Tribute to the Great Gloved One

You moon walked into our lives
Made us into multicolored Jackson Fives
Your Ow!’s and squeals gave us good vibes
Your crotch-grabbing amused our wives.

Our kids confused whether you’re black or white
Plastic surgery with you reached its height
You dished hit after hit
But if I’m a kid on your lap I won’t sit.

I love all your albums that made you rich
Just wondering why Neverland became a huge ditch
From reaching the top you hit pop-rock bottom
Hope you learned something from humility’s bosom.

There’s no denying you’re larger than life
There’s a time that I loved you more than my wife
Can’t help feel a huge sense of loss
MTV will miss your hair toss.

Still, you gave so much to Pop
Unforgettable would be your body bop
Probably for old times sake your CD’s I’ll shop
Your “Beat It” and “Billie Jean” in my cranial music room won’t stop.

~o~o~o~

Fare you well, Thriller.

A Harrowing Experience: Drug Addict Willing to Kill for PSP

I do hope not another human being gets involved in this that we chums experienced when we were taking our lunch break at a sidewalk cafe last Saturday. One of our office-mates were playing with his Playstation Portable with so much focus while we were happily chatting, waiting for our food. Then this very young ordinary looking man just strolls up to that friend of ours and suddenly tried to grab the gadget. At first we thought it’s one of his acquaintances just making a bad joke but when he flashed something metallic on his other hand while he was trying to pull away PSP left us stunned for a sec.

He could have ran with it had it not for the chain that held it to our pal’s wrist. That’s when he got hysterical, eyes flashing wide, teeth bared, and started stabbing him on the nape, back of the head, shoulders, and back with a flat-nosed screwdriver. The attacker was at my friend’s back, his side facing me. The girls at the next table screamed and fled the increasing violence, as blood was flying from his skin and from the instrument. I forgot myself and tried to grab the wrist with the weapon but to my surprise, the assailant’s skin was so slick, and I lost my grip on him. The other people in our group started to pummel this attacker but to no avail, he held on to the PSP as my friend was helpless and unable to extricate himself from this fiend.

That’s when I took the plastic stool and smashed it on his head, to distract him, when his intention became sharply clear to us. It shattered, but made him lose his hold, and that when a pal grappled him to the pavement. He still stabbed and slashed with the screwdriver, and he made for me. He’s obviously wired to the maximum. I ran to him with a flying kick and he fell back on the asphalt. I jumped on his ribs, feeling it give way under my leather shoes.

He got a few more blows and wonder of wonders, he still was able to run and made a getaway with what do you know, a waiting motorcycle. These crystal-meth junkies do need each other in times of urgent need. We did not gave chase, lest they carry some firearms. They sped away with nothing. But the my friend, the victim was another story. And so were those injured in the fray.

He was covered in blood from the shoulder down, the PSP still dangling from his wrist, and in shock. One of us had to lead him to the nearest clinic for first aid. Others had chunks of their skin carved out by the flimsy weapon, they too were attended to. I got hit on the lower shoulder. After the adrenalin faded, I felt my joints creak and my muscles ache.

I had a fancy not to dine in that infamous sidewalk cafe not even they’d give me a PSP for a bribe. That villain probably picked up a wrong weapon for murder, but my friend was lucky to be alive. I guess drugs do that to people, willing to kill just to steal, sell the stuff, and get a hit. I won’t forget this for the rest of my life.

Plagiarism: Mental Stagnation of the Copycat

These are the people you love to hate, and writers everywhere would love to get their claws on these copypasters, especially when they see their own hard-written work having an author’s name other than their own.

You can impressed with someone else’s work. Jeez, you can even have it framed and adore it, hanging on your bedroom wall next to Adam Lambert’s Pic singing Mad World with Simon Cowell artfully photoshopped standing and doing that ovation while he was singing those glass breaking falsettos. Then maybe, you’d have that epiphany to write something just like it and do some research and wordsmithing on your own.

You can even copy the idea, the gist, the pattern, the structure, the philosophy, egad, even the font and formatting. But to teleport every single dang word from it’s rightful place to that abominable place under your plagiaristic ancestor’s name? It must’ve taken superhuman gall to do that and thinking you can’t get caught, but what will they say about you in the afterlife? That you’ve got Xerox for brains?

And how about the anguish you cause others? The stolen earnings, the lost prestige, those book signings that you’ve pulled from under their noses and you just flash that Alec Baldwin smile while you rub elbows with the rich and famous adulating you for those words not having any umbilical cord with yez, all usurped in the name of greed and ego-tripping.

Like being a liar implied is not enough, you’re preventing your MIND from being a MAKER! You’re denying yourself the joy of literary creation! How would you share the solidarity with us writers and poets who, with frustration and dissatisfaction notwithstanding, rise to the heights of ecstasy seeing a piece of their structured and ordered thought published and appreciated by others? You’re going to fall into a quagmire of stealth and covetousness that will preclude all creativity your mind is made for.

This is your last warning, mate. Stop being a copycat and make your original line. Do it, or I’ll whip your !@#*%! myself!

~~~

Hey, this is just an essay, okay, don’t get carried away by the spicy emotions, lol.

On Walking I and On Walking II

On Walking I

I walk this plane
Passing universe upon universe
Contacting alien civilizations
With the fabric of reality on our feet
Contact with pavement a necessity

My eyes travel the concrete jungle
Hidden aliens within shirts, blouses, and suits
My hair flies with the automobile wind
But my feet brings me closer to a new galaxy

Indispensable are footwear against the vacuum
Radiation repelled by leather and rubber soles
Constant reaction within matter and antimatter steps
Antigravity sustained by legs for a safe transit through wormholes of doors

~~~

I had this poetic sentiment while traversing the city, while thinking, it sounded well in my head, like a pipe organ in a cathedral. However, putting this down in writing and reading the words, were not as sonorous as it were in my head. With that being said, It occurred to me to post a second version and see which one is better. It is shorter and has more imagery, more concrete but maybe not, and I found the exercise delectable.

On Walking II

I float from place to shimmering place
On my two feet loving the concrete and the escalators
Defying gravity these two darlings fly
And with me in their wings full of expectant green thoughts
Leafy and fruity while their drudgery becomes excitement
Gliding like a supermodel into a boutique, restaurant, or cinema to meet you
We, my two feet fly to worlds unknown
That we pretend to know but not knowing what happens next
Walking is their only certainty.

~~~

There, I hope you enjoy it.

This Mercernary Will Kill No More (Peace at Your Skin)

Weary of these wars
Whiled my time with weapons
When I withdrew from the wanton
Wilderness of warrior’s want

I settled on the sensuous sheen
Intense shiver of the sense of your skin
Intimate sashaying of my sally on
Intricate secrets that salved my soul

Valor vigilant but not on violence
Vibrating on a volume of vivification
Vanquishing and vouchsafing
Value of her vitality on velvet

Fine feelings of her felt of flowing
Fancy facing me as we flashed
Flamed feverish yet fulfilled
Forever freed from fear with freshness.

Enjoy the Silence

when you have laid out the banquet and the drinks and the party favors and the confetti and the helpers have become shadows and have faded, all you have to do is wait for the invited that will never come, no matter how your heart yearns for his answer or her smile of solidarity and still phantasms toast you with their intoxication of nothingness then why don’t you just settle down at the chair at the head of the table and just twiddle your thumbs and just keep playing the party music that is never heard so that all is not futile after all but an exercise in determination of the silence as a reality to be reckoned with such as solitude is still possible in a city thronged with millions isolation makes one rare but is not rare in this gregarious life.

Enjoy the silence.
Enjoy the silence.
Enjoy the silence.
Enjoy the silence.

Let’s do some random typing…
woulkwouor woworowrworjwfowwe…the last typed letters is we.

This is no accident.

We enjoy the silence.

Hungry Like Wolf

Do I need to punch you in the eye, so that you can knock me out with your lips?

I am hungry like a wolf for your attention for your love. I will eat you alive if I have to digest every inch of you just to get your attention, then spit you out whole and entire, sparkling and smiling before my eyes.

If I have to scam my way to your adoration I will do so, so that you can jail me in your arms.

I’m lost and I’m found, I howl and I’m after you. I’m hungry like a wolf. I’m hungry like The Wolf. I smell like the sound, disco and rhyme, and your juice is like wine. This is a rip-off from the Duran Duran song, but I don’t care. I am hungry like a wolf! I will salivate on your ideas until you spit on my soul and make it whole.

I will salivate on your ideas until you spit on my soul and make it whole.

CLICK THIS FOR YOUR MOOD MUSIC: HUNGRY LIKE A WOLF/DURAN DURAN

Dark in the city, night is a wire
Steam in the subway, earth is a fire
Do-do do do, do do do, do do do, do do do, do do
Woman you want me, give me a sign
And catch my breathing even closer behind
Do-do do do, do do do, do do do, do do do, do do

In touch with the ground
Im on the hunt Im after you
Smell like I sound, Im lost in a crowd
And Im hungry like the wolf
Straddle the line, in discord and rhyme
Im on the hunt Im after you
Mouth is alive with juices like wine
And Im hungry like the wolf

Stalked in the forest, too close to hide
Ill be upon you by the moonlight side
Do-do do do, do do do, do do do, do do do, do do
High blood drumming ony our skin its so tight
You feel my heart, Im just a moment behind
Do-do do do, do do do, do do do, do do do, do do

In touch with the ground
Im on the hunt Im after you
Scent and a sound, Im lost and Im found
And Im hungry like the wolf
Strut on a line, its discord and rhyme
I howl and I whine Im after you
Mouth is alive all running inside
And Im hungry like the wolf

-

(hungry like the wolf
Hungry like the wolf
Hungry like the wolf)

Burning the ground I break from the crowd
Im on the hunt Im after you
I smell like I sound, Im lost and Im found
And Im hungry like the wolf
Strut on a line, its discord and rhyme
Im on the hunt Im after you
Mouth is alive with juices like wine
And Im hungry like the wolf

Burning the ground I break from the crowd
Im on the hunt Im after you
Scent and a sound, Im lost and Im found
And Im hungry like the wolf

Strut on a line, its discord and rhyme
I howl and I whine Im after you
Mouth is alive all running inside
And Im hungry like the wolf…

Tyranny of Marriage or a Brave New Relationship?

Tyranny of Marriage

That you ask me where I have been
That your eyes pierce through my clothes for sin
That with every argument you’re Cruella de Win
That you have that hidden Rodman grin.

What do you take me for?
What, an obedient whore?
What do you make of my mighty Thor?
What good deeds your Republican ignore?

Then all I can do is but sign
Then all these chains will shine
Then your busts will whine
Then I will to freedom divine.

~~~

Brave New Relationship

Here we are on a ship to nowhere
Just only with our asses and wits
And the strength of our souls’ patience
To survive on this desert continent.

You and I chose each other
Not only for the organ that fits
But we feel each others’ sentience
That we would age and be content.

I would never be afraid ever
No matter what tempest us hits
Time will give up in senescence
For forever is our intent.

Mood Music: Something About You/Level 42

Virtual Friends with Benefits

Smith’s hammer unwielded by this fatigued brute
My fertility damned to some Nordic icy hell
Keyboard’s rattle gone deaf mute
My pen’s dry for a spell.

One moment in eternity I remembered
Feelings electronic for you blazed
Asexual union across continents embered
Your erogenous words and mine left us dazed.

Unseen tears and soundless laughter
Between the lines smiles and comprehending moans
Touchless friendship and complimental rapture
Now I know what our alias bones.

I’ve gone so long but now I’m back
Till my lowest battery I’ll stay
We’ll join virtual hands on this dirtless track
Lusting as an pixel angel for what you kissingly say.

Magnetic Cars

I wish that I see the future where cars are magnetic, skimming and gliding by anti-gravity. Futuristic designs need not be too alien. Old can stay with the new. They’d drive over roads not of concrete or asphalt but on polarized plastic alloy, levitating these dream machines. Powered by emission-free, rechargeable electricity. Goodbye smog. They’d have inboard computers that program them not to crash into others and stay on the path. This way, vehicular accidents would be things of the past.

I wish
My heart would
Have no wheels
Like these cars
Not overspeed what I feel
For you
Lest I crash
And end prematurely
Us before the destination
Or wander away from the path
Of your arms
What would it be like
I could program the feeling
Right for the moment
Lest lust lose eternity
A heart with no wheels
Like a magnetic car.

Mood Music: Drive/the Cars