything. Anything. I'll be back later with more on that stuff. It's weird, there's so much on my mind but once I sit down to write (even on a blog) I go blank.

I spent about 30 minutes today beatboxing...and I didn't even really notice until 25 minutes into it. It's weird how I can zone out like that sometimes. shit, the taoist stuff is working already...: I'm letting my mind think without interference. It's kinda cool, like an old friend.

I'll be back tonite...cuz I'm bored out of my freakin mind.

-J.

Posted by Scene -- at 9:01:00 p.m. | Permalink

The Jump Off

Man, went jogging again this morning. This time I headed in the opposite direction, up Rathburn and around Cawthra, and then back down Central Parkway. It's a more visually-pleasing route than the Square 1 one, but fuck (haha, butt-fuck?), that Rathburn/Cawthra area is brutal on the lungs. I took about a gallon of car exhaust into my system. So I think I'll only stick to that route earlier in the morning when there's less cars out. I ran into three other joggers though, which for some reason was cool to me. I think I went to elementary school with one of them. Can't really tell without my glasses...

goes to bathroom to shit...ahhh...that's better

Man, I could have sworn I had more to type about. Or at least, I did last night before I went to sleep, but all that's gone now.

Kamal quoted one of my rhymes yesterday for his MSN name, which makes me feel very honored.

Er..ah...damn. I got nothing.

I'll be back once I remember some shit.

edit

YES! I remember what I wanted to write about again!

DJ JAZZY JEFF. That fucker. I've been chasing this guy for like a year and a half now. This fukkin bastard keeps coming down to TO and I keep missing the muhfucker. I missed him once because I found out about it too late, and nobody wanted to come. I missed it another time because it was Felisa's birthday (or at least I think that's what it was...I'm bad at dates, remember). And so, last Saturday, it's Chris' friend Jen's birthday, and we're going to The Docks. Where coincidentaly, DJ JAZZY JEFF is spinning for the night.

Of course, I'm all amped up, and I'm this side of throwing on He's the Dj, I'm the Rapper just for old time's sake...

But when we get there, we find out that Jazz couldn't make it due to SARS scares. Fuck you SARS.

Cool. That's all. Oh, and "happy birthday" Jen!

-J.

Posted by Scene -- at 12:55:00 p.m. | Permalink

Me and/or You

darling
you could do that shit
over and over again...
to prove who's it:
loose chain binge

it doesn't really matter
in the end

truss me buddy
talking like that
don't mean shit
when a real gun
gets cocked back
truss
you don't know shit about
my right hook
i read books
but i'm more than the sum
of my look
truss

if the world is made
of opposites
--opposing "it"s--
than
maybe
out there is something
real

The Real Deal
something I can grab onto
with dextrous fingers
of worn tendons
and worn tendencies
something solid
that won't slip through
my fingers
like the liquid languid leisure
of my slothen self.

something
solider
than my future

something
that can really
suture:
non-pharmaceutical
healing
for the healing impaired

it's out there somewhere
the real
and it's probably
something
you think is real
real
phony.

Life's like that.
I'm like that.

And don't front
I know you're like that too.

So what's
our problem?

-J.

Posted by Scene -- at 1:46:00 a.m. | Permalink

running from...what?

I went jogging today for the first time in like...what? Well, the first time in a long time. I just got back like half-an-hour ago. I can feel the pain starting. And yes, I did my stretches.

I ran to Square 1 and back, using the same route I ran when I was chasing Salem up and down the street, with Chris chasing me in her van and the mysterious blonde girl forever popping out of nowhere. I figured, if I did that route once, I could do it again.

Bought my shoes a few days ago: Asics. I wanted to get New Balance--they were on sale and they're made in the USA. NB is known for their anti-stance on sweat shops. But yeah, they were ugly and Asics were cheaper. I guess that shows how righteous I am underneath it all...(sigh)

I bought them at Sport Chek, were i ran into some guy that I was sure I knew as a customer from Starbucks. It took me awhile into our conversation to realize that he wasn't from Starbucks, and that I had no idea exactly where I'd known him from. Even worse, I then realized that the guy also looked like he was trying to remember where he knew me from. We were both looking at each other sideways, hoping the other person would give something away.

But whatever, my familiarity made a good enough impression that the dude gave me a discount. Haha. He was probably thinking "shit, if I'm really supposed to know this guy, he's probably expecting a discount". Well, thanks man. Whoever the fuck you are!

The shoes were cool, fit very nice. My feet were feeling great up until the end. During the last stretch from around Marcus' house to mine, my soles began to get sore. I hope it's just because I need to break in the shoes first.

Anyways, yeah, this is the start of a brand new healthy Jeff. Mentally and physically. I promise

R.I.P. Nina Simone, and
Goodbye Carmen Rasmussen. (you'll be missed..sniff, sniff).

-J.

Posted by Scene -- at 7:20:00 a.m. | Permalink

Music Sale Blowout: Everything Must Go!!

Randy
Jackson
is an
asshole.

I wasn't sure if
such people existed
but they do
And most of them
are
on T.V.

Some of them
serve coffee
for a living

But the rest
are on
T.V.

Sometimes
I lose faith
in humanity
when I see
someone
like Randy Jackson
And
it makes me
want to cry

And then I
remember
that Randy Jackson
is the price
we pay
for
music.

A pretty
good deal
if you ask me.

-J.

Posted by Scene -- at 12:25:00 a.m. | Permalink

no tradesies

Return
this
to sender.
I don't want your packages
or your burdens
I've my own cross
and i like the way
it fits
the scars on my back
the slope
of my spine
the cowardly
heave
of my countenance.

No, I don't
want to trade
These are not Fleer
baseball cards
I am not
12 years old
I don't
want yours

Yours is for
crucifixtion

Yours leads to death
and backwards salvation

Yours leads to a hill
I don't want to climb

With criminals
I don't want to die with

To a God
who speaks in Tongues
but doesn't know my name.
Who like us down here
years for fame

To a paradise
just as patriarchal
and judgemental

Mine came
from Jesus.

From his dark
Hands
As he told me about
a loving God
that he sometimes
called
Mother

Mine is
for carrying.

So let me
carry on.

-J.

Posted by Scene -- at 2:31:00 p.m. | Permalink

sleep

Yessir, I got a full night's sleep. Even moreso. Sorry for falling asleep Chris, I hope you got a lot done on your essay. Nice blog, by the way.

Attempted to go to the J5 concert w/ Suzanne and Marc, but wasn't happening. First off, I was working (but I was able to get off early), we didn't really have tickets, we couldn't find Marc, and plus, the earth decided to open up and weep (thunderstorm, hold shit!). Yay, the storm was so violent I could feel that shit shaking the backroom in Starbucks. But oh well. I guess it wasn't meant ot happen.

Funny story, I'm at work with Kamal and Jill. Kamal gets up and he's like "Yo, Jeff, I'm going outside to pray". And he goes out like he does everyday at sunset, but then right when he walks back in the fukkin thunderstorm starts. I'm like "uh, Kamal, what the fuck did you do?" And he's like "Uh, I think I prayed to the wrong God. But Jesus is back" and we're both like "yay!!!!"

Like the po-ems Chris, thanks. Oh, and thanks for reminding me of this one: I forgot I wrote this


Excavate, Slaughter, Shadow

Brian sucks at the tip of his smoke
unaware that he is pulling on nothing
but filter.

The air is cold
Made of shadows and guilt--
--dark silk that sifts
his thoughts away
as if they were made of dirt.

Stick sand in an oyster,
and it pulses and pusses
until a pearl is excavated,
He thinks.

What happens in the shadow
of the shell...
That dark happening
Between torture
And beauty
Between smoke and shadow.
Slash and Slaughter.

He looks to the moon
Less this night a pearl
Than a wound

And exhales.

-J.

Posted by Scene -- at 11:20:00 a.m. | Permalink

Starbucks Haikus

Why do you care, ma'am?
It's just a part-time job, dude
You people need friends

I'm sick of coffee
No doppio espressos
I'm going to puke

I go home smelling
Like a five-pound bullet bag
I will miss that smell

Yes, we charge for soy
The world waits not for people
Who'd die for quarters

The separation
Between Shirley and Jilly
Is sincere in length

No, we don't have that...
...It's called a "Frappuccino"
Timmy's is that way

Can I order a
Grande Chocolate Brownie
Frappucino Blen---

Closers must change tea?
Managment forgets their "m"
Closers must change teams

Egos are swelling
I think the comm log's lonely
Ego...meet comm log

Tinisha speaks down
Up the ladder she rises
Black booty must fall

Jill and her hubby...
If you call a rose "Hubby"
It's smell turns sour

Seen Mark on the bar?
Ooooh, he's so legendary
Venti Sarcasm

-J.

Posted by Scene -- at 12:49:00 p.m. | Permalink

In my dreams
I can fly.
When I'm awake
I just lie.

-J.

Posted by Scene -- at 4:01:00 a.m. | Permalink

Trespasses

I'm in a good mood, I'm walking to work, beautiful weather. Listening to Nas' Illmatic--there's no way you can feel wrong with that album. That's quintessential shit, man. I'm smoking a Du Maurier Ultra Light, and no scary looking old women are running towards me with the look of death their eyes.

I get to work...no sign of Jill. Is she inside? Yeah...she is. I knock on the door, and knock some more until she answers. I get inside to find out that the bitch started without me. My pastries (that's right Tinisha, MY pastries) are spread out across the back counter, the coffee is already brewed, the bar is already set up. Is this bitch crazy or something? She has some weird complex, I swear to God.

Fukkkk...some people actually like doing their jobs, nah'mean? Trespass, violation, two points.

Yo, Chris showed my blog off. Argh. Didn't I send out to everyone to not let anyone else see the blog? Ah, there I go being naive again. Fukk..I can probably name the people who have been alerted about this shit without my approval. I knew it was gonna happen...I shouldn't bitch. Maybe I should change the address though...keep this shit to myself.

And for those who have read...let me make somethings clear: Naw, I don't think my poetry is good. Yes, some of it is nonsense. If I sent it out in an e-mail to you, then that means I got it right and I like it (for the blog-readers out there, I like "Mathematiks", and that's all). If not, it's akin to me shitting and capturing it in text. Ya know? Whatever. It's a blog...leave me alone.

Trespasses....

My mom cleaned my room today. Trespass yo...major. That one's been outlined. How many times we gotta fight about this ma?

Day started off right...Illmatic even. Ya know? Let's hope it ends cool. Finally bought myself a Bukowski book. It's about time. I love this guy. Non-pretentious, non-verbose, horribly provocative and affecting, man. This guy is like Guru...doesn't do much fancy with his words, but when he hits you, man he hits you.

So me and Chris both had gay nights. I spent Thursday night with a bunch of lesbians, and she spent Friday with her cousin's gay friends.

Ha, I feel like I just trespassed myself.

I'm out.

-J.

Posted by Scene -- at 7:11:00 p.m. | Permalink

maybe I just need inner-peace

Okay Chris, our little chat about Wicca got to me. Shit, is that all we're missing? Faith? Wow, have I really come to this? Anti-organized religion Jeff, asking if what he needs is a little God in his life?

Fuuuk. I have to admit. Life seems pretty empty right now. Existentialism has raped me up the ass, and now I'm looking for something to fill the hole. Catholicism? Naw...too much bothering me about that. Though Jesus is an upstanding fellow, and I believe there's a lot to be learned from his teachings. Wicca, Chris? Naw, it's just not Jeff. I gotta admit, Islam has been intriguing me, but I believe it's just the trendiness of it. ... I can't believe I just said that. I'm prolly going to hell for that. But yeah, it's just the listening to Common and Mos Def and talking to Kamal about the War and all that...

I miss Taoism. I was never really a taoist, mind you. I don't want to come off as one of those Eastern philosophical poseurs. But yeah, back when I was reading shit, the philosophies, and studying martial arts, and living healthy...I was so much calmer back then. Happier, chill. I was like Pooh, man. The Tao of Pooh, haha.

My sis bought me the Tao Te Ching awhile back, so maybe I'll give reading it a try. It's kinda weird the way us in the West read Eastern philosophy just as self-help kind of thing. Imagine Asians reading the words of Jesus and Allah as some sort of recreational self-help thing? Like, a book of Maxims By Jesus. Or, fortune cookies with the wisdom of Moses. Bah...

Just a thought. Oh well, at least I'm honest with myself about my intentions. I wouldn't want to be one of those guys walking around like he's all enlightened and shit, and above everybody else. But I'm generalizing again...do I even know anybody like that? Of course not...I'm making up my own stereotypes again.

Wow, this has got to be the most free-form blog I've written. I have no plans...just typing. It's kinda cool.

whatever...

...I'm out.

-J.

Posted by Scene -- at 11:02:00 p.m. | Permalink

Mathematiks

I done gave out money
And saw it smoked for weed
I done seen weather sunny
But ran to shade from trees
I listened to rap, hear people say “Ni**a Please!”
I done all my math, just to watch figures bleed
Over the parabola, I laugh at the
Logic of a Massa:
Those who work hardest get beat hardest
Just cuz at the end of the day
They the tiredest...
Tired like rims, I spit shit
Kick at the dirt, and clench fists
Antagonistic, man I miss it
My art’s been more martial
I’m only partially gifted
I know this one kid
Tried to get on the bus
But he missed it
It’s messed up
Shit, the kid even got himself dressed up.
And that’s the way it goes
People try to do shit
But shit blows
Shit happens…
The world sucks
And blurred luck
Is all I got left to count on
So count on…
Keep on calculating
Asian, debating,
plus
Self-degrading
Mandating
Always creating
minus
Criticize, (I ain’t hating),
Waiting…
Between the lines, I’m shading
Playing at a game
Don’t know the rules
So I fake it
A nation
A station
equals
A way to face shit

I’m fading...

-J.

Posted by Scene -- at 2:49:00 a.m. | Permalink

More Bad Poetry?

I fucked up:
I drew a border
Around a circle
That previously
had no circumference

And now I'm trapped
With an eraser in one hand
And a still dripping
Ink pen in the other

People bought it, though
They thought it was "art"
I played along...
Even though this art
made me claustrophobic.

Artist met critic
And I had to interview myself
For a magazine spread

I asked lots of mean questions:
About how I used to love my best friend
About how I always try to be a winner
But always lose in the end
About how I made the one I love
Depressed...
And how I felt about it
About how I'll never have friends
If I don't let anyone in
And if I could please explain the meaning
Of a circle with no circumference?

I wonder
If they can print
an article
of silence?

Print
a circle
without borders?

-J.

Posted by Scene -- at 2:12:00 a.m. | Permalink

[edit]

[an erased poem. it was really bad]

-J.

Posted by Scene -- at 1:36:00 a.m. | Permalink

Keep On...

Professor Young hates me. I'm sure of it. Or she's too pre-occupied marking papers and exams and such, that she can't find the time to check her e-mail and help me out. Well, whatever her reasons are, I'm screwed anyway. Fuuuuk. I stepped onto the York campus on Monday for the first time is literally weeks, and fuck, it depressed the hell out of me. Sure, the sun was the shining, the weather more than pleasant, the beautiful Yorkies lounged across the green grass studying, smoking, playing frisbee...fuck, it felt like that scene in Dragon: The Bruce Lee Story where Bruce delivers Chinese take-out to the local colleage, and watches everything in slow motion. Really, it was beautiful, but it depressed the heck out of me.

so, Professor Young? What the fuck do I do about my essay? You gave me a five-month extension on my last essay, which I completed, which led to me not completing this one. I just traded one essay for the other. Sigh...

Partner meeting: You're right, Ron. Bush isn't the second coming of Hitler. Bush isn't as evil as Saddam. I agree, despite the contrary ravings of my Leftist Brain (not to be confused with my less popular, though equally deluded left brain). But what about Tinisha? Now come on, don't you just sometimes feel like sitting up and saluting Herr Kommandant? huh Ron? Ron? Pastry case, merchandising, Green Team, oh my!

Kamal wrote a composition on his beard. I liked it. Kamal rules. He still scares the fuck out of me, but he's cool.

...Fuck! I'm trying to type about other things to get that fucking essay (and York as a whole) out of my brain...but I can't. Fuck fuck fuck. I hate this shit. I really do. Right after the essay is done, and I mean the day after. Shit starts. Like, really. I'm cracking down.

I'm posting this poem by Common from Def Poetry Jam. It's less for all of you to read, than for me to have a place to store it. But read it anyways...it's good ish.

god is freedom:

I feel rugged
I am rugged
Damn rugged
I walk on the carpet of the universe
keep on...
And speak on shit
most are scared or unprepared
but I flared for my people, so keep on...
beyond space
i look for a place to put....hurt
I gotta work
keep on...
dreams of blacks roads of black souls that act whole...listic
it's realistic
keep on...
pharohe of the sun
looking down the barrel of a gun
y'all know where i'm from
keep on...
niggas at the crib sayin' "Rash' look weird"
from myself I never hear
keep on...
niggas at the crib say for them I never did
thirty year old kid...sheeat boy!
keep on...
By Any Means Necessary-in'
vegetarian
i be missin' chicken,
keep on...
request for another Ressurection
the way i rhyme befo'?...progression
this aint nintey fo'
keep on...
chatroom geeks, critique my b-boy physique.
who the fuck made you Hip Hop police?!?!?
keep on...
journalists, who never had thier turn at this
if it's fresh...who are you to determine this, groupie?
keep on...
you here to show truth
or to expose your cooche?
you know i know 'Riq from the Roots
girl, keep on.
Disease man-made
to reproduce, we afraid
....a cure? Magic got aids
keep on...
Supportin' two homes
payin' back school loans
like the NBA im in a new zone
keep on....
Got married
can you carry the weight it take to not get your freak on?
keep on...
Fuck shrooms and ecstasy
I'm consumed with a receipe
to get my blood to the highest destiny
keep on...
The blackest of rappers
I aint doing no namin'
go to europe and start Oj'ing
keep on.....
Whether choppin' the rah or studying for the bar
we're all children of Allah
keep on...
flyer say "Free Mumia" on my freezer
i'm holding still, mixin' Echinacea 'n' golden seal
keep on...
is it just an illusion?
it's many levels to it
it's rebel music
so keep on.


-J.

Posted by Scene -- at 1:19:00 p.m. | Permalink

Sage Francis

I never really liked this guy's music...he's got that Anticon sound going on that I just can't get with. I dunno. But I've been reading his lyrics on paper, and now I see why he's so big in the poetry world. Here's some choice lines...some of them I really relate to, it's scary:

"I'll never sing the anthem of a nation that refuses to face the music"

"I'm a real vegetarian...no chicken, not even fish...I'm a real underground rapper...my tape quality sucks, my records are warped and my CD skips."

"Falling in love is easy...falling out of love takes a bit of practice...I'm good at both without even owning a mattress."

"I feel rewarded offering a finder's fee that I know no one will pay...I've got multiple personalities and my inner children are runaways."

"I sit and stare and zone out...I think a lot and never sleep...create memories to remember...and then I forget to eat."

"If you're a poor man's version of ANYTHING, it's your self-perception."

"Get out of my weathered face with all that sunshine."


Still diggin' Atmosphere more though...maybe I'll be back with some Slug quotables. Man, me thinks I wanna start writing more spoken word stuff again.

-J.

Posted by Scene -- at 2:32:00 a.m. | Permalink

God Loves Ugly

Yea, muhfuckas! I finished my fuggin' essay. Okay, so it was two days late, but still. Much better than my previous record of not finishing anything at all.

I'm tired. Like, so physically tired I forgot that I have a psychological and emotional side to me as well. Oh well. Those sides were beginning to bore me with their incessant whining anyhow.

Gotta go to work again today for 8 hours though.....I'm covering some of Chris' shift that she can't work due to anxiety attacks. Yup. Anxiety attacks. Fukked. You'll be alright Chris. Munsters are never extinct. They always find a way to adapt and survive.

I'm tired of typing.

But shout-outs to people who I think could use some:

chris..... (it's like looking in a mirror...)
blaise.......... (yo.....)
jeeps....... (don't sweat it too much....everythang works out in the end)
noli........ (dude, you taught ME how to do this...)
tony........ (yo, beers. let's get some beers)
joanne...... (gimmie your MSN...I'm up all night too without any caffeine...)

and last but not least, suzanne (the future is cool, no worries), thanks for letting me blog to ya. shit, where's yours already?

"I used to be young, dumb, and full of vision"...god loves ugly

-J.

Posted by Scene -- at 12:04:00 p.m. | Permalink

I'm a Joke...

So, for all my talk and bluster, here I am almost twenty-four hours later. On page three. Yeah!

I stayed up most of the night and only got 5 hours of sleep. Still, it's 5 hours more than I was supposed to have. The essay's actually developing decently in my head...I just can't write anything until it's finished forming. I wish I had two more days. I wish I wasn't such a lazy bastard.

Chris comes on MSN and tells me she's going to the hospital. Haven't heard from her since. I hope she's okay. Just called her house but got the answering machine. Which means she's either at school, at the hospital, or sleeping like a munster. Man, I don't even know if she really went to the hospital. Hopefully it was just a minor anxiety attack...she's been working and stressing real hard. (haha, just read her blog!)

Talked to Suzanne on the phone last night--she was also pulling an all-nighter, but her computer kept crashing. Life sucks like that. Her computer, my brain. We talked about the future and all sorts of melo-dramatic shit like. We have no idea where we're going. Oh well, at least it's good to know that there's someone in the same boat as me.

But yes...back to work. Somebody shoot me.

-J.

Posted by Scene -- at 1:27:00 p.m. | Permalink

Who's World is This?

Can Jeff write a twenty-page essay in just over twenty-four hours?

Tune in next time, for the exciting conclusion.

And to answer today's header:

It's mine, it's mine, it's mine...

-J.

Posted by Scene -- at 1:40:00 p.m. | Permalink

So Much On My Mind, I Just Can't Recline...

Once upon a time, I wrote a poem for OAC Writer's Craft. It was about time, and I really liked it. Some people notice that I rarely ever wear a watch (if so, it's for fashion purposes or because I really really need to be punctual that day), that I'm really bad with dates, and I ususally have a generally horrible sense of duration. Some 90 minute movies seem 3 hours long, and vice-versa. Sometimes I need a break after an hour, sometimes I don't notice when 4 hours of hardwork has passed. That's what the poem was about.

A sense of time really makes us rush, and I hate it. People feel this rush to accomplish, to move from place to place, to progress. Even if it's as arbitrary as moving from your couch at home to someone else's couch in their home. Progress.

What I hate most about time is that no matter how much I try to ignore it, no matter how much I've cultivated this temporal-vacuum that I live in...I am always aware that it is passing. While I'm never too sure at what rate things are going at, I'm always aware that they are going. And dammit, I feel left behind.

What the fuck am I talking about? I'm supposed to be working on my essay right now. Argh. And I'm not. And I can sense that deadline creeping up. And while I'm not too sure what today's date is...I know that deadline is coming. Whether it's four days or a week...I'm gonna miss it. Fuck.

I won't bother you with my poem, cuz looking back on it, it sucks. But here's some words from my man Mos Def, who will always be more talented than I can even imagine myself to be. That bastard. It's off the "Hurricane" soundtrack, from the movie about a man who spent his life in jail, only to be found innocent a lifetime later.

"Yes, I am the inescapable, the irresistable,
The unnegotiable, the unchallenged [who dat?]
I am time
I scroll in measurements, control the elements,
I hold the evidence, I tell the story [say what?]
I am time
I know no prejudice, I bare no sentiments
For wealth or settlement, I move forward [who you?]
I am time
You can't recover me, conceal or smuggle me,
Retreat or run from me, crawl up or under me,
You can't do much for me besides serve
Me well and have good dividends returned to you
Or attempt to kill me off and have me murder you
Many have wasted me but now they are facing me,
Treated me unfaithfully and now endure me painfully
Plaintively, I wait to see what history will shape to be,
Who's hearts will never die inside the sake of me
Angel's scribe the page for me,
Keep a full account of all the names for me
And make a special mark for a Hurricane who waits patiently"

Nice eh? Mos Def. I love to hate him.

-J.

Posted by Scene -- at 1:59:00 p.m. | Permalink

The Sagacity Continues

I feel good. I do I do.

Steps to Contain and Control the Big "D".

-multi-vitamins, to stabalize nutrient intake
-excercise; cuz it works wonders, and endorphins are cool
-no more effin emo music (at least for now). No Jean Grae, no Atmosphere, no Fiona Apple, no Eminem. Lots of 50 Cent, Common, Snoop Dogg, and Native Tongues.
-no daytime sleep.
-insomnia only for productive purposes
-keep writing. When I stop writing, write something else.
-can't afford a therapist, so started a blog. Much better than my last therapist.
-go out with friends. Even if I don't want to.
-not everybody is against me. Some are, I'm sure. But not the ones I think.
-paranoia is alright. So long as I know it's paranoia.
-eat fruits and veggies once in awhile, you fuckin' carnivore

And so on. So far so good. Still sad, but happy. Does that make sense?

Went out yesterday. Had fun. Got drunk and danced on speakers, conducting call-and-answer to "I Can".

Why can't I type in complete sentences anymore?

Oh shit, I'm gonna get that job at Popmatters. I don't care. It's mine. I. Will. Not. Lose.

bye.

p.s. Common rules. Great show.

-J.

Posted by Scene -- at 1:17:00 a.m. | Permalink

Welcome to the Bizarro Universe:

A War continues to rage for reasons that nobody is totally clear on. Everybody continues to give reasons for or against, but no clear line of thought is developed.

SARS continues to spread, from Hong Kong and Vancouver to what is now "An Ontario Problem". Yum yum, pass the phlegm.

Carmen Rasmusen, Kimberly Locke, and Trenyce almost get kicked off of American Idol. A week where Kimberly and Carmen give some of their best performances.

Chris admits that she likes Carmen Rasmusen.

Jeff continues to be enamored by American Idol.

Jill asks Jeff if it is okay if she lifts the mats early. Jeff says "no", asserting that they are there for safety reasons. She actually listens to Jeff....only to lift them later on anyways, an-hour-and-a-half before close.

Suzy C. comes in and talks to Jeff. Jeff actually enjoys the conversation.

Sanford has died...even before the perpetually ill Salem.

Marc has a girlfriend, two years younger, Chris knows and dislikes her. Jimmy comments on her slightly large forehead.

Depression looms for everyone. I, however, seem to be coping the best.

Jeff gets e-mail from Mary Anne. The subject header pertains to the director of the movie that Jeff has just reviewed (Bizarro). Alas, the e-mail is empty. She responds by apologizing for having "wasted my space", and then informs me that she is now 21. Just so I know.

The Ice Storm. Minus Frodo and Katie Holmes. Plus the ice and slippage.

I make it to a pay day without experiencing "Insufficient Funds" first.

Far From Heaven is released on DVD. I buy 8 Mile instead.

Tara inquires about 8 Mile, saying that she heard it was "very inspiring". A customer joins the conversation. Tara and middle-aged female customer proceed to discuss the music of Eminem.

Jeff chooses to watch 8 Women again over porn. Jeff realizes that 8 Women sounds very much like porn, but alas, is nothing like it.

Chris sleeps over. Jeff actually sleeps.

Jeff writes a blog called "the Bizzaro Universe", and resists urge to refer to Clark Kent and Lex Luthor.

-J.

Posted by Scene -- at 12:10:00 p.m. | Permalink

I Wish I Knew...

Tin keeps asking me what I'm doing after school, how long am I gonna be in school for, what my plans are, what exactly I can do with what I'm learning...etc. I do my best to put on my whole confidant-as-fuck demeanor and I assure her that I know what I'm doing, and that I have everything well in hand. Usually it works in deluding the both of us that I'm gonna be OK. But Sunday, she said something weird after our regular where-is-j-going conversation. She said, "Wow, I hope everything is gonna be OK with you, I hope everything works out".

And that's when I realised, fuck, my whole future comes down to hope and luck. I mean let's face it, where am I going? Six years towards a film studies degree? God, that sounds so useless. It is useless.

Awhile ago, I came up with a plan that I told to Chris. I was unsure if I wanted to stick it out until I got my B.A., or just leave school and try my hand at this filmmaking/journalism thing. And so I said I will continue taking my part-time course loads, but this time working my ass of at them. But at the same time, I would also work my ass off on all my side-projects, doing my best to create opportunities outside of school so that if something does happen, I could leave conscience free. That way it's a race, either leave school by graduation or outside opportunity--and at least I would know I worked my hardest at both angles.

But there's a flaw in this plan, of course. It requires me to work my ass off. Work it harder than I ever have before in my life. Am I capable of doing that? Do I want it that badly? And can I do it even with the whole depression thing lurking in the background? Well, I guess I gotta. I dunno. We'll see what happens.

Next year is a pivotal one. Fourth year in University, this is the year that most people would be graduating. I gotta make something happen. I gotta hustle.

"I am a hustler, baby, I'll sell water to a well".
--Jay-Z.

Yeah, that's the mindset.

-J.

Posted by Scene -- at 12:24:00 p.m. | Permalink