Masks

"Nobody cared who I was until I put on the mask."
-- Bane, Dark Knight Rises

I got to thinking about this quote from The Dark Knight Rises. It was spoken by the now infamous super villain, Bane. The extremely powerful masked man who is hell bent on the destruction of Gotham City and Batman, also known as playboy billionaire Bruce Wayne. If you aren't familiar with the story of Batman you're in luck, you don't have to be to get the main point of this post. Read Batman 101 if you want to know more about the story of Batman, if not simply read on.

Batman 101:
Basically for all of you non-batman fans out there all you need to know is that after losing his parents to a violent crime in the alley of a theater, young Bruce Wayne grows up without a mother and father, still very rich but he would trade it all for just their love again. As an adult he joins an organization called the League of Shadows where he learns under the tutelage of Ras Al Ghul (pronounced Ray-sh Al Ghoul). When asked to execute a man to prove his loyalty to Ras, Bruce refuses, turns against the League and narrowly escapes with his life. He goes on to become Batman, our favorite dark and scary caped crusader. With the help of fancy gadgets, his trusty butler, Alfred Pennyworth, and friends like Lucius Fox (Morgan Freeman in the movies), he dedicates his life to fighting crime ensuring that what happened to him as a child never happens to anyone else.

So I got to thinking about this quote and it's connotations to real life. Until we become something other than just ordinary, nobody cares who you are. I'll use a good example and a bad example:

Good:
You somehow come up with a cure for cancer in your basement and suddenly you're a savior, a God, you've been blessed from on high with a gift and you're using it to help people. Who is this person? Where did he come from? How did he grow up? They'll run television shows about your life, about your family, about your hardships and struggles. Articles will be written about you and your name will forever be immortalized in stone. But is that you? In a sense you had to become something more than what you were to get people to even notice that you share the same space as them.

Bad:
You've had it with evil mega banks taking advantage of you. They're threatening to take your house so you decide to get even. You burn the house that you're about to lose to foreclosure down but you don't stop there. You're an arsonist and go burning every house owned by that bank just to spite them. Naturally you get caught and arrested and you're now facing a massive jail sentence. But just like the person who cured cancer suddenly everybody wants to know your name, who you are, what you did, what caused you to become a serial arsonist? Was there something in your past that made you go bad? Bad parenting, surely they must be monsters etc. Again, you've become something far removed from what you were and suddenly people notice...

Now this blog in no way is encouraging anyone to become a serial arsonist for attention, or go out and do something awful to get recognized... if you're going to cure cancer, do that please... but anyway, it seems that like Bane and Batman, nobody cared who they were until they put on their masks and became the figures they were. Batman represents the light (or darkness sometimes he walks a fine line) and Bane represents the darkness...

Why is it that nobody cares who you are until you're front and center? Does our society have it backwards? What could we learn from each other if this wasn't the case? Who's story is out there that you may need to hear but can't because this person isn't something other than what they are?

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...

The Time

“Excuse me sir,

Do you have the time?”

I asked hoping he knew, and

If he did, he’d be the first.

He glanced at his watch

Gold.

So fancy and new,

And proclaimed,

“Why yes,

It’s ten past noon”

With an arrogant grin;

A cocky smile

He tips his hat,

All the while

Never realizing

The clock hands were

Frozen on his dial.

Without protest,

I thank him,

I politely play along.

For how could I

Correct him

If mine too,

Was wrong?

Kiss Rhyming Goodbye: Non-Rhyming = Angry Rant?

Consider this poem that I'm going to make up off the top of my head.

I think rhyming can be cheesy.

-- If they're supposed to have the best pizza...
why do they keep changing their recipe?

like a pizza that's greasy
It comes from Domino's
Yellow like cheerios
Just under five bucks
but I think it kinda sucks.

Ok awful right?  Now consider this poem I'm going to make up with even less thought put into it.

Domino's pizza sucks
because it does
I hate it because its so greasy
and you never get enough cheese
it's just under five bucks
I hate it.

(Special thanks to Dominoes Pizza for being a good sport.  Seriously I love you... well maybe not "Love" but I don't hate you.)

Equally awful, I highly doubt either one of these guys would win an award in a poetry contest.  But hey the second one doesn't rhyme so the author must have taken more thought and have some profound deepness to his/her words right?

I've noticed in the world of poetry there seems to be this... higher esteem put on poetry that doesn't rhyme.  I've submitted my work to contest and I constantly see the disclaimer "NO RHYMING POETRY" my question is... why?  Can a writer be just as profound and skilled in rhyming as one who does not?

Months later I see the winning entry in this contest that I've been barred from and it's like some 500 line rant with an "F" bomb or two in it with no attention paid to structure and a meaning so abstract that it's impossible to grasp why the poet is so angry or what he/she is even angry about in the first place.

Don't misunderstand me.  I appreciate all poets and their unique writing styles.  I enjoy reading work that's vastly different from my own and have even written non-rhyming pieces myself.  But personally I enjoy bringing a sense of order or rhythm to my poetry and I blame the engineer in me for demanding this out of my work... but I don't see rhyming as the devil.

Sure rhyming can bring along some cheesy lines... (Who rhymes cheesy with greasy anyway?) but if the writer is crafty enough it can make for some pretty profound and clever works of art.

So here's the question:  When it comes to Non-Rhyming poetry what keeps it from being just an angry rant?  

Question 2:  Why do people seem to look down upon rhyming in poetry?  


Feel free to deviate from these questions.

Also feel free to share your Domino's horror stories... (Just kidding Domino's!  Seriously your pizza isn't half bad!)  = )

Choice

I peer down the hallow

Of a long endless road

It don’t go right,

Don’t go left,

And for how long

No one knows?

For miles and miles

There ain’t nothin’ around

If not for the wind,

There wouldn’t be a sound

The sun bakes hot

Burnin the ground ash white

I can’t take the heat

So I only walk at night

With withered legs

That Shuffle through the dirt

Tryin to keep the focus,

Off my bloody feet;

They hurt.

I must keep movin,

Just one more inch

If I keep going,

maybe then…

Sittin on the shoulder

With my face sunk in

I ask the Lord

To receive my soul

And Just then

I noticed a fork in the road

I rejoiced!

Cried tears of sand

Tears of a man

Whose faith had long since died

Yet I rejoiced,

Right then and there

I still had miles to go,

But now I had a choice.

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