3, 2, 1. 1, 2, 3... What the Heck is bothering me?!

This is bothering me so much I had to blog about it.

I normally don't do this. I normally don't whine and complain about some arbitrary first world problem that others wouldn't even consider a problem. Yes I know there are starving kids in Africa, that over in North Korea they worship their leaders and have no voice. Yes I know there are people in Syria right now fighting just to not be blown up by their own crappy government. I know there are problems more significant than this, and when I reveal what's bothering me you may laugh. I'm prepared for that outcome...

Ok, so what the heck is bothering me? This... this is not only what's bothering me, it's literally killing me... (See pic below...)

Cubicles of death. Why do we do this to ourselves?

Ok, so I work full time, pretty slick gig, low stress pretty awesome work environment even better pay. That's all good, no problem there. I'm making more money than I ever have in my entire life and my coworkers are awesome. So you may ask, what the heck is your problem? You've hit the big time, you should be living it up, relishing in your success, enjoying the fruits of all those college late nighters. I've made it...

The trouble is whenever I walk in to this place (Which shall remain nameless) I want to vomit. Not because I hate the company or the work, not because my boss is a jerk (He's not in the least, he's an awesome boss and just all around great guy). I just literally can't bring myself to work full time and enjoy it. The only way I can describe it is a feeling of a very slow and painful death sitting at my desk. I literally feel my creativity leaving me. All of my motivation going out the window, sometimes I feel like I just want to end it all. Like sitting there 8 hours a day is literally killing me. And each day I wake up it's the same overwhelming feeling of dread. Sundays are by far the worst because I know that I'll have to sit another 40 hours of my life in this manmade nightmare.

When I am vocal about this here are the typical responses:

1. You're young. You'll get used to is. (Good God, I don't want to get used to this!)

2. Everybody does it. Welcome to being an adult. (I wasn't born with enough middle fingers to respond to this one.)

3. Well, stick it out. Bide your time and move on when you're ready. (I'm pretty sure feeling suicidal  8 hours/day isn't healthy.)

4. Just be glad you have a job. (I'm very glad I have a job, it just makes me miserable)

5. Yeah I felt the same way, but I just realized that it won't be forever and I'm just looking forward to retirement. (Holy crap I have to do this for 40+ years?)

6. Do what you love. (What does that mean?!)

7. At the end of the day it's about your personal happiness (True, but this doesn't pay bills.)

8. Just go for it, pick up and move, you're only young once! (I find leaping into nothing painful and foolish.)

9. Hang in there! (Yeah, I'm trying. Thanks!)

10. Are you crazy? (Yes, maybe...)

So what is one to do? I leave that question up to you because I don't have an answer. I can feel my sanity slowly slipping away, and while this may sound very dramatic I can tell you that it's real. I feel like I'm destined for so much more than becoming a 60+ year old man in a cubicle with a size 58 waist. I just sit and think of all the things I could be doing besides sitting there, sending emails and waiting for the phone to ring. I feel like I'm just throwing away the best years of my life, when I should be out exploring, learning and changing the world with my talents, what am I doing... sitting. Something has to give. There has to be more in life, and the longer I wait to find this out the worst I feel. 3, 2, 1. 1, 2, 3. What the heck is bothering me...? 

The real world. And what bothers me is that it's like an elephant graveyard. It seems to be a place where ambitious people, once full of hopes and dreams, go to die. Worst of all, I feel it happening to me...

Red

Red

What becomes

Of the color red?

A fiery passion,

No one can contain.

Does it yearn to be

Something it’s not?

A purplish hue

Or a yellowy hot?

Does it desire to be green?

As the wind kissed fields,

In the months of spring?

Or transition,

To an aqua marine.

The teal

Of the ocean’s pristine?

Jet black at night,

Not wanting to be seen.

Or does it simply fade?

Like night into day.

Losing its luster,

Marching endlessly,

Towards dull grey?

Selection from The Satchel of Dreams. Available on Amazon!

J.a. Wine

The Male Stereotype Intro

In the universe, there's something called "Dark Energy".  No, this isn't a physics blog, but let me explain.

If you subscribe to the Big Bang (and lets not discuss that here) it says that the energy that initially caused this huge event is driving our universe apart.  In other words, all the "Stuff" in the universe is moving away from our galaxy.  

Physicists blame something called "Dark Energy" for this effect.  We can't see it but it's there and it's having huge effects on our universe.  

Geekdom aside, lets get to the meat of the matter:  We've all heard of, and are aware of the female stereotype in media, but is there a male one in the background having huge effects on our society?  In another post I'll attempt to bring some compelling evidence and links to studies done on this (If there are any that I can find).  

Stay tuned. 

The Narcissistic Poet: Must Every Poem be about your Crappy Love life?

"Poetry is Narcissism."  
-- Loose Quote 


A friend of mine said that, and I'm misquoting a bit but it's pretty close.  When you read most poetry out there do you ever ask... "I wonder what the poet was thinking about when he/she wrote this?"  Consider the selection below.  
__________________________________________________________________

I Love You

I see her in the distance

A place afar off

Her beauty ever present

Her skin so soft

My heart begins to race

With the passage of time

As I behold her grace

And wish she were mine

My lips are sealed

My legs grow weak

Only my mind

Is brave enough to speak

I Love you.

She grows closer

A place so near

She fills my heart

And soul with cheer

She is close now

A place so nigh

I could reach and touch her

Though I dare not try

So I whisper the words

With a weak voice of fear

A sound so low

Nobody could hear

I Love you…

She is past me now

A place far away

My mind goes numb

My heart led astray

She secretly killed me

When she walked away

She secretly killed me

And she didn’t even see

It’s a price I pay

As I stand all alone

For daring to say

Words not condoned.

I Love you…

__________________________________________________________

As embarrassing as it is to admit I wrote that in high school (circa 2001) what was I thinking?  Well I was head over heels in love with this girl (Name concealed to protect the innocent).  I couldn't get her out of my head, I would think about her all day every day.  When she passed by my heart skipped blah blah blah all that love stuff.

She inspired me to write poem after poem, most of which was lost because I didn't care as much about poetry as I do now.  

"Who gives a F*** about your love life?"

-- Loose Quote

Good question...

I'm quoting my friend again but why should the reader care if you're hurt, or if you have an intense love for somebody?  Why should the reader care that you asked your high school crush out and she mercilessly shot you down with a chain gun?

Should others care, and why?  Must every poem be about your crappy love life?

The business of being... Homeless?

I saw this sign today, I had to stop and take a pic.

Look at this thing, it looks as if a college art student were advertising in a faux product showing.

This colorful work of art belonged to a man who was homeless... or so I assumed just by his appearance.  I have a friend who says, you can't judge a book by it's cover but you can get a pretty d*mn good idea.

I stop and say... "Well this is an elaborate homeless sign sir."  And he laughs, I asked him if I could take a picture of it and gave him $2.00 for his time... it just felt like the right thing to do.

As I walked away I realized something.  This man just advertised, got me to stop, inquiring about his sign and he made a sale.  My next thought was... well what did he sell?  And that's what I realized... he sold himself, his condition, his entire being was his product and this was his advertisement.

Time out here, I'm not saying he is scamming people, he looked for all intensive purposes homeless, and I could tell his condition was very real.  He was probably somebody who had gotten laid off and fell on hard times... poor guy.  However he learned to survive and adapt to his new life on the streets by collecting money from curious on lookers who would see his sign and say... Hmm what's this about?   So how is that different from what Walmart does?  Or what Microsoft does?  All have widgets they want to sell and they advertise using fancy commercials designed to peak your interest and say... hmm what's that all about?

Is there a secret code amongst the homeless in terms of how to advertise?  Is there a formula one can follow to be the most successful?  This sounds crazy but I guess what I'm really asking:  Is there a true business model for being a successful hobo?

Life's Random Encounters...

Witness if you will the little guy at the left.  Why is he (or she don't want to discriminate) significant?

Well I was at work, stressing  and thinking about how miserably horrible my day at the office was going and I saw him (or her, easy there ladies I'm not sexist) sitting on the steps outside my work place.

What was it doing there?  Not moving, not afraid of all the "ooohs" and "Ahhs" and the "Look how cute it is!" that was hovering around it's tiny little head.  Just sitting, in that pose taking it all in.  Ok realistically it might have strayed from it's mother who knows and who cares look how cute he is!!

Let me get to the point before I lose you.  I had lunch with a friend today and he said he had the most interesting encounter.  He's single, about 24 years of age and he's one of those real artsy type guys who seems to be good at everything and is completely open and honest about feelings and all that gushy stuff that I don't are about.  He went to a restaurant for... well lunch (Can a guy have 2 lunches?  What's wrong with that?) and he saw this woman sitting there alone.  With guts of steel he invites her to sit next to him and she complies and they hit it off.  Just like that, random encounter which might lead to something more.  We don't know this of course but stay tuned folks... and believe me I'll keep you updated.

The point is... life seems to be a bunch of random encounters, random chances that if we sieze them can become our greatest adventure.  For instance... Mr Albert Einstein (You know Mr. E = MC hammer himself) worked at a post office for a while, no doubt dreaming of things that you and I wouldn't understand if we sat in a Relativity class for 1000 years.  Maybe you're that smart but I for one am not!  But here's what terrifies me.  What if he had not taken his chance?  What if he said... "well... let me just sit on this thing, nobody will listen anyway"  Does it terrify you when you think about how different the world would be today had he made this decision?  Think about it.  If one man, Mr. Einstein, had sat on his gift and had not taken a chance you probably wouldn't be reading this blog right now.  So much of our technology is based on his theories of relativity.

The Bottom Line:  Random encounters make up the world.  You'll know when they happen, you'll feel them; those moments in which your heart says "Go for it" but you'll feel this little lump of fear inside called your brain say "Meh... maybe I shouldn't."  Word of advice... do it!  You just never know what will come out of it.  As long as it's a good thing for you, don't be afraid to take the chance.

...and yes I got all that from looking at a miniature squirrel.  I'm a lunatic I know.  = )

Hello all!

So it's been a while but I'm about to kick this in gear. I just wrote a new book called The Satchel of Dreams that I'm super psyched about, i mean just look at that cover!

It's a collection of my very best poetry to date! 

Although it's only a self publish (no shame here in any way.) I think it's time I joined the community in open discussion of the works of other authors out there trying to find their place in this big bad world we live in. Here's the link to my book because I do want you to read it. I really do.  I wouldn't have put it up if I didn't think I had something good to offer!

http://www.amazon.com/The-Satchel-of-Dreams-ebook/dp/B0086XF666/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1338766347&sr=8-1
Promise you won't be disappointed, and if you are come holler at me, I'll make it right for you.

Stay tuned to this blog for more updates on my journey into this brave new world. Until next time!

Cheers!

Mannequin (By Choice)

A mannequin by choice
You know you’re not real
You believe you’re alive
But you can’t truly feel
You have flesh of plastic
A hardened heart of stone
Wires for veins
And rigid iron bones
You cry acid tears
Scorching the green grass
Burns solidified, like
The scars of your past
You truly blend in
A source of envy to your friends
Shaped like flawless art
With sleek glossy skin
You have the whole world
Yet have an empty soul
You lay in bed at night
Wondering where it will go
You have a thousands friends
Without having one
To be crafted by hands
Forever the product of someone
To be loved only in lust
For an instant you feel alive
Only to be left
Feeling dead inside
You feel the emptiness,
Of having no vision to see
To be trapped inside
An invented personality
A mannequin by choice
Crying out to be free
Behind solid glass
On display for the world to see
A vision an entire nation
Aspires to be
A mannequin by choice
Seeking its identity.


J.A. Wine

Bitter Poet

Bitter poet…

Sittin’ there with a blank stare
Suckin’ a blunt
With kinks in your nappy hair
A pen in one hand
A pad in another
As you attempt to emulate
The darker brother
With passion you write
Anger on a page

Bitter poet…

“Filled with un-channeled rage
Worthless nigga’
With nothing good to say”
But that’s just what some say

Bitter poet…

You continue to write
Pen mightier than the sword
Maybe you’ve struck a chord
Or perhaps a nerve
As in the last
Dead last in your class
A brilliant lazy ass nigga’
Trying to escape his caste
By venting with blue ink

Bitter poet…

Angry at the world
Or the injustice you see?
Personally you’re free
So what is it you see?

Bitter poet…

Lazy as can be

Bitter poet…

The price of freedom
Wasn’t free.


J.A. Wine