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#instruments
There’s been so much in the news lately - they’re filling up actual paper papers! Paris isn’t only zinc countertops and surly waiters you know - although those are the best parts. No, Paris, has been pronounced the pickpocket capital of the world! First of all, I’d like to thank all the “little people” who made this possible: The tourists who stumble around looking at their phones (hello, cobblestone streets). Ladies who walk, eating a baguette with one hand, fishing through their wide-open bag with the other. Anyone who lets someone stop and distract them with ‘friendship bracelets,’ surveys or whatever.. People, guard your stuff like you’d guard your lattes. If anyone tries to talk to you on the street or metro, give ‘em a stiff-arm and a ***** look. Do you think Parisians fall for these things - or New Yorkers? No. Be aware - people - before someone steals your underwear. Here’s another news item.. Bitcoin has lost its value - again - and ordinary people have lost billions - AGAIN. As a public service I’m going to explain it: Bitcoins are UNREGULATED and unregulated means = RIPOFF. I know I’m just a lowly med-student but I KNOW a few ‘rich people’ and how financial instruments work. My parents (and Grandmère) explained, early on, how economics works. 4-year-old me was wide-eyed - I’d always loved magic - so talk of the ‘alchemy of markets’, and ’invisible hands,’ kept me spell bound. By year 5, I was jaded, I’d heard it all - derivatives, structured finance, game theory, general equilibrium, adaptive rules and rational expectations. At 6, half of my crayon drawings were about statistical arbitrage high-frequency trading. If someone wants to sell you on an unregulated financial instrument (like bitcoin) - back away. If they have stories about some 10 year old who’s made millions - back away. The only people making money on ‘Trump bitcoins' are - three guesses (thieves). When your Bitcoin account says you have 300 million dollars - try to cash it in - good luck with THAT. ‘Blockchains’ (Crypto) are just big spreadsheets - you know, like Excel - and YOU aren’t an administrator. If someone tries to sell you on NFTs, offshore supervised funds, DeFi tokens or yield farms. no, No NO. If someone steps-up on you, or stops you on the street - back away - you’ve been marked as a chump. Wake UP people - short of winning the lottery or a scratch-off, there’s no such thing as ‘quick money.’ This has been a sincere, but mostly unpoetic Public service announcement. . . A song for this: All Gone Away by The Style Council With Everything To Lose by The Style Council
0
Feb 6
Feb 6, 2026 at 10:42 AM UTC
pickpockets
There’s been so much in the news lately - they’re filling up actual paper papers! Paris isn’t only zinc countertops and surly waiters you know - although those are the best parts. No, Paris, has been pronounced the pickpocket capital of the world! First of all, I’d like to thank all the “little people” who made this possible: The tourists who stumble around looking at their phones (hello, cobblestone streets). Ladies who walk, eating a baguette with one hand, fishing through their wide-open bag with the other. Anyone who lets someone stop and distract them with ‘friendship bracelets,’ surveys or whatever.. People, guard your stuff like you’d guard your lattes. If anyone tries to talk to you on the street or metro, give ‘em a stiff-arm and a ***** look. Do you think Parisians fall for these things - or New Yorkers? No. Be aware - people - before someone steals your underwear. Here’s another news item.. Bitcoin has lost its value - again - and ordinary people have lost billions - AGAIN. As a public service I’m going to explain it: Bitcoins are UNREGULATED and unregulated means = RIPOFF. I know I’m just a lowly med-student but I KNOW a few ‘rich people’ and how financial instruments work. My parents (and Grandmère) explained, early on, how economics works. 4-year-old me was wide-eyed - I’d always loved magic - so talk of the ‘alchemy of markets’, and ’invisible hands,’ kept me spell bound. By year 5, I was jaded, I’d heard it all - derivatives, structured finance, game theory, general equilibrium, adaptive rules and rational expectations. At 6, half of my crayon drawings were about statistical arbitrage high-frequency trading. If someone wants to sell you on an unregulated financial instrument (like bitcoin) - back away. If they have stories about some 10 year old who’s made millions - back away. The only people making money on ‘Trump bitcoins' are - three guesses (thieves). When your Bitcoin account says you have 300 million dollars - try to cash it in - good luck with THAT. ‘Blockchains’ (Crypto) are just big spreadsheets - you know, like Excel - and YOU aren’t an administrator. If someone tries to sell you on NFTs, offshore supervised funds, DeFi tokens or yield farms. no, No NO. If someone steps-up on you, or stops you on the street - back away - you’ve been marked as a chump. Wake UP people - short of winning the lottery or a scratch-off, there’s no such thing as ‘quick money.’ This has been a sincere, but mostly unpoetic Public service announcement. . . A song for this: All Gone Away by The Style Council With Everything To Lose by The Style Council
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32
my brain is the drum, my hands are the bass, my legs are the guitar, my eyes are the piano but my heart sings its the melody, the lead. it's what you can hear, what will shine through.
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Oct 27, 2024
Oct 27, 2024 at 1:36 AM UTC
Band
As I close my eye the soul awakens as the travel begins into the unknown visions of the path ahead. Waltzing to sonatas of Mozart, Down the alley of the lake of swans, Where I float to Tchaikovsky with the ballerinas, twirling to the rhythm till my heart get fulfilled.
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Mar 29, 2021
Mar 29, 2021 at 1:12 PM UTC
a medley of my mind
The snow drifts were quite high, piling up into the northern sky, burying towns and trees and the poor souls who had fallen asleep on the grass and had awoken with shivers as snowflakes left little kisses on their eyelids. Except that, it was never grass. There was never any grass to begin with. There was no grass or spring or sun or summer or birds. There was only winter and snow. And the blinding, white terrain had become both a place of desolation and s a n c t u a r y. The Aroura Borealis danced like a beautiful blue fire across the night sky. Stars blinked in and out of existence. And somehow, the halls always remained. The blue halls. Imagine, if you will, the Colosseum cut into halves and shaped like an elbow macaroni. Drop it out in the middle of an arctic wasteland and wash it in the blue glow of the northern, night sky. A bright yellow light poured out of the windows and onto the snow, but no one was ever inside. Some say it's the doorway to heaven. Others say it's the gates of hell. And then there are the strangers. Strangers who wear their lavender, silk headscarves and avoid the rumors of such an exquisite and eclectic piece of architecture. Others like myself. "If there is no one inside, then where is the music coming from?" He asked me, his blue eyes shining as blue as the heavenly hues against the midnight clouds. " The halls will hum if the wind passes through them just so." We listened to them once more. A low and ancient hum emanated from the structure. It was an old sound that resonated within me-unnerved me. The mysterious blue halls were not a simple door to some glorious silver city or the passageway to a fiery lake. The halls were the most beautiful and interesting instrument the universe has even known. "It's the harmonica of the gods!" Perhaps one of them dropped it. Perhaps it was a flaw in design. Perhaps it was meant to be silent and with one teensy miscalculation, an entire orchestra of notes were born by the wind. Perhaps it is telling me to tell you that you should look not towards all that makes you perfect, but the imperfections because that is where true beauty rests. And you are so beautiful. The kind of beauty that doesn't know it's own beauty. Like when you are sleeping, and the moon washes over your face. I like when you are sleeping, for you are so beautiful, yet so unaware.
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Feb 23, 2021
Feb 23, 2021 at 9:45 PM UTC
Blue Halls
The snow drifts were quite high, piling up into the northern sky, burying towns and trees and the poor souls who had fallen asleep on the grass and had awoken with shivers as snowflakes left little kisses on their eyelids. Except that, it was never grass. There was never any grass to begin with. There was no grass or spring or sun or summer or birds. There was only winter and snow. And the blinding, white terrain had become both a place of desolation and s a n c t u a r y. The Aroura Borealis danced like a beautiful blue fire across the night sky. Stars blinked in and out of existence. And somehow, the halls always remained. The blue halls. Imagine, if you will, the Colosseum cut into halves and shaped like an elbow macaroni. Drop it out in the middle of an arctic wasteland and wash it in the blue glow of the northern, night sky. A bright yellow light poured out of the windows and onto the snow, but no one was ever inside. Some say it's the doorway to heaven. Others say it's the gates of hell. And then there are the strangers. Strangers who wear their lavender, silk headscarves and avoid the rumors of such an exquisite and eclectic piece of architecture. Others like myself. "If there is no one inside, then where is the music coming from?" He asked me, his blue eyes shining as blue as the heavenly hues against the midnight clouds. " The halls will hum if the wind passes through them just so." We listened to them once more. A low and ancient hum emanated from the structure. It was an old sound that resonated within me-unnerved me. The mysterious blue halls were not a simple door to some glorious silver city or the passageway to a fiery lake. The halls were the most beautiful and interesting instrument the universe has even known. "It's the harmonica of the gods!" Perhaps one of them dropped it. Perhaps it was a flaw in design. Perhaps it was meant to be silent and with one teensy miscalculation, an entire orchestra of notes were born by the wind. Perhaps it is telling me to tell you that you should look not towards all that makes you perfect, but the imperfections because that is where true beauty rests. And you are so beautiful. The kind of beauty that doesn't know it's own beauty. Like when you are sleeping, and the moon washes over your face. I like when you are sleeping, for you are so beautiful, yet so unaware.
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37
My love, you see makes my heart sing With musical notes it composes Cause you do play on my hearts strings My masterpiece laid before you upon a bed of roses I won't waste my precious time & dance around the truth For a symphony plays its song in me And your beauty is my fountain of youth My wife, you see - I hope you to be My wife, you see - how lovely My song, you see? Will never cease It'll play throughout eternity For the instruments that lay inside Will never stop, nor ever die For the beauty I see, instills in me An everlasting energy So hearken unto me, my sweet baby Cause I'll never leave nor say goodbye My song, you see? Makes my heart ring Adoration does your heart bring My masterpiece that will never cease Is finally composed I hope, my dear, that our union is near & I'll become your king My wife, you see? I hope you to be Say yes to me, when I final-ly propose Now we're here right at the end, my dear A musical crescendo As it plays, I do hope you say That you truly love me and that you'll always stay This song I feel, is very real And its not an innuendo Now on my knee, as you can see Will you marry me? I plead and pray Marry me, my wife to be, and let our duet play Forever and ever entwined together Mr. and Mrs. Gray
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Dec 14, 2020
Dec 14, 2020 at 12:01 AM UTC
A Symphonic Proposal
in the night all by yourself, with some tunes in the background to hit you with the memories, they all seem very real you'd thought they would simply disappear, but a lot of time has gone by since and now here you are where even the walls have ears, having heard many stories over the years so what's it going to be tonight? 'hold my hand', says the hour hand to the minute hand of the wall clock, tick tock! as time seems to pause and you deep dive into the music, lyrics and instruments with their own ups and downs, yet in perfect coherence the harmony taking you places, feels like a nightcap for some midnight nostalgia coming back, you snap out of it as the sound waves fade way in distance 'well, that was a nice little adventure... onto the next one!', your mind goes.
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Nov 27, 2020
Nov 27, 2020 at 3:51 AM UTC
Midnight
the edges of my hatred for you had grown ragged and i realized it was time to file them down, i picked up the whetstone of contempt and weighed it carefully, its blunt smoothness removing me to a higher plane, And i smiled as i placed it on the table, My pleasure almost obscene As i slowly dragged the edge of disgust across its surface, enhancing and restoring the original shine...
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Nov 17, 2020
Nov 17, 2020 at 1:22 AM UTC
Hatred
To play the Cello You may pull strings half the time then push your way through
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Aug 5, 2020
Aug 5, 2020 at 9:28 PM UTC
Bellow-a-Cello
Oh how I am yearning for your gentle touch With each tender movement that I love so much Your supple fingers all over my keys Is most definitely soothing and puts me at ease I'm impressed by the way you always know what to play Each note you instruct my sound trusts and obeys The acoustic energy which fills up the air Is the sound of my melodious tunes that we share, each time the ebony and ivory component of me awaits an exuberant moment each time you play me.
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Jun 11, 2020
Jun 11, 2020 at 4:20 PM UTC
Play Me
Sure, I'm not like other girls. I don't care about What others think of me. It really doesn't bother me. Who cares if they don't like me Because I choose to be friends With the people that they don't like. Just because I don't Wear super short shorts Or ripped skinny jeans Doesn't mean you need to bully me Every chance you get. Maybe I don't play The flute or clarinet. Maybe those instruments Don't like me What do you care If I play trombone? Just please. Don't bully me All because of the things I do: The friends I choose, The music I listen to, The instrument I play, The life I lead. Don't judge me For who I am, For who I want to be. Sure. I'm different. But that's okay, Sometimes it's good To stand out.
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Mar 28, 2020
Mar 28, 2020 at 3:36 PM UTC
Standing Out
I've never been a huge socializer, and that's really all, that people seem to do at football games. So, why even go? Well, now that I'm a member of the marching band, it looks like I have to. I mean, last night I never really thought that I'd have fun. I mean, who wants to just go and scream for 3 hours? I guess I do. Last night was amazing. You get to just be yourself, and you just forget about everything. You just realize more and more through the game, that's it's just about having a blast and playing songs, to keep the team going. There we were, waving our instruments, screaming for our team, and having the time of our lives. Now, I know for a fact, that at the end of the season, I will do anything to go back, and do it all again...
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Sep 7, 2019
Sep 7, 2019 at 11:06 AM UTC
Friday night football
Instruments They lay in cases People get them out And start to play They're used to make such a beautiful melody Instruments I don't like them The only sound they make Is white noise
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Jul 23, 2019
Jul 23, 2019 at 1:21 PM UTC
Instruments
I hear a song which colors Autumn. It sings Creation's symphony, Of days long past, or still to be, Of what the Earth is to become. It moves the air and paints the skies. The waves crash with crescendos, And with its trumpets, wind does blow. The cellos play. The eagle flies. With violins the flowers bloom. With piccolos the sparrow calls. Like cotton snow, the music falls. The drums begin. The mountains loom. And when it seems the song will end, In Winter's white and icy chill, When all the world is calm and still, The trumpets will begin again.
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Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 6:02 PM UTC
Symphony of Life
Words have power They can pierce your bones The right ones devour Your very soul Peaceful ones flower And make you whole Others cut deep Leave scars, angry red Make you lose sleep As they dance in your head Your happiness they reap Until your spirit is dead The strong message they send Cannot be erased They twist and they bend They demand to be faced They make ideas blend Leaving a bad aftertaste You cannot try to forget The things you hear Like a cigarette They take what you hold dear They sing a duet Of shame, grief, and fear Once it is said It penetrates the defenses Causing joy or dread Sometimes beyond recompenses Words can move you Words can **** Words can pierce through Words can thrill Each time you part your lips The words that stain the air Can sink the finest ships Or be an answer to a prayer
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Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 8:07 PM UTC
Words Aren't Skin Deep
Please tell everyone your name, grade, And what instrument you play. We’re just going to go over some basics. You can have a break in ten minutes. Band, ten, HUT! HUT! Come to set! Attention! I said come to set! Heels together, toes apart. Check your posture! Guide to your left! No, your other left! Your steps are too big. No, now your steps are too small. You have to stay at set for three minutes; If anyone moves, we start again. Restart the time! Restart again! Get your feet in time, freshmen! Section leaders, I need to see you.  Now. Your water break is still ten minutes away. Drum majors, go get more batteries for the met. First competition guys, good luck! I don’t care if it’s late, we need to learn the drill. Someone go run and turn on the field lights! You’ll thank me later. First football game, good luck! Drumline, did I say you could put your instruments down? Trumpets, get your horns up!  To the press box! You’ll get it, don’t give up! Last competition guys, congrats! Give it your all and don’t look back! Guard, don’t **** anybody with your flags. GUARD! Last football game, congrats! Somebody please let the bass drums through! Everybody give me your plumes! Do NOT set your uniform on the ground! I expect all of you back next year. Thank you for giving me your best. I apologize for when I was at my worst. I love you guys.
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Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 3:22 PM UTC
Words of a Band Director
Don't defy the clarinet, its keys are awful sharp. Don't attempt to struggle 'gainst the plucking of the harp. Don't strike at the chin-rest of the nimble violin. Let their sounds ****** you, breathe in deeply and give in. Let your eyelids flutter as the bass punches away. Drift off into slumber as the horns start their foray. Dream of passing pleasantries, and don't mind the bassoons. Why supply rejoinders when the sounds solicit swoons?
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Jun 24, 2018
Jun 24, 2018 at 9:21 PM UTC
The Conductor's Plea
She threw to many sharp stones. So as her glass house tumbled down, She would pick one of the shards of choir glass off the ground and use it as a instrument. Always playing the same violent violin piece across her dynamical skin. Her mother always knew she had a gift for music. So when she heard the same solemn chorus pitching from the living room ceiling, She darted to steal the show. And become her daughters duet...her piano, To hug her so tightly, Singing and squeezing Until her violin chords stopped bleeding.
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Jun 15, 2018
Jun 15, 2018 at 2:44 PM UTC
Glass and She.
I wanna have sax with you again. You trumpet my mind away. I miss how the tips of my fingers press every single one of your keys causing you to vibrate Then I’d strum a handful of your strings, getting amped up for you to scream Do you remember the way that your ***** felt due to the stroking of my trombone? This is when your harps start to beat excessively And mines was on the same bass You would always turn around so I can use my drumstick You’d think I put my foot it in. I recall how you catch rhythm quite splendid each side clapping tambourines. I inquired, you’d choir **** our orchestrated erotica Now do you understand why your name is logged into my phone as Harmonica?
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May 27, 2018
May 27, 2018 at 2:37 AM UTC
Saxy
Midnight. Getting into incredible scenes as the southern US dreams The color of your soul Where unshackled, dancing spirits take control Feet contact to terra firma via tactical movements painting its target You attack, artistically I resist no longer Upon your canvas I fall Rome Where (apparently) all roads lead to Your heart, the coronary Colosseum. A stronghold I yearn to hold tight Under the roar of the crowd And the loudness of your beats Harmony There are psalms that Cadillacs crank Your viscous soul At the seat of this purple drank think tank Sticking to my ribs like backyard barbecue Santoor mallets tapping my heartstrings Doing 10 in a 65, side-to-side Front, back Letting the melodies ride and glide Air Whatever words you'd utter, I'd usurp its presence within the second it leaves your lips. Floating on cloud 9 To catch your breath with my fingertips Kinda like I want our lungs to be in a relationship Or something close to enjoying the heights Then record our previous accords just before Midnight. Ifeanyi N. Okoro II - © 2018
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Apr 23, 2018
Apr 23, 2018 at 5:52 AM UTC
"Next Steps" - 4.23.17
O’er hundreds of softly sweet clouds Do suns of color flicker forth Ever glowing forever in the heaven light And flowers grow next to the grasses. Up knowing of musical melodies Do instruments have yet to play Never faltering in delicate harmonies In the pleasant light of day. All those dreams that come and go Never once stopped to say hello And all the glories that come from the stars Never once stayed in the beds of Mars. Here I am surrendered in the cosmos With nothing but my song Reaching to find notes of blissful joy But I don’t take anyone along. My journey in my dreams spells nothing out loud No sounds are worthy enough of making But if I may try to be so blunt May I make some sounds, as well? Stumbling down a rainbow road Of humanity’s creativity I cannot help but find Some hope for us all. Is it worth to say some dreams Have meaning? Or are they just Void? Nothing makes it so pure To see all our thoughts come alive For the human inside us all Is a dream enough already.
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Apr 14, 2018
Apr 14, 2018 at 12:14 PM UTC
Dream
The device that sings words from my heart A plucking action against the strings should I start From the box of infinity does serenity ring With happiness and joy my arms to cling All of the notes that come out to play Are accurate to the feelings I hope to convey And as I strum, I’ll keep you in mind For love and music are poetically entwined.
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Mar 18, 2018
Mar 18, 2018 at 12:58 AM UTC
Guitar
he was a tambourine _cling-cling-cling_ competing with the guitar, _strrr...uuummm..._ bass, _puuu-waaa...ssh!_ and drums _BO...o...Om!_ In the orchestra he was the conductor's baton _swish-swish-swish_ drowned out by the oboe _BRRR...Rooo..._ cello _teener-neener-teen_ violin _Neee-nah-neee...nahnahnah-nee..._ When he went solo he was a harp _bling-bling-bling-bling..._ graceful, delicate _tling-ling-ring-bling..._ his strings plucked _pling-pling-pling-pling_ by angels
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Mar 7, 2018
Mar 7, 2018 at 9:07 AM UTC
In the Band