Who knows? I'll give it another shot at least for the sake of healthy habits.
Today: I woke up, ate, sent money to myself, chilled, read the news, ate, drove, watched a movie, blogged.
Tonight: I'm listening to music, and thinking about putting an end to my procrastination habit tomorrow.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
He clings to mother.
She gives her strength to him
despite that the sun has sapped it from her.
She is barren as the land;
the sun burnt right through them.
Flies dance with
shadows on the ceiling
for hours.
Eyes watch them from the dark faces of ghosts.
Their feet bleed.
These ghosts,
are brought muddy water mixed
with laundry water, human waste
from the town twenty miles away,
but its wet, and they are drying out.
They drink with reverence.
They hear a great leader
who heard from his ancestor
of means to save them
from the worst of their ills;
They hear a man
speak the words of God
in a God forsaken land,
and they drink it in.
Doubts come
on the lips of the soulless
from a foreign nation,
but hope is too precious
to be crushed
in the name of science
in a place like this.
A man carries a grenade in a honey pot.
Another justifies the deaths of 18 in the name of war.
Man will do what he must. He does not relish it.
Do not place a gun in his hand to kill for you
then punish him for his judgement.
He is human, too.
I charge you
to stand in his place.
To watch your closest colleague
disintegrate mere feet from
where you stand,
or to lose a leg yourself
in defense of the freedom for others
to criticize your choice
to serve them.
I charge you
to stand in a place
where parents arm babies
with bookbag bombs,
oblivious, innocuous, toddling
innocents.
In the name of Allah.
There is no God but Allah..
Compassion kills.here.
Comfort the crying child,
turned away harshly
by his mother.
Embrace the tender heart of a baby,
gently set it at ease,
and your world is white.
Blinding white, to those with you, and black, and red.
Your compassion defeans, disorients. Wounds.
There are too few philantropists
in this world we live in..
Allegedly, my country is rife with them,
but wages fall like leaves.
We change two hands to four and keep watering
the trees, hoping that money will grow.
But we turn the knob on an empty water table,
and those who control the clouds
are content to let them accumulate.
I am not rich. I am not rich.
She gives her strength to him
despite that the sun has sapped it from her.
She is barren as the land;
the sun burnt right through them.
Flies dance with
shadows on the ceiling
for hours.
Eyes watch them from the dark faces of ghosts.
Their feet bleed.
These ghosts,
are brought muddy water mixed
with laundry water, human waste
from the town twenty miles away,
but its wet, and they are drying out.
They drink with reverence.
They hear a great leader
who heard from his ancestor
of means to save them
from the worst of their ills;
They hear a man
speak the words of God
in a God forsaken land,
and they drink it in.
Doubts come
on the lips of the soulless
from a foreign nation,
but hope is too precious
to be crushed
in the name of science
in a place like this.
A man carries a grenade in a honey pot.
Another justifies the deaths of 18 in the name of war.
Man will do what he must. He does not relish it.
Do not place a gun in his hand to kill for you
then punish him for his judgement.
He is human, too.
I charge you
to stand in his place.
To watch your closest colleague
disintegrate mere feet from
where you stand,
or to lose a leg yourself
in defense of the freedom for others
to criticize your choice
to serve them.
I charge you
to stand in a place
where parents arm babies
with bookbag bombs,
oblivious, innocuous, toddling
innocents.
In the name of Allah.
There is no God but Allah..
Compassion kills.here.
Comfort the crying child,
turned away harshly
by his mother.
Embrace the tender heart of a baby,
gently set it at ease,
and your world is white.
Blinding white, to those with you, and black, and red.
Your compassion defeans, disorients. Wounds.
There are too few philantropists
in this world we live in..
Allegedly, my country is rife with them,
but wages fall like leaves.
We change two hands to four and keep watering
the trees, hoping that money will grow.
But we turn the knob on an empty water table,
and those who control the clouds
are content to let them accumulate.
I am not rich. I am not rich.
Monday, March 3, 2008
...
Like every day
It's a dusty road
the sky is overcast like
always hope
trickles down your brow
stings your eye you
stand beside
the road dressed
in a gray suit blood
pulses beneath
your knuckles
It's a dusty road
the sky is overcast like
always hope
trickles down your brow
stings your eye you
stand beside
the road dressed
in a gray suit blood
pulses beneath
your knuckles
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