prose

My father’s home theater

A few years ago, my father and I wanted to get a CD player, in the time regular CDs were the ultimate frontier of technology. We wanted it to be special; something we could say was ours, custom, not only out of the box. So we thought about getting something that didn’t get obsolete too soon, something we can upgrade on our own instead of buying a whole new each time technology changed. We first bought the core piece; it was a nicely black colored box with FM and AM radio, Tape recorder and a CD player with a space to fill in with a bunch of CD, just as if it was a jukebox. Then we wanted to make it better, we bought several big speakers so it had a clearly nice sound, there were five. And then again, we wanted to do better, and made the Television and the VCR to get connected to the audio player, so we could watch movies and have a better audio. When the DVD came out, we did bought one and connected it too. We even set the speakers as a surround audio system; it took us about a week to finish wiring the room to distribute the speakers through the whole room. But we had a lot of fun while we did the setup, we shared that time together. Now that the setup is complete, my family and I spend our weekends watching movies or television series. Since we completed it, we have seen at least a hundred movies together. We all join on the hall to watch a new episode of our favorite show every week. Just like some families get together during the dinner, we also do in front of  TV; we all relax, forget about any trouble and share a time together. When I get a house and family of my own, I will also build my own home theater. I will ask my son to help me build it,  so I can teach him all what I know about electronics and we can spend time together, just like my father did.

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Separation & Recognition

Maria picks up pencil and paper.

Maria sits upon the bed.

Maria begins to write.

Maria looks at the window blinds.

Maria scratches her head.

Maria looks at her textbook.

Maria continues to write.

Maria thinks of watering plants.

Maria takes a summer class.

Maria signs with some friends.

But I only watch her

as if from a balcony seat

I watch ballerinas perform.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

No comment.  Maria types a poem and adds it to her PostPoems portfolio.  Maria looks at the cat next to her chair.  Maria reads for class.  I am still watching her.

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The Wonderment

It all began when Ellie Masterson stepped out of her dorm room bare beam and buck naked at 5:12PM on a Thursday evening.



Perhaps part of it was that she had simply stepped. She didn't streak up and down the hall, wailing and flinging her arms every which way. She merely stepped out of her room and stood, one hand holding the door open, and peered about with a mildly curious expression. Her eyes flitted past the boys paying poker at the lounge table--all of them had stopped playing, and the youngest had dropped his cards--over the neighbors' doors, and finally paused on a colorful poster advertisting a local comedian for a moment. Then she turned and went back in to her room, shutting the door behind her with a faint "click."



The whole affair lasted less than 10 seconds. Multiply that time frame by 100 and you have a rough estimate of how long it took the entire campus to know that some girl named Evie or Ellen or Whatever Masterson had paraded her nude body in front of her entire floor section.



People wondered. "Who IS Ellie Masterson?" Was it true that her mother was a gorgeous ex-model who was so ashamed of her daughter's plain appearance that she locked her up in the attic, forcing her to pee in a Coke bottle and be in bed by 9, molding Ellie in to a crazed nudist? And how long did her father, a decorated war hero who was now an active member of the Peace Corps, spend lost in the deserts of China? These questions boggled the minds of every student except one, a black-haired physics major named Ellie Masterson.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Written 5/9/07.

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poem_105_Fucking_Little_Kid

I was the fucking little kid?

I was the one who was being irrational?

Can a fucking little kid help you through so much?

Can a fucking little kid being you so much love?



FUCKING LITTLE KID?!

If I was such a fucking little kid

Then why’d you fall for me?

Why am I such a “woman” in you god damn eyes?



If I’m so fucking like you

And you don’t call yourself a kid

Then how the god forsaken hell

CAN I BE A FUCKING LITTLE KID



Those words….

Oooh those words!

Those are never going to leave my mind!

Every ounce of good thought I had of you

Have been erased.



I gave you SO god damn much

You hurt me…

You hurt me more than anything



Not because of mere “lovers” rift

You were my friend!

Someone I could turn to…

Someone I could lean on!

Someone I was WILLING

FUCKING WILLING

TO CRY ON THE GOD DAMN PHONE WITH!



I opened up to you…

You hurt me horribly…

“fucking little kid” How dare you!



After what I gave,

What I vowed!

What I changed!

What I showed you!



How dare you!





Inspired by: / Dedicated to:

Created on: Tylor E. Weaver

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poem_104_Streamin_It

My heart is crashing

My soul is closing up

You gave me a heart again

You allowed me to feel again

You gave me so much

I wanted it so badly

But no I can't let it be

Like that of Romeo and Juliet

Our love is forbidden

Now have told you not to feel for me

Now I begin another painful journey of trying to forget

Forgetting the passion

Forgetting the love

Forgetting the feelings of our great friendship

But, What do I Do?

I still love in you ways

But my love is forbidden

What do I do when I see you?

What do I do when I need help?

You were the only one I could turn to

Now you're gone

What do I do?

My feelings are crashing and colliding

My mind is twisting and turning in ways that I can't understand

What do I do?

Where do I Go?

Whom do I speak with?

Or is it I am doomed to shut myself off from the world and never love, feel, or care for another as I had before I had met you

I guess that is what it shall be

But then again it all comes back to that one question?

What do I do

I still love you





Inspired by: / Dedicated to: Dusty Watson

Created on: 2003  - redone February 25, 2006

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poem_097_Tylors_Message

As the lone wolf does so in finding his pack

So will you in the search of your other half

A wolf is not a wolf without his family

And Tylor is not Tylor without his love



You'll find that she brings a smile to your face without your knowing

Instead of waking in tears you'll have the sweet scent of her next to you

The woman who is more than a friend, a lover, or a mother

She is your life-long companion

She stays by your side no matter what

She defends your words even though they may be wrong,

Because in her eyes, you're everything and hardly anything can be unjust



Keep a chin up Tylor. You're a strong young man. You'll find her. You're still alive ^_~ and your emotions, as you've said, tell you so... Good Luck







Inspired by: / dedicated to: Tylor E. Weaver

Created on: February 3, 2006 - 22:03

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This poetical-prose was originally made on November 23, 2005 - 2:03 in response to a blog post made by the inspiration and dedication. He felt that it was a poem, and I guess in some type of beat-nick way, it is. SO I�ve decided in reminiscence of him to make this one of my OFFICIAL poems)

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Didaction

here i am crunching apart, to pieces, trapped in some sort of. . . pair of silver jaws, ragged and raw, becoming a bit of charnel, sustenance, i dunno, pleasure for the taste maybe, any number of wonder, any case of complaint, two to try not to taint each other, bronzing in the rays of extremity, churning n broiling until the broth has seeped into the very bones, and the munching continues thunderous because it is all around, cutting possibility, ruining opportunity..



flexing now. . . slow and widening eyes focus, sound will not engulf so completely, whereabouts discerned suddenly and this being .. stuck in fate belittled as bait for my wandering prison, individual personality and it will not let itself end, the chewed shards of me crash forth and inhale cleanly!

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Chewing My Lip Over You

I'm chewing my lower lip all to hell tonight.  I think, over you, but I could be mistaken.  Hopelessly, unwisely, romantically looking for something to call a muse.  What the fuck?  Why don't I get with the times, buy out Old Navy, get me a riceburner and some phat rims, and get with the times?  You don't want me worshipping you like some lowly dog with bloody knees.  Searching your iris for some ultimate truth, inspiration, do it myself goddammit.  I refuse to believe that I am truly alone;;utterly and definitely alone.  I am infinitely surrounded by you, yet I am only vaguely aware thus far.  How can I open my eyes?  I sense you are not far, yet I continue to taste blood on my lip.  I try to kick the habit, let this lip be in all its glorious seduction.  Aggrandization, I need more of that.  It's no fun propping yourself up all the time, for me, I wish to believe in a companion. . .



on my arm. . .



in my bed. . .



in my HEAD. . . .



just for a time, if not for time immemorial.  I would teach, and eagerly learn.  Christ how I would!  Eternally grateful, shining, sparkling my sly grin. . . always.  Then I'd stop chewing my lip over you, like a fool.

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Human Understanding?

Life is life.  It is what it is.  You get out of it what you put in, right?  I think this is true.  At times the energy isn't even there, the body is heavy, it feels ill, it needs darkness.  I've felt this sensation quite a bit, it is easy to recognize when it happens.  I nap or smoke too much at times like this.  But sometimes I feel an itch, a nagging that tells me I'm missing out on something.  I try not to contemplate what I'm missing out on, because we all are absent somewhere.  Nobody can be everywhere at once, unless you're some sort of spiritual egomaniac.  Spiritual egomaniac.  That's an oxymoron, isn't it?  The ego is personality, "self".  It perpetuates all individualistics characteristics.  We have our likes and dislikes, our maybes and definitely nots.  This is the ego, and its only concern is making sure you get what you want.  I really doesn't know what the body or self NEEDS.  In fact, I think it confuses the two all the time.  Desire is need, as far as the ego is concerned.  So where does the spirit figure into this?  A good part of the soul is channeled through the ego parts of the brain, which makes the soul so dificult to define.  In fact, forget about defining the soul, that's pretty much a repeating endless circle of questions and half-truths.  A serpent eating itself for eternity.  The difficulty is actually being able to tap into the soul, to even be vaguely aware that it is there.  There are many ways to reach it, drugs, sex, meditation, that's not really my focus here.  There are a number of viable ways, which no one can really teach to another.  It needs to be a personal process of experimentation, accompanied by perhaps a deconstruction of accepted thoughts and morals within the self

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