Posted this a while back, made some subtle changes

"What A Life I Lead"


She said to me, “you’re a sweetheart.”
Such commentary brought to mind the epitome of my being:
an admittance of the name given to me at birth,
and the other quite fortunate characteristics
that make up my tissue and spirit.
A wandering mind, spine and sensory
housed in my head, blueprints never finished.
A man, a heart, and sometimes a voice—
what a miserable, fed-up excuse
for a twenty-two year old apparition.

What a life I lead in the breeze scrambled shade
What a life I lead in your eyes of no fire
What a life I lead in you car driving nowhere again
the conduit
the alleyway
the shadow
the path;

the bed,
the bench,
the grave.


Yet, nobody seems to recognize it—
It’s the misery that comes with being an earthbound ghost.
It’s the melancholy that comes with the blue pen touching blue paper.
I will still rummage around the rubbish
of a crooked world, upside down
for memories of a sinking ship.


-j rebs

A Blue Sea Stretched and Spanned

A blue sea stretched and spanned
And covered the lengths of just found
Green and brown rows
And thousands of coarse but newborn servants stood
Looking up in wonder at the sea

Their eyes were just cleared
And all was beauty that grew around them
All was bright and warm
And all felt their life was born

Neighbors traded greetings of small pinches
To one another’s hands
No one woke up
So all rejoiced

And one called out
With a voice that was weather-beaten
A hail-torn old barn
And it boomed with pride

So all listened
And heard for the first time
A voice that was strong and spilt wide
It filled the head
And thought was breed

Their legs tore from the ground
And took steps that molded the earth
Walking towards the homes
That housed their souls

They collected their debts
And called to a boat
Standing mute in the sea
With flames spilling out to cure
Their stomachs empty well

They slowly came to reason
Unlike ever before
And thought to believe
This vessel brought life to the seed
And in turn they pledged their life to thee

And then all manner changed
As brutal beings that fled from earth’s cage
Seeing all as one

Crashed sharp clanging rods
Against concrete drums
Which was their greeting of presence

The drums hung from the stomach
Of an overfed and
Terribly cold corroding statue
Who watched all the cowering servants
Fearing the march, with no god to pray

Then the sea was swept off
By velvet strokes of a humble and bent
Shopkeepers broom

Until peeking through the dust
Came beckoning eyes
They were unspoiled but slight
Peering like dawn through the knots and the holes
Of the battered old shell, of a hail-torn barn

And they draped the terribly cold statue
Like robes painted on
By velvet strokes of an earnest but poor
Mediterranean painter

And they thought it beautiful too

So sorrow was lifted and new spirits
Walked alongside the coarse but softening servants


Yeah so this was an attempt at a creation type poem that traci's story reminded me of so I though I would post it. The blue sea is supposed to be the sky and the poem is about a new people reckoning with day and night, loving the day then fearing the night and the reckoning the two. I'm only writing what its supposed to be about because I don't know if its too ambiguous and maybe ya'll could help point out to me where I could go with it to make that story more apparent in it.

KT

I Believe In Yelling At The Wind (WORK IN PROGRESS)

Oh undertaker! I just want to wake up tomorrow and feel okay.

One loose tooth and I begin to think about the noises in our ears.

There is a lump accompanied closely by a headache,

but there are no records that anyone even stumbled

into the ominous, bottomless well.

There is a cut followed by a cake-icing trail of blood,

but my birthday already passed and we’ll both be six feet under in due time.

If I could only follow that scent but

I can't feel my nose so I keep telling myself:

Bob said, you don't need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows.

When I came around the bend, I was already dead but had the life in me to say:

Bob said, you don't need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows.

He asked me to be a snake and live underground.

Look it over and pass your judgments, it won't happen again.

it won't happen again

it won’t happen twice,

it never happens twice,

it won’t happen again.

I believe in yelling at the wind.

Parade of lost eyes

write me from lost cities;

picture-postcard villages, (each) soul

searching for native soil.

Rows of well-trampled paths displaying bones of little-brothers,

fallen victim to big-brother’s mighty hand, ears, eyes and mouth

little by little disorientated

(panicky) like the grains of sugar, violently shaken in their paper home,

just to be poured into a morning’s cup of coffee,

swallowed whole, like sea captains with the most compelling stories to tell

but don’t ever make it home.

And the poignant secret will slowly be revealed.

-jon paul rebello

all things are delicately interconnected

so this is my recent class assignment where we had to take a "truism" written by Jenny Holzer (we had to pick from a list of like 200) I chose the post title, because i love stories where people and characters are connected in some way: Magnolia, slacker, waking life, snatch and lock, stock etc. Anyway, as far as critiquing goes feel free, just keep in mind that this was a class assignment and i did not put everything i could into it, seeing that i waited to the last minute to film it, but it came out decent, the story came across well but ...whatever i got an A and my teacher loved it

p.s. the script will be finished by sunday
p.s.s. its fucking ridiculous

summer plans

what's up everyone, i was reading the paper this week and found out that lollapalooza early bird tickets go on sale tuesday march 31. I think they're around $175, pretty steep but probably worth it, considering last year's headliners were Kanye West, Radiohead, RATM, Wilco, Iron&Wine, Black Keys, the list goes on. The lineup hasn't been announced yet, which is why they do the early bird tickets but I'm hoping it will be just as good. The date's are August 7th-9th. The show is in a huge park here in downtown Chicago but you can't camp out like most festivals. Seeing as how I'll be here in the summer to take some classes, I think it would be a cool idea if anyone wanted to road trip out here, see some good bands, have a place to stay, and just see something new. It's still pretty far away but if anyone thinks they might be interested in coming out here, let me know.

-peace

Andrew

Short Story From Sophomore Year O College

It was the first morning after the first night and the air was neither thick nor thin; it just was as everything else was for the very first time. Nothing opened its eyes and nothing stirred while everything was beginning every minute of every day since day one. Because everything began to begin things naturally began to end and then more things began still, much like morning and night, everyday. Cold turned warm and cold again while the ocean waved and sighed in the light from the moon and then the sun. There were sounds, there was light, there was sensation; and so everything widened its eyes to see but wondered nothing. There was beauty and simplicity but this was not enough. Boredom was born causing everything to move about; setting them apart. Animals saw people, people saw land, people saw each other, and some say God saw everything. Some saw God reciprocally and some did not, however, everyone saw things differently.

Things were given to some and from others taken but always in the end of everything there was nothing, to make things even. People witnessed this and so patterns emerged and consequences were drawn until ideas infected the cognition of everyone. Ideas were passed and preached down the line and soon they were everywhere. People began to think more and more; of each other, of themselves, of the world, of anything and nothing until their heads began to grow like everything else had on the first day for the very first time. As with the growth of everything, people became awed and enamored. By this new love people were blinded, in the light of the sun and then the moon. Some became limited and their eyes were manipulated by their brains to filter what they saw. Everybody was always right in this sense, though everyone secretly felt wrong; thus insecurities were born and given life. This new life followed on as all life had since the first. It grew wildly and a new array of needs emerged to appease such inclinations. People sought trust and understanding and ultimately their own bodies were not enough to keep themselves appeased. They began to need other people with other bodies and minds to create this happiness for them.

People laid together and created happiness until they could know nothing else. Such beauty and simplicity could not be enough and again they moved about, bumping and stumbling all night, and then all morning. Ultimately these other bodies were not sufficient and they were no longer pleased. Boredom bred restlessness and together they began creating stories and weaving webs. This kept them all very busy and time passed quickly in comparison. People grew complacent as they waved and sighed in the light of the sun and then the moon.

Complacency was passed from one to another and so on down the line until it infected the cognition of everybody. People became tired of what they knew and grew hungry; they hungered for what they did not know and could not know and began to despise their brains for manipulating them and making them limited. They gathered an array of poisons from the earth and like all new things, this, too, was passed on and on until everyone was infected. Their eyes grew wide and their filters weak until they could see everything in its beauty and simplicity as they had on the very first day after the very first night. There were sounds, there was light, there was sensation. Everyone, wide eyed, wondered nothing and basked in this until it ended as quickly as it had so begun. There was love and there were needs and always there were insecurities. This was not troublesome because there was no margin for boredom; they asked new questions, found new answers, and continued to lie together creating happiness. As they had depended upon the power of people, they depended upon the power of poisons; this kept them all very busy and they talked endlessly while time passed quickly in comparison.

Time had always passed in this way and like everything on the very first day it began to begin and end constantly. People witnessed how things came and went and consequences were drawn until they realized that they, too, were limited. They sought meaning and created it where none could easily be found. In their dependency they became indebted to one another. This bond took life and grew like all living things born since the beginning. This was also called love because it awed and enamored them. People nursed and pleased one another until this was not enough and so they made love tangible. Together they laid in coition creating pure happiness; beautiful and simple. People were appeased and distracted and so they were indebted, too, to the happiness they had manifested. They held it close and caressed it until they, like all things that would live after them, naturally began to end. Behind them they left their happiness to grow naturally and wildly, against the fate of every tomorrow.

It was the first morning after the last night and the air was neither thick nor thin; it just was, as everything else was for the very first time.

sans segue

look a painting. its not perfect but its numero uno in color.

peats and luv,

traci

On a Bed

On a Bed

There’s a funny thing engraved

along the outline of my eyelids.

We can’t see it, squinting.

The two of us,

perched like two sphinx

staring, waiting for the gunshot,

hands packaged neatly in our laps,

holding two balled-up checkered flags.

We could gather old piles of lint and friction

and catch a fire.

Or I could run my tree branch

along a white picket fence,

a weathered jersey barrier

at sixty-eight smiles per hour.

A Honda Civic, shivering

through the winter rain sideways.

Instead, you grabbed my neck like a jack,

and a Blamo® comet

struck my living room landscape,

like a mishandled bottle of Barefoot

to our chessboard, glass and progressing.

Strewn on the ashed indoor/outdoor rugdom,

priests embracing pawns and knights

beneath the broken stone of rooks,

leaving kings and queens to guide,

with face in hands,

nothing.

Whats up folks, this is Dave. Love to see a gathering like this, but where are all the good words at? Looks like a bunch of check out this video I saw shit straight out of Sunday nights with no green.

"Like Fallow Fields"

Our backs carried the stones
that built these temples,
monuments to our minds
that now crumble
under the immense
weight of our hearts

Our hands sowed the seeds
that would be our bread,
filling our stomachs
but leaving our souls
empty and longing
like fallow fields

Our noses that once knew
the soft touch of warm skin,
now know only the smell
of the scorched flesh
of burning machines
and the feel of a hard grindstone,
cold and broken

Our wings
that carry us skyward,
higher now than ever before

never existed


MD


I'd personally would like to see some more original shit up on here. where the poets and the free thinkers at??

one's branch of expression becomes another's impression leading to introspection and the birth of a new branch. soon you've got a nice, whole tree. and i know yall like tree ;)

GREATER PROVIDENCE

chamber of commerce is looking for art for website.
good promo

craigslist post with more information if interested