Tuesday, October 06, 2009

The Tipping

At the mind's edge is something
that sits restlessly, hungrily, waiting
for something to pinch the gooey lobe.

This formless, shapeless, senseless
something is the bleeding work of a
heartless cadaver; he made it implacable.

When he coated that warm, glowing,
golden, growing jelly, into the crevices,
there was a messianistic purpose, meaning:

But the shapeshifter had such a strange,
disturbing, purposely yearning,
stressfully egging, gloating intent.

Because underneath the curious,
incontrollable, sustaining structure,
the skull that shields and binds the muck.

Inserted was Gaia, gay and gouging,
so everlasting, and so enervating,
and so unnerving, and so evading.

And at what point does such striving,
and such streaming, while screaming,
can we find the elusive answer?

When we approach, a bit audacious,
but so afraid, acquiring aura,
also observed, he starts us over.

Because this is tipping, falling
forward, freely floating, feeling
fettered, he chains us in again.

Then spun around in insane circles,
realizing, rendered useless, running
toward rabble rousing, flunking, failing, fucked.

I have no idea, what he wants,
does he wail when he sees the woe?
Does he cry when he sees the blood?

Sometimes while stopping thinking,
I stop to wonder if I was pondering,
a strange, and desolate demise.

He must have known that we'd go hungry,
that we'd soon be thirsty and parched and
far from perfectly peachy, but infertile.

That when his smile soon surrenders,
and his eyes, they grow enormous, here lies
the end of the age, here is the beginning before us.

Started anew, but are we still not swine?
But no, no, it tipped before, it tips again.
It tips again. And out pours, for the final time:
Out pours the pure.

Friday, July 24, 2009

Sleepless in the big H

18 in the big hell hole
altho alas this is the time to party,
at last.

whadda time to branch out
purple streams of syrupy sickness
on empty stomachs it strings out

and down down we go
free free at last
free to pass and to love
sweet sweet summer love

belle and twang, if you look past the past

it seems at first they were all ah-taken
both Gs with leddehs
except for thatta time by the fountain

chopped (chopped) and screwed (screwed/screwed)
haha
haha
drink
drink
stop
stop
drizzy dizzy - wayne stain - luda buddha
^^ those are the prophets of this art ^^

until ephemeral, nostalgic highs bring us on rooftops
where the cigarettes burn until the sunrise
and continue again to the eventual sunset
(tired bones cannot disguise the youth and joy)

with byudehfull babies with belly-rolling galore
these ladies are absolutely impossible to abhor
and so with a double-shot I sip on
my weary, but happy eyes continue onn

with messy ghetto grafitti
believe me,
it only makes me more comfortable,
when the kissing comes,
unexpectedly

and so that's what a brazen bit of bush can do
to you
you
when you're tryin
tryin
to enjoy yourself
self
self
in the big H.

Tuesday, February 03, 2009

Oxidation

Hey, you...


And what of those times;

merry May: a dilapidated rusty iron pig

outside the gates of Providence?


Preoccupied with the swine,

and the rust, it oxidized into its bones--

- those dry old bones.


How sick it made me feel,

when I finally could step into the divine light,

and having forgotten,

to see once again the elements of my eternal fire.


Beatrice I saw then,

but you so many years back,

what had I done? Used you? But for what?


And blame it on the fatigue, or was it indecision?

But for insecurities, all man's worth would crumble.


To prove a point, as many a Jew was a martyr

to an Egyptian ferrying the sands,

a-

Mercedez-Benz clipping off the wet street.

and yet still the same hope,

powered those: Ashira! (even a wet, sad ghetto face alive now)

And here a boy impresses his father.


---


And back then to you, my dear.


When the sunrise became apparent,

and the last seed had been planted,

and a field had become a forest in my body.


Where were you to be found,

and what had the past afforded?


All too dear,

and all too clear,

the turmoil was apparent, a

delectable delicatessen served on a simple flatbread.


See now:


When the man focuses too much on the flavor,

when he focuses too much on the falsity,

when he focuses instead on the delusion it provides,

is he not rejecting the beauty of her simplicity?


It is back into those dry bones, those pure bones, that goodness...

That the beauty of her simplicity lies abound.


And my love, what have I done to you?


To have made you a hapless creature,

lit on fire, and sprung into a whirlwind of emotions...

Emotions not meant for you-

free as a gust,

fiery as a fox,

flowing as the Mystic (and so mystical), and yet

stable as a rock. (if need be, and I needed you; so badly, desperately)

Emotions that eventually created a ravine,

grand as a canyon.

Turning on the barren stoop, I barely managed to say I love you,

before you turned, and the door shut, and I never saw you again.


---


In the end, I wished to have no regrets,

and as I mourn the past, and I lie here in a foreign land,

where the sun has begun to set in the East, [you lie to the West, my darling]

and I cough the last blood of so many migratory Indo-Arayans, mutts,

-- started by the noblest creature. (we all thank him)

I had a regret eternally.


I pondered a past where,

instead of allowing her firm and succulent breasts to set my eyes ablaze,

I instead allowed the veins underneath that skin to guide me to her core.

[Is this not Zion?]

Take a trip to her very dry, and very beautiful bones.


So finally when Death itself was lying on the bed with me,

sharing a drink of that hard rubbing scent that characterized my

Eastern soul and drink, and the vodka cleared all of the concern,

she came to me again, but in the saddest way; but in a relieving manner.

And stripped away was excess,

Gone was temptation for that redox of greed, gluttony,

that I had inched into her all those times, (an infinity)

and instead there was the inkling I tried to deny myself.

And to think that. And to...

To end it that way, killed by the stuffed and treacherous horse,

---when instead we could have walked into the sunset.

And why did we not?

Sunday, February 01, 2009

Cause we rock...

Hyper-shift cykotelekinesis over drive hippie shit...

yeah, that's the way we cool, because we rock.


And when the guitar strums.

Strumming---

Bling.

Super duper uber waves vibrate within us.


The long-haired guitarist rips onto the stage,

and we're camping there just checking the sights.

A-hah, it's the festival didn't you know?


This new ride in town, the caravan,

the kids we be followin' are all the rave,

you funny knave.


I be ki-kidding, and scared as we are, rollin through.

That all we do...


Cause we are this generation,

stand up when the music goes: pop!

And wave your arms in the air.

Millenium has passed; no shit went down.

Give us about three more years.

Are the Mayans right?


Candlelight, the fireflies are waving back and forth,

baaaack and forth, back-and-forth, oooooh!

(the one man in the middle point up and says "ooooh!")


[Except for the images I'm painting,

are you inspired too?

I create this artwork for you!]


Extremely possessive child of greed,

why do you come this way?

Except for to be turned down by the children of god?

And to be wondered why, why?


Forthcoming are the sinners of Ezekiel,

when they walked into the sun and died,

because the air was so god-damned dry.


And will the oceans still be safe, when we return?

When we turn back into those impish creatures and re-return.

To the ocean of life,

but...


For now, for now, for now...


Us pinko-hippie socialist freaks keep rocking on.

Because we rock on...

And we rock on...

And we rock on.

Kid, we rock.

Monday, January 26, 2009

Feeling

This forlorn feeling,

I feel when I feel I have felt,

life, feeling.


Thinking back on those days,

when life was so easy,

and today,

life is so bored, tired, dull, except.


For when I played that song, on-

one more song, sad, but-

so full of life, I know.

Living life, is love to life.


Your face is so beautiful,

and when you smile, I shiver

because I feel that feeling,

feeling you feel my feelings.


Kiss, on, I kiss you, une bise.

Because the kiss is so full, so

tender and gentle and feeling.


And there it is again,

that feeling, feeling, good,

but also sad, all yearning, knowing feeling.


And if I imagine us, one day,

sitting in a warm, rested field,

drinking ice tea, sweet, making them feeling,

I get that feel of that feeling.


I dunno if it's love,

or maybe it's the loss of love,

cause life is all about loss,

and that loss creates feelings,

that create feels of stuff.


But I know right now this feeling,

is a feeling I want to feel, I love feeling free

with you feeling me,

I want to keep feeling you, forever, feeling.

Tuesday, January 20, 2009

Bonfire

As a pop gun signals nightfall,
and a star twinkles in the East...
Well the boys know the night has begun,
and the infernal fable,

- it begins to be spun.

And what of the heat?
The smoldering ashes...
that bake a face and sear an eye,
but also excite the human spirit in face of the inert,

- and make it ceaselessly, relentlessly try.

When the boys light it off,
the wolves howl,
the cats cry,
the tigers pounce,
the second coming is abound,
and they howl too.

The girl with a love listens, and she listens good:
because something intrigues her,
necessitates her movement towards, and her attraction to,
her spirit, and there her lack thereof,
because it is musical, her dance, her flow,
and her skill, and the vision she holds.

When those two all-encompassing globes,
glazed by the lackadaisical,
burnt by the selfishness of man,
and used in the face of evil,
stumbled upon such a tremendous sight...

She craved it among all things.
These carefree boys,
and their goofy toys-
- extensions of such a simple reality,
products of such an ephemeral moment of:
combinations and permutations,
and chaotic actions and livid visions.

Liberty,
and what was apparent freedom...
appeared in that glade,
between the sweaty palms,
and the ocean - wishing in and washing out.
A half-empty Corona, with a sandy lime,
smelling with aromas, with a seabreeze,

- not quite unlike a divine wine.

And she saw tremendous things,
holding her breath in fright of discovery:
She painted lines between the trees,
where the boys swung like monkeys;
She formed shapes in the sand,
where before there were only mopey mounds;
She saw the colors - oh!
And when she saw the colors, the unimaginable happened:
lights, and wavelengths, and palettes, and verdant rich tears of beauty...
envisaged in a moment,
created for a lifetime,
because she effortlessly made music.
Something gripped her suddenly, tightly. (playfully?)
Then she screamed, and yet no sound,
a strong clamp of a palm held back the utterance.
(but also a hint of understanding? a tenderness?)

The boys in the glade were still playing,
yet one was missing, and here he was.
The wisps of her silky hair felt his movement,
a hair's breadth from her acute ears; and a whisper!
 - "Your eyes... They hold the world.
I didn't even need to spot them, to feel your gaze.
It warms.
You have seen the light.
You don't have to be afraid.
The beauty you see.
Deserves to be shown."

So she wasn't.

He threw her upon his back,
and out he jumped, and he howled!

---

Just then, as if a message that must be sent,
for the world to hear, and meditate upon...

the fire erupted in a cacophony so great; an echo to his howl.
Not only boys now (they had whooped into the distance),
but hundreds came,

not just man, but ideas, and shapes;
forms of things long past that must be seen now, for it is today.

Never before were such things seen in such a tandem.

And the boy understood,
and the girl understood.

They had stopped becoming beings then,
for only a moment,
for the slightest of seconds.

Their realities mixed...

And underneath it all...
the smoldering coals
tenderly caressed the gently licking flames.
A sign of the souls,
that needed to get lost.

Monday, December 29, 2008

U ga cho

Chaiwala, chaiwalla.

Ahschno, ahhashno.

Gita-paramita. Shreeva-shrivala.

Que les darmas, sheehugu.

Mai paiwa-sheebo sheeba.

Daiga hoo kiga ta?

Ey sherman? Khee bahlo?

Amar nom Arun.

T'apar nomu d'es qui?

Sangha, meh dharma, mei karma.

Shree linga, dung fur.

Capoiera battu ghutuju.

Saphi ghee choo.

He acha keh go.

Beefa doo. Yoof. Hee...

Der Hebbutz ein Glibbitz

Candenfeld ist von cranch?

Vender le-lichet es informachen dan tes tetes?

Oh tes lutes, tes lutes!!!

Estet showen vie, et lets lie, lets lie.

Madame, hein, go rot, et vanderflow.

Glibbetz fon vin et lester vruss les fuhren.

Ugh, keeshtell moin logfurr, et tes et tes et crux.

Clairvoyage eh liebershumph, et crux.

Oh svindel et crux.

Chute mes informaticiens et quandche les femmes qui ein dames.

Rachistas dominant des les negres, commandez-tes bouches.

Richardon muddkampf parse-von vix-crux-mort.

Zen karm-non!

Vm dm omh omh omh.

Et saldans, il n'y a rien.

Au dieu...

Sunday, January 20, 2008

Space Raps

Yeah, so it's Sunday night, but I don't have school tomorrow cause it's MLK Day. I got a paper to write. World Lit. I haven't started yet. That shit is important though. I'll start.

I need to write. I feel a desire to splurge out, and this is where I always go. So much to say. Life is going so well. Blasting out fucking smooth music, and sitting here with homework in front of me that will, and I say will get done.

I got the lead in the musical, I no longer feel shitty when my dad says shit, and I have friends, the ones that were always there, but now I accept them as friends. Because this is my home now: Minneapolis.

There is just an ultimate satisfaction when you're doing something you enjoy. I've been doing everything I enjoy. Going to the gym everyday and getting beastly, singing my heart out, running around like a fool, and just not giving a damn. I've stopped watching TV and I'm trying to wean off this computer shit. So much more time...

And then there's this ultimate feeling of rest and at ea
se with myself. I feel a circle of light that shines around my head and illuminates. And when I talk to people that light stretches and hopefully connects to their light, and we just understand. Talk and no war. Drift and no heat. Out and no burst.

So maybe the sun sets at 5:30 on a cold, cold winter day. A warm voice and a stormy mind keeps one out of the gutters and onto the town square where you share and love one another.

I guess I'm ready for shit now. For everything. Whatever you throw at me, throw it now. And I'll deal. I can dance, and that's all you need. You just gotta kinda know what you're doing, and do it as best as you can and the rest just comes. Then the dance gets better, and more fluent, and free-flowing, and spontaneous.

And remember to smile. Because that's where the light really comes from.

Tuesday, November 20, 2007

The Space Race: How the US became the Premier Superpower

Oliver Dutta

Mrs. Kouneski

APUSH Period 3

4 June 2007

The Space Race: How the US became the Premier Superpower

As World War II came to a close, both the United States of America and the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics emerged as the two superpowers of the world. They were the only ones who could walk forward with a strong economy and a conceited example of just how one should run their government. For many though, the progress and success of their governments was measured by their military technology and moreover, their ability to conquer the new arena: space. Indeed, the world came to look at their numerous achievements as benchmarks conveying the superiority of their respective forms of government. In 1969, however, the first manned lunar landing in the history of mankind had won the US their title as the reigning superpower, as they would hold for the rest of the century.

On October 4th, 1957, the USSR shocked the world with Sputnik 1. It was the first artificial object to be put in space. Unprecedented, it was considered ludicrous that a country that had just embarked from a society of peasant farmers could somehow rise up out of the biggest war in history and display such technological adeptness (Newton 11) . After this event, people began to look at the USSR with interest, somehow regarding their idea of communism as the source of this miraculous event.

The United States' response was seen as less than spectacular. Two months later, in early December, the US attempted to launch their very own Vanguard TV-3. American hopes were dashed when the tiny 3.1 lb object exploded roughly more than a meter off the ground (Newton 18-19) .

The American public no longer believed that the USA was the world's technological leader. They were now the ones lagging behind. As tensions heightened there was a competition between the two superpowers of the world called the space race (McConnell 12) . Along with their sense of pride shattered, Americans now turned paranoid as the realization that there was a floating foreign satellite gliding over their heads became apparent (Cadbury XI) .

The reason behind the inefficiency displayed by the US was due to the fact that the space program was divided between the three branches of military: the army, air force, and navy. The navy was the manufacture of the first two satellites and the first two failures. It was not until the army designed their first satellite and rocket propulsion system, that the US was able to reach space with their own Explorer 1 on January 31, 1958 (Newton 22-23) . Why had it taken almost three months and two failed launch attempts for this even to occur? Obviously there was something wrong with the current system of putting objects into space. The American people looked to Eisenhower for an answer, while Democrats criticized his administration for being not aggressive enough to counter the Soviet Union's success (Schefter 43) .

Eisenhower did have a response, however, and it was an agency called the National Aeronautics and Space Agency, or more commonly known as NASA. He proposed a plan for it's structure and function in a speech on April 2, 1958. He set it up for the following four reasons:

(1) the compelling urge of man to explore; (2) the need to assure that full advantage is taken of the military potential of space; (3) the effect on national prestige of accomplishment in space science and exploration; and (4) the opportunities for scientific observation and experimentation while will add to our knowledge of the earth, the solar system, and the universe. (McConnel 27)

The bill for the creation of NASA was passed on July 29, 1958. The foundation for the USA's victory in space was now built. The agency would take in huge sums of money in time to come; $740 million by 1962 (Cadbury 185) .

The next phase of the space race was the one that lasted the longest by far. It was essentially a back and forth game of space achievements that would only be eclipsed by the arrival of man on the moon. The steps to this victory however are long and vast, and just why was the moon the deciding factor? To see the answer to this you must first observe the progression of the space race.

Not long after the success of Sputnik and other successful USSR launches, the line was extended by a huge margin yet again. On April 12, 1961, Yuri Gagarin became the first man in space, with a 108-minute long single Earth orbit (McConnell 15) . A rigorously tested young man, raised to be super patriotic to his country (Schefter 107) , he would later be one of the major figureheads in USSR propaganda and a major proponent of the USSR space program (McConnell 42) . Voice of Russia, a USSR propaganda program, dispersed by radio waves seized on to this moment for huge propaganda gain, displaying Gagarin's life story and how he struggled to achieve his dream and was able to do so thanks to the efficient socialist society under the USSR (McConnell 55) . This move gave a huge burst of support for the communist/socialist form of government that the USSR so desperately projected as an example.

Once again, the world turned it's head toward the USSR as the leader in the space race (McConnell 15) . One month later, the US could only respond with their feeble suborbital flight performed by Alan Shepherd. Originally a man who was very disappointed in the fact that the Russians has beat America to space (Schefter 136) , he faced humiliation as he was only able to reach space half-way. By this time, the USSR clearly had the lead.

Tables finally turned in February 20, 1962, when John Glenn became the first American in space, and was able to complete three complete Earth orbits. His flight gave a huge boost to the egos and prides of American citizens and gave the US a large stride in the space race by displaying that a man could pilot a pod back to earth (McConnell 17) . The fact was John Glenn experienced autopilot troubles while in space and to counter these and successfully land his pod he had to switch over to manual fly-by-wire controls that Soviet pilots had never used (Cadbury 194) .

Up to this point, the USSR has the world's attention much more so than the USA did, despite the fact that the US had put more technologically advanced and successful missions up. The fact remained that the USSR had done more firsts. They had put the first satellite, animal, man, woman, and functioning piece of technology into space (Newton 131) , and that was more passionate than just revising on the old, as the US seemed to be doing.

So now that the events illuminating how man stepped into space are shown, what changed so that the moon played such a large role in determining who the superior nation was? The answer is the Gemini project, the publicity it obtained, and how the USSR responded to it.

In 1965, NASA began development on a two-man Gemini project after they felt they had exhausted the one man module. There were several goals with this project including progressing to a new project (Apollo) that would ultimately take them to the moon (McConnell 18) . There were many motivations behind these new goals, but the ultimate influence behind it came from a speech by John F. Kennedy in 1961 that voiced the necessity of a program that would land Americans on the moon:

First, I believe that this nation should commit itself to achieving the goal, before this decade is out, of landing a man on the moon and returning him safely to the earth. No single space project in this period will be more impressive to man-kind, or more important for the long-range exploration of space; and none will be so difficult or expensive to accomplish. We propose to accelerate the development of the appropriate lunar space craft. [ ... ] But in a very real sense, it will not be one man going to the moon—if we make this judgment affirmatively, it will be an entire nation. For all of use must work to put him there. (McConnell 38-39)

. These new goals were as followed: (1) Equipment and astronauts were to be subjected to trips that were two weeks in length, the approximate time for a lunar mission; (2) astronauts would have to successfully rendezvous and dock with other orbiting vehicles; (3) astronauts would perfect safe methods of reentry and landing; and (4) create the means upon which to land on the moon. (Reeves 241)

These goals were both easily accomplished in that same year. Gemini 6 and Gemini 7 finished each goal consecutively, and the final intended goal of lunar landing was shifted to the Apollo program. The actual feats accomplished by the Gemini program did not matter so much as did it's implications and the reactions taken by Russia and world.

For at this point, people of the world now realized that the United States may not have been originally outfitted with taking the playing field into space, but they were able to maneuver it much more efficiently. The US had far surpassed the USSR in successful launches and useful technology. (Schefter 312)

The reason for this was due to the fact that after their numerous unprecedented accomplishments, Russian scientists began to focus much more on automated computer satellites rather than crafts that could transport humans (Reeves 206) . According to Yuri Gagarin, the result, as the USSR forgets about their symbolic achievements and focuses on AI, is that the people of the world will start to look at the USA's new achievements as much more personal (McConnell 52) . This fact was confirmed by Reeves in his analysis of the reaction of international citizens concerning the change (146) .

As expected, the public now turned away from idyllic Russia, and towards the USA as the USA began to appear more space-savvy and it became clear that JFK's goal from 1961 was what was necessary to turn the spotlight on the USA once and for all (Schefter 12) . With this in mind, administrators at NASA began the Apollo program after Gemini was terminated in 1967 (Cadbury 288) .

Apollo 8 was the mission that helped shift the eyes of the world to the United States in anticipation. The USA had sent a successful module orbiting around the moon and was able to collect images from the orbit. These images were then sent to Earth in December 1968 when the mission occurred (Reeves 300; McConnell 19) .

Around the time, in the USSR, many people were worried, namely cosmonauts who were extremely upset that the US was taking these huge steps toward going to the moon, yet the USSR administration still refused to fund and support manned craft research. But by the time any of the cosmonauts were able to create change, the final key was put into place for the USA (Schefter 269) .

Apollo 9 and 10 soon perfected the practice of docking between crafts in lunar orbit and the like. After the first two steps of what would be necessary to land on the moon were taken, it somehow created an atmosphere around the world of expectation (McConnell 19) . Expectation leading up to the final goal, which was the surface of the moon.

The reason for this expectation, and the publicly set victory to whoever got to the moon first was due to the USSR overlooking what the people around the world expected of them, and the US using their cunning with superior scientists and idealistic goals (Schefter 140) . Both superpowers had somehow accidentally navigated themselves into a fight for the superpower above superpowers. Whoever would obtain that goal was dependent on who landed on the moon. The USA had taken advantage of the situation and gained victory.

On July 20, 1969, Neil Armstrong and “Buzz” Aldrin, both American astronauts touched down, and stepped out of their lunar module (McConnell 90) . They had fulfilled JFK's goal from the beginning of the decade (Newton 79) , and they captivated the world. 700 million astounded viewers watched the event together as a single human race (Reeves 291) . Neil Armstrong's famous words were:

That's one small step for (a) man, one giant leap for mankind. (Newton 85)

As far as the world was concerned the space race was over, although it did not officially end (according to most historians) for another 6 years. The truth is, despite the ultimate definition of the space race, it was concluded, based on personal, public thoughts, by the landing on the moon.

The end of the space race, although declaring the USA the victor, paved way to international cooperation. Nixon took a step toward peace by declaring a message of unity:

The heavens have become a part of a man's world... For one priceless moment in the whole history of man all the people on this earth are truly one—one in their pride in what you have done and one in our prayers that you (Armstrong and Aldrin) will return safely to earth. (McConnell 20)

The Soviet Union went on to abandon it's Voskhod program, designed to put a man on the moon, without succeeding. It also abandoned it's new models of space stations, and attempted to establish an international compromise on a space station design. This would eventually lead the the construction of Mir and later the International Space Station. (Newton 112)

The Soviet Union and the United States also went on to agree that space and future space stations would not be in the interests of a military nature. It would just go on to stress national debts on both sides if so. Instead, the modern space station is used to study the effect of long-term space flights and conducting other types of research.

The space race ultimately became the most healthy example of Cold War competition. There was not much fear mongering, as both sides of the battle attempted to capture the rest of the world's hearts and minds. Due to this, it was rather benevolent in nature, no matter how much of a rivalry existed between the two nations.

The lunar landing, as well, set the stage for a new age of man in space. Despite the fact that this hailed one nation in higher regard than the other, it was regarded upon as a competitive win rather than one of war. It paved the way for future missions to the moon and to neighboring planets such as Mars that have an impact on daily culture to this day. (McConnell 21)

To this day, the majority of space exploration remains peaceful. After the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991, the USA became the only superpower in space until China and India made their own attempts in the late 90s and early 2000s. Despite recent dearths in innovation, the USA and NASA are still regarded as the premier power in space. NASA also plans to return to the Moon in the next decade. Thanks to the lunar landing and peaceful negotiations space is an arena now shared by everyone. This fulfills JFK's intentions as stated in 1962:

We have vowed that we shall not see space filled with weapons of mass destruction, but with instruments of knowledge and understanding. Yet the vow of this nation can only be fulfilled if we in this nation are first, and therefore we intend to be first. (McConnell 21)





Works Cited

Cadbury, Deborah. Space Race: The Epic Battle between America and the Soviet Union for Dominion of Space. New York: HarperCollins, 2006

McConnel, William S. Living Through the Space Race. Detroit: Thomson-Gale, 2006.

Newton, David E. U.S. And Soviet Space Programs: A Comparison. New York: Watts, 1988.

Reeves, Robert. The Superpower Space Race: An Explosive Rivalry through the Solar System. New York: Plenum, 1994

Schefter, James. The Race: The Uncensored Story of how America beat Russia to the Moon. New York: Random House, 1999.

Sunday, October 28, 2007

Metropolis (saxophone)

Free prose...

A skyscraper,
The lights of a city,
A city 40 million strong,
and the flashing lights pulsing a very human beat.

A spirit,
Floating - it screams,
300,000 miles per second,
Another humdrum downtown sound resounds.

Scaling up the building,
A fire in the gut,
Ascension,
To the top of a melancholy phallic device.

A saxophone...

Plays in the middle of a square,
The man knows his art,
He plays to the tune of a whole generation.

A taxi flies by,
It's actually flying,
You know the story,
And inside a man goes from A to B.

Group of people in the street,
Talking, laughing, drunk...
Car comes by: honk, honk, honk.
Group gets mad, knock knock: fight.

Boys walk down,
Studious from the bibliotheque,
Hooker with a baby and a cigarette,
Scared as they are, they walk.

There's a saxophone...

Down the block,
A man with shades,
Cheeks swollen from the air; blowing a dream.

And ten miles away,
Deep in some kind of suburb,
The lights still shone,
A girl stares out her bedroom window, pondering.

Down a dark alley,
Deadbeat hobo scarfing down scraps,
Full bottle of liquor,
Boy, the stories he could tell.

Church bells ring,
11 rings, twilight shone from a full moon,
And as the last ding blares out,
A thousand doves fly into inky blankness for no apparent reason.

A saxophone again...

Sweet melody, Jesus...
This man knows your life, your emotions,
He understands, creates the butterflies coalescing in your heart.

Too many men,
Evil, satanic glares; but in pressed Italian suits,
All white, all WASP, all enormous groomed beasts,
All smoking cigarettes, poison from their mouthes, in front of the Marriott.

Colors,
Orange, purple, green-haired women.
The elementals of a universe,
Those bearing children of all natures, naturally.

Golden arches,
Green caffeinated letters,
American flags giving money,
You find it all offered in this place.

You can still find the hungry children,
the polluted lakes,
the ice,
no longer is it seen from this grave ocean,
an abyss of humanity,
lights flicker in my mind,
dead bugs flying,
but those dead bugs are us,
getting too close to that light,
forgetting the light is something we don't know,
so it zaps us,
we falls to the ground as everything turns on us,
still in confusion we ask why? Why? WHY?
but there's no answer,
in this grave, beautiful structure,
where is the love?
is it everywhere?
the lights flickering ever more,
screaming out in my mind,
the glass breaks into thousand upon millions of shards
shock waves dissipate across miles
from this heart
the foods,
the markets,
grounds shake,
earthquakes shutter,
the world as we know it crumbles,
in the face of this Western disaster.

But there there's this saxophone...

The brass locks and valves exemplify,
what a mind of my nature never could,
the soul, the elegance, the beauty.

Alas, I am saved.

Thank you.

Saturday, August 18, 2007

Summer Feelings?

Dunno... I'm listening to Air right now. Alone in Kyoto. One of my fav songs. Deliciously chill. How's summer? I don't know again. Sometimes I feel like I want to live with my mom, sometimes I feel like I could actually have a life in Minneapolis, and sometimes I just really want to move back to Tallahassee and see how that works out. All I know is I'm indecisive as fuck. I wish I could just live on an ocean with nice crashing waves like the ones on this beautiful song.

The only problem with that is that the weather is changing. I'm afraid a tsunami is going to crash on my ass. Hell, I could surf it, right? If only I knew how to surf. I mean, come on! Three years in Florida and I don't know how to surf? But, really, I'm sort of scared of the world. Maybe it's just me realizing it from maturity, but the weather seems a lot scarier and intense these days. I hear all this crazy stuff from scientific books about how we're overdue for a meteor crash, an ice age, a major earthquake, and a magnetic pole shift. Irregularities in statistical probability only carry on for so long.

I feel like surfing the world in my last couple of days. Surfing to Tibet. Saying hi to my yogis before the actual monster bear of nature gulps down humanity. Some days I feel like I should read a book, but I don't. Some days I feel like picking up the guitar and strummin some tunes. But I put it down too soon. When's the day I'm going to finally put my foot down and take the shit, you know? Accept what I'm worth and kick some ass and take some names.

It better be soon, cause I'm bored. My summer's fucking suck and I just turned 16, but I'm still too freaked out to go take my driver's test for my license. Maybe I could do something for once. Instead of be cooped up in the house with the most depressing damn family in existence. I have a feeling it's not them but rather a manifestation of how shitty Houston, TX is.

I thought I was saved at one point during this summer. You put all your faith in something, and especially me. I put all my faith in someone. Another person who is a thousand fucking miles away from me. I put all my faith in them. I mean, what did I expect? Of course I got fucked. Another time; in the ass. But then again. I do tend to believe in love at first sight. Of course all that means is I'm fucking blind.

I'm really scared of the future. I never thought I would be the type to be scared. I always thought I'd just tuck my tail in and sail with the wind. Which is what I generally do put in the situation, but just sitting here doing nothing allows a ponderous mind to... well... ponder. I just worry, sorta. About what I'm going to do as an adult. I mean I only have two years. I remember at one point thinking I was just going to run off into the big scary world and forget about college and have idyllic carefree journeys in the East. But these days I tend to think about how my mom and dad are going to support themselves after they retire. So I want to get a high-paying job to support them. Is that a little too paranoid? Yeah I thought so.

Well, song update: I'm listening to The Strokes - Is This It?

Fun song. Maybe I should get way too tired and not think about it. But shit, it is already 4:35 AM. I should be asleep and not thinking anyway. I'm supposed to be up early tomorrow too. To meet a friend or something. Fuck it...

Please... float with me now...

At this point I am letting go....

And ONE...

take in a deep breath...

And TWO...

hold it in, slosh it around in your filthy lungs...

And THREE...

let it go... and float...

*Bill Wither - Use Me*

Note: This started playing for twenty seconds then my MP3 player battery died. Motherfucker...

Tuesday, July 17, 2007

Of Now

What's in a poet?

A rhyme, a soul, a body.
Maybe not a rhyme.
A string of text.

But there's a lotta love.
A whole lotta love for mankind.
Or maybe the polar opposite.
A whole lotta hate.

There sure is a whole lotta human.

But what's in a human?

I'd say a whole lotta everything.

Because we are all too human.

Infuenced by our genes,
and everyone we meet.

We are the culmination of everything around us,
and everything inside of us.

Call it the ultimate experiment.
Life, that is.
Put us into our niche.

We thrive, in some cases.
React mostly.
And very rarely, we create.

Creation is so beautiful.
The polar opposite?
That's destruction.

There's one thing left.
The in-between and maybe the galvanize-r of.
It's love.

Maybe not from one to another.
But also from one thing to another.
We fall in love with ideas,
and we also do fall in love with another.

You sure know what the feels like.

Me?

Post-modern love is the love I know.
and of love, I know nothing.

From wholesome to the quite personal.

I feel nothing but a bubble.

With one more prick it has gotten bigger.

No longer is there direct contact.

But another windshield.


Another glass.




Another-







Barrier.

Friday, May 25, 2007

and then there's nothing...

And some days... I just don't feel anything. I'm not inspired to write this right now... I felt so crappy I got out of bed and played some happy sounding music to make myself not be so fucking hopeless. But there's just this emotion of absolute nihilism, as much as I hate the fucking word.

Maybe... I could read something... but what would the point be?
Maybe... I should educate myself on what's going on in the world... but what's the point there?
Maybe... a lot of stuff.

But... I don't see a point to it. On any one of my happy, upbeat days I would certainly say that the very point to it is actually doing it and experiencing the emotions that come from when you ponder over it and question it... play with it.

Days like these though, I just don't want to care about it. Just find a way to not think at all. Just silence my thoughts, and shut the sound out. Kill the very inklings of questioning. I don't want to imagine what the future holds, or what the past implies.

The probability of everything is gnawing at the back of my brain. The ever-shifting enigma of everything that is here and now. It exists in all our brains. If you don't shut it out, it starts speaking for itself and reminding you of everything you could've done, and what you need to do for this to happen.

There's too much. This wealth of all things possible. I can't let it simultaneously exist with my conscious mind. It is an absolute overload. And, yet, Einstein's theory of time says that time is straight line that can be navigated. And that all things that can happened have already happened. And then here we are: hapless creatures fluctuating throughout all the infinite space and time.

It's hard to find a place to hold on. And every year it gets harder not easier. The string connecting me to safe ground is pulled increasingly taut, and the seams of it are tearing, and threads are breaking lose. The resisting force would sever it at any point now.

Float away into the chaos that we were all born into.

I suppose it would be more zen-like for me to state that it is this chaos we must struggle through and dance with and interact with until we form out a beautiful web of events we call our life.

But fuck zen.

If I was zen-like I wouldn't be here right now. But yet I am. Lost and confused and scared and distressed and angry and anxious and annoyed and pissed.

The source of this feeling is unknown. Maybe it's generic teen angst, but I don't like it, and I just want to kill it.

Just silence the motherfucker. Put it back where it belongs. At the back of my head. Bottle it up, suck all the air out, suffocate the thing, and freeze dry it. Put it back where it came from. Let it sit there until I feel like feeling it again.

Which would be never.