Kindly just some Words about your Last Tweet: YES we all must Agree it does not Matter who you are and Whom you Date.
As I Said it never has Been. But kindly Please Remember that all-in-all you are still a CELEBRITY; And the very Nature of that Kind of Life will always - ALWAYS - draw Attention - GOOD and Otherwise.
Of course you already Know this given your Incredible Skill in Handling Yourself. You Definitely Deserve the Overwhelming Support you have Received - I Vouch for that - yet a Little WISDOM needs to be Included here.
And I don't mean the MEDIA. Your Name is already SYNONYMOUS with such. Please do not get UPSET if People here make it a BIG DEAL.
You Know you have Admirers who EXPECTED a lot from you. Especially Now since you are still in your PRIME. But then again you seem to Enjoy this Kind of Attention.
When you DECIDE - BE FIRM - AND STICK TO IT!
Stop giving FALSE HOPES to those who still Think they have a Chance which by a Large Percent will Never, Ever HAPPEN. I am talking about some of your Admirers here.
There's nothing wrong in being Open to your Sexuality; But as much as we Hate it this is a WORLD OF EXTREMES; You either ARE or AREN'T.
And what you Hinted on your Video can just AGITIATE them a Whole Lot More. Still Happy for you.
And your Partner seems to be STRONG IN SPIRIT - whoever he is. It no longer Matters on our end if we are IGNORED despite the Advise given to you; What Matters is that this Message comes out and you are made AWARE at the very least.
Most CELEBRITIES react that way, anyway. Why should you be any Different?
You Take Care now.
I get nervous around you.
I feel my heart drop to my stomach.
Your smile warms my heart
And freezes time.
You have eyes like no other
They stare deep inside of me
They know my deepest secrets
And my most broadest details.
The way you look at me
Like you miss me
Like you hate me
Like youre unsure of what love really means
You can lie to yourself all you want
I'm still with you
The reminisce of me haunts you at night
You love me
But you have that macho man way of life
So you can't love me.
But you want to
The way your lips move
Is like no other.
Its smooth like a hockey puck on ice
Its words travel like teenage kids trying to escape
Something I know you wanna do.
Everything you say,
Everything you do,
Leads me to believe
You just want to leave.
feeling this morose and desolate
to the point of deep burning in my gut
is almost as tragic as the fact that
I feel this way with every inhalation
I have lost the ability to breathe
sucking in death has become my life
It's not all about your appearance,
Which you're wrong for thinking is worth a store's clearance.
It's about your soft heart,
& how we can't be apart.
It's not all about your heartless facade,
Which makes your sweet moments all the more appreciated.
It's about your presence lighting up my day,
& how you've managed to stay.
It's not all about the promises we made,
Which are hard to keep when you say the things you say.
It's about your way with words
& how you strum my chords.
It's not all about how without you I'd feel a vacancy,
Which just the mere thought leaves me antsy.
It's about our pulling through,
& how our love is true.
train of thought or loosely structured essay? it could be either...
i’ve been watching interview after interview and thinking gratuitously as a result. imma try and sum this up as best i can because i think it’s an ambiguous topic at times that we actually have at our fingertips and yet don’t really always address, understandably though. culture is something you’re entrenched in, inescapably at times, and when you’re in the middle of it sometimes it’s hard to see the way every day and everything is a possible opportunity for affecting the main narrative.
first thing i thought of when i started listening to eddie huang and heems discuss growing up in the 80’s and using their forms of media representation (blogging, food, music, etc) to introduce different ideas to mass audiences, was that kids in the 80’s and 90’s have really been given a valuable (though sometimes harsh) lens to view the world through. in that two decade time period media gained fuel and tech rapidly increased, and we had this rare upbringing of being detached enough from media and technology to develop authentically within our environments, learn to think critically and observe what was going on around us in the world, and yet also had enough exposure and time to evolve with the rapid change of technology to understand it better, and learn almost by necessity how to utilize it to our best interests, ration parts of our identity from it, and share parts of our identity and contributions into it.
we grew up in this transitioning time, when technology and social media hadn’t yet taken as rooted a role in life yet, but were still a big part of our lives, and where we harvested some, often much, of our values and ideas from. people began realizing soon that we had access to mass information, and the spreading of. this was a tool our parents hadn’t had at our age, so we were kind of the pioneers w/lotta internet frontiers and subcultures.
for instance, the internet has managed to foster a subculture of kids and teens finding and learning about their identities. before the internet, queer was a slur, some older people still think it is, but now it’s being reclaimed by the community, and there’s a widespread narrative from queer folks addressing their identities and re-purposing what ignorance made a weapon.
before the internet, there was no mass outrage being sparked over rape being brought to justice or innocent POC behind bars or the quality of education, or culture and global issues, these are discussions that have emerged from the information at our hands paired with our world views and personal struggles to navigate that world. and in it’s own way that’s power. we have a form of mass media where, if we try hard enough, our ideas, influences, power to empathize and communicate to spread ideas and educate on a widespread basis, can be influential. we made it what it is, and we mold it into what it is going to be and the ideas it will spread hereafter.
what’s interesting to me about this power of the internet, is dominant vs subversive narrative. 80’s/90’s gen reached teen/adult years as the US went into a period of political confusion/a dominant media main narrative of misinformation. hearing eddie and heems talk about what it was like to be a POC after 9/11 at that time was intense. eddie talked about rich white 1% kids in florida displaying an unfiltered level of brutish animosity after the event, being that many of the people they knew and their families’ claims to wealth were being threatened.
he seemed mostly horrified and interested simultaneously in the way they simplified “their problem” to a sweeping generalization; people of color, similar to reagan’s own scapegoating of POC in his personal secretary’s diary. obviously that’s wack. but what he said about these kids really intrigued me because i felt like he put words to what i’d observed myself about many middle class and upper class kids, and recently been contemplating how to get around; “these kids are like…media-trained by their parents. [meaning those who benefit from dominant/oppressive culture use the confusion tactics the media uses to run people in circles about issues to avoid actually discussing them] you could talk about these things with them forever and you’ll never have a real discussion with them until you stop taking them seriously. they understand exactly what you’re saying, they just don’t give a fuck.”
it’s compelling that 9/11 created this thought point for both of them, born in the same era, that caused the incubation of ideas surrounding dissemination of tolerance and thoughts about avoidance of discussions surrounding racism/classism/oppression in the US, and how to use education and communication to change it and repurpose allocations of power taken from cultures by the main narrative.
recently, i’ve definitely been aware of these points eddie made, in that i spend less time responding to others’ thoughts that come from ignorance or anger and more time building my own. less time responding to trolls and more time trolling trolls because i just don’t have time to waste farting around with dipshits when i could be reaching and talking to people who get it and also want to engage in discussions and environments of tolerance and respect instead of more ignorance. social media gives us that horizon of expansion, those resources, and hopefully that ability to recognize that despite the people that make us sad and cranky there are all these people still to be heard and to hear and to respond that we can reach, and the power is in our hands, it’s just about how we allocate it.
when i was about 17 i met a guy who really changed my perspective on what you can actually do to make your own voice. he had a successful career, he was a natural with business, well known for his graffiti, and pretty much lived and dressed well for free because of his social reputation and involvement in menswear. all these different factors of his individuality came together to form a career and reputation he was able to live…better than most people i knew, off of. and he had dropped out of school before he’d even walked across the senior final stage. that impressed me. who knew you could be that successful without a high school diploma? pretty fucking sweet.
we now know how to utilize social media and work your way up based on who you are not what job description you fit. how to create forms of representation and send a message through art, and actually make a living and have everything you need through applying social media to your pursuits. with the unstable economy and prices of school people began to become more aware of how they could get educated outside of an institution, get a job they loved without going to school for it, have a career because of who they knew and their networking abilities as opposed to their resume. and with how much a lot of us have to say and contribute that’s a valuable venue when used correctly and used as a vessel for the right message.
and i think, this mixture of being connected but not completely has given us a rare perspective and ability to contribute in many different ways, with many individual voices, to the narrative. we have the ability to, essentially, drown out the main narrative which we all know is a bunch of bullshit.
look at the way we even just use social media like tumblr and facebook to fuck around with advertisements and different perpetuations of culture in media, like those gifs of billboards that have a picture of a cat on it instead of an advertisement, or clipart that has been fucked around with. how, for fun, some people fuck with facebook and click on ads that don’t apply to their interests to confuse the site when it tries to collect their personal web browsing data.
in such simple ways, we tweak and rewrite the main narrative. and then we can share that with millions of people if we want to, and they can all share that too and so on. social media can be such an amazing tool. because someone can share a post on tumblr saying “does anyone else feel like…” and 50,000 other people can reblog that and suddenly the idea that you’re not the only one with this running around their mind is planted in 50,000 different minds at once. that’s basically creating awareness in a way.
i’ll stop thinking, but i still have tons in my head in response to all this stuff. just wow, really interesting. i’m getting all inspired by these 80’s babies bringing the power back to the people by dominating media with their insights on how to use it as a crux to transition into change via widespread communication of ideas. this is kinda a crucial point in time when we have an advantage and weapon, to create the world we want to live in, with.
The chinwag,carpetbag of nagging mobile phones with tones that make me want to puke,take a look they make me sick,pick a number any number betya someone dumber picks another,brother canya spare a dime,buy me tea I got no time to talk with you and that's what mobiles always do,
take and take put on the brake before we're took,well, WTF and that is texty awful sexy if you're made that way, say what you think and think no more,a mobile's just another whore,
I swore I wouldn't buy one,try one get one free but the bollox is,
mobiles are me.
There is a noise out there somewhere
speaking of fast cars and responsibilities
and I see you turn your head that way;
but tilted-up eyes promise me you’ll stay
for the ten minutes that become an hour
and the stories spilling sweet and sour
unbidden, ill-timed, unorganized and badly rhymed -
but you’ll tilt your head my way.
If I make you some tea, will you stay?
My mother’s guardian angel mug and
your father’s sins swept under the rug and
There is a noise out there somewhere
of people who know what blood means.
Bad cinnamon gum and Little League teams.
That’s all I hear;
I tilt my head your way.
If I promise to listen, will you stay?
Do you believe in soulmates?
it is indeed cliche and overused
but i do
i do believe in the miracle of falling in love
each of us are destined to be with someone
someone who brings sunshine
when your days are rainy
someone who gives you hope
when you're out of faith
someone who holds your hand
when your ride is bumpy
your soulmate is your other half
they might be thrown across the world
they might also be living next door
how will you know who your soulmates is?
you see, some say you don't
one day you just take the jump
and wait till fate catches
have you ever met someone for the first time
but your heart feels as if you’ve met them before?
the moment you meet someone
that capital S someone
you'll feel an inexplicable attraction to that person
your souls are drawn to each other
that's the thing about love
logic can never do the math
there is someone, somewhere out there
who you can just love and love
no matter how tough the journey is
no matter how constant the drift-aparts are
you will always find your way
back to each other
Know that it's
all the way Up.
God's epistemologically dead...
My addiction is spelled out in iron:
Words have been stomped into my fate by elegantly gargantuan feet of Greek goddesses and
in the metal lies every pretentious metaphor and ink-soul-splatter that will define the rest of my existence.
There is no going back
The poetry is here to stay.
the changes the letters have wrought are now normal.
I have become used to looking in the mirror and seeing none of my features for the quotes clumped across my forehead
knotted around the contours of my cheekbones.
My morning coffee will never again just be caffeine and warmth,
but a complex metaphor for love-("being burnt by what you also cannot live without").
Now, I only know what my soul looks like
after it has been typed into pretentious metaphors
and ever since that shivering Thursday afternoon I first picked up a pen-
I look at the whiteboard and cannot absorb the continuing inadequacies of various white men because the stanzas are scattered too thickly across my vision.
But I have adjusted.
I accept that every chemical reaction my brain sets off will have words, a story, line breaks, and lonely Friday nights spent editing my soul into prettier pieces
Working on poems and homework will forever struggle against each other on my priority list
And there is simply no denying the fact that behind everything is words and in front and after there are letters and when glancing sideways and upside down you will find quotes and little sayings and poems,
but it is all perfectly fine.
I will breath in each linguistically-caused tragedy with grace and gentleness
because words are the only way I feel at home in this madly spinning world.
I have never felt cozier snuggled with any human or bed than when I am nestled in the dips and dots and curves of language.
"So," you ask, "what seems to be the downside?"
well, dear reader;
if we are being honest poems aren't real therapists.
and they lend themselves well to madness and isolation
But I cannot bring myself to care...
If words were alcohol I would be that horrible mother they whisper about at the PTA meetings who comes home after work and chugs biccardi on the couch, ignoring her children as she runs around the house screaming and throwing things descending into a state of such lovely and intoxicating madness that she cannot resist another page, another pen, another shot.
If words were meth instead of meth sores I have little holes all over my organs where I have drilled down as deeply as possible, hunting for even the smallest hint of feeling just so I can lovingly string letters together like pearls and polish them until they shine with the brilliant lights of tragedy and love and hate and sadness and nostalgia and anger and lust and frustration-
all of these chemicals we fuel our pens with
because numbness is not an option.
I engage in this substance abuse because I am bloated with so much longing, filled with a desperate ache for all the beautiful things I have not yet experienced,
for those brightly lit 2ams and screaming laughter and being drunk and high and kissing and yelling and the because in this moment we are young and alive and breathing and crossing lines and who gives a shit about anything else?
I write in half-crazed scribbles, wondering,
"Maybe writing about friends and laughter at 1 in the morning as I am surrounded by only netflix and tumblr will make me feel better?"
I am always wrong.
It only makes it worse.
My words are glorious escape and icy blades of stark reality.
Clarity and obfuscation.
Pancreas-cracking pain and model-tall joy.
So if words cause me to ache, beat the world into pieces, sob, and ignore my responsibilities,
why am I so goddamn in love with them?
Because my words are mad
but people are too-
so one cannot look down their poorly-described noses at poems and smugly snort that it "doesn't make any sense"
as if they have brilliantly solved and debunked an art form.
They would be quite wrong.
The words are just a reaction and reflection of the world their letters were conceived in-
and so this fevered world and the expression of its insanity are inextricably linked.
(at least for poets).
the difference between poems and people is that humans are
in addition to the insanity,
horribly unreliable and capricious creatures.
They never stay.
They never stay
But metaphors will always be there to cuddle me in their warm arms on lonely weekend nights
Why writing? you ask?
Because when everyone is gone, annoyed, asleep, or dead and the whole earth has been blown apart;
every city destroyed and great moment reduced to nothingness,
I can still trace poems in the ashes.