one fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish...pop quiz, in-class essay, and life draining lectures!!

so do you remember back in the day when your parents read to you and you LOVED it, or at least i did. i loved reading and i loved it when my parents read me a bedtime story. reading with my parents is one of my most cherrished memories as a little kid. but then came the day that i started to hate reading with a passion!! i don't even know what happened, it was just like i loved it one day and the next i hated it. i remember reading all the childrens classics like: 'Goodnight Moon,' 'Harold and His Purple Crayon,' and who could forget all the adventures of Spot! and i remember all the not so memorable books of my more 'mature' years like: O' Pioneers , Grapes of Wrath , and everybody's favorite Oliver Twist. I remember doing a BookIT and making up books and authors to get by. I remember having summer reading and never actually doing it!although im ashamed to admit it, sparknotes become one of my trusted resources for english class. im sure my story of reading frustration is a universal coming of age story. but over the last few years and especially last six months i have rediscovered the excitement i once had for reading. obviously it's not as pure and idealistic as when i was a little tike but i have found that reading truly does open the mind to a new world. i am especially in love with Brave New World by Aldous Huxley, 1984 by George Orwell, Spinal Cord Perception by Joshua Stephen Porter, Bartleby the Scrivener by Herman Melville, The Minotaur Takes a Cigarette Break by Steven Sherrill, and basically all poetry ever just to name a few. reading is by no means as important as say starvation, human trafficking, poverty, homelessness, or sweat shop scandals but i honestly believe we as a society have learned to hate reading and learning and have thus become a close minded and judgemental as people due to a lack of opening up to new ideas and letting our imagination roam. our great minds never get used and our poor imaginations get caged up when we are little and told that we shouldn't think big and that we can't change the world. i don't think that reading can change the world, i only believe that God and his true love living inside of us and through us can do that. but i do believe that it can change our perception of the world and open our minds to new and exciting ideas.

sitting in a cold hotel room in the middle of nowhere minnesota, somewhat hungry, thinking about life

there is something deep within me that beats like a steady, tribal war drum. The rhythym is a constant, dull pain in my brain. It involuntarily drives and controls my actions. Something has mastered my mind, it has tamed my once free and wild insides. It has ignited a flame that burns bright with one purpose and sychronizes my words and my steps in unity to fuel the fire. A pyre is set in my heart and my will is set to burn at the stake. the beat moves through my body and gives shape to my limbs and meaning to my lips. but i can't remember if it has always lived inside of me. was it a primal sense or some truth we deduced? maybe this is the sign of progress, a mechanical civilization with an i.v. full of vicodin. if this is the future, then open up your eyes and look to hollywood. if only this love could exist outside of this idealistic hope. if only this love could exist outside of self. if only i could love anyone half as much as i love myself...

a not so simple lesson in biology(the foodchain has to end somewhere)

let's call this is symbiotic relationship. we can't abandon this photosynthetic process. my pupils dialate from the light of our love. i am the clock that eats at your skin. if you're looking for protection, or maybe just confinement, i give you permission to crawl into my mouth. it's more comfortable than a bodybag and safer than a maze, with just as many turns and deadends. i started the metalic fire that has been consuming your bones and burning in your marrow. we need no introduction. i am the cartilage that is wearing thin between your joints. i am the analog bird that you dreamt about. i soar between the clouds in a digital sky. everything looks different under this pressure. let's call this a symbiotic relationship. but now that i think about it, i may just be your parasite.

call me old fashioned

my eyes scan the page from line to line. all the red letters blur and swirl through my vacant mind. like waves on the shore, they will crash against my skull and then quickly recede back to the pages they came from. the wind caresses my skin and dances in the treetops as i stand before an endless green ocean of trees, with a blank expression.

organic cemetery

the clock strikes ten as wires turn to veins and climb up the ceiling and crawl down the walls. this room is alive again. the pounding of the heart drowns out our voices and rattles in our chest. you don't have to be brave, i can see the tears in your eyes. the blood of jaded men is rising fast. keep your head above the surface and don't swallow their lies. with every heartbeat a new captive helplessly becomes part of the room. slowly they sink into the walls, their heartbeats' indistinguishable from that of the room. their lives once defined by beautiful imperfection and individual potential now defined by bleeding walls and frayed wallpaper. i can feel the room closing in on me as i compromise my aspirations. i can feel it's warm breathe on my cold neck as it whispers to me in a grey voice. it tells me to drop my morals and swim in the flood. it's breathe reecks of relativity. the clock strikes twelve, this is it. the room is almost filled to the roof, swim for saftey darling before it takes you too. i can feel myself dissapear as i become one with the room.

white box

hese pretty, white-washed walls, that keep me safe, are only getting taller. the cracks in the cement are held together by layers of cheap, neon graffiti. it's a beautiful display of our growing intellectual supremecy. with words like 'theology' and phrases like 'legalistic liberty' scribbled artistically to remind ourselves of the treasure we've found. we dream in an atmosphere of spray-paint slogans. we live in a perpetual state of fear as the bold letters warn of the danger that lurks beyond the walls. i'm addicted to this security, but i can't help but wonder what's outside these walls i've known all my life. i'm done letting my mind play trick on me, i'm letting go and i'm taking a risk. when i finally opened my eyes i couldn't help but notice the old, canvas billboard in between the wild, carefree branches.

analyze the conclusion

s it true that an entire ocean, in all it's pride, could be bottled up inside one single shell? and then set free one day by the brave little girl or the curious little boy who has enough faith to put their ear to the shell? all uncontainable beauty aside, we cut down the jungle and we built efficient little gardens. don't be so naive sweetie, you're swallowing the same growth hormones that gave our lettuce a spine and drinking the same pesticides that gave the carrots a tongue. if theology can control our god than maybe he lives in our imagination. i'm done playing in this seasick game. at least the rules are simple enough: wash only your own feet and never get caught frowning. the captain said he spotted land but we capsized at the docks. grace died in the pews. we may walk upright on two legs but that doesn't mean we can talk with the sun. since when did poetry compose the rigid structure of our rulebook? o god save us from our own minds.