"advisory" poems
Nothing is ever time wasted,
just the interlude to the rest of the album. Soon it becomes nostalgia. To think you almost pressed the skip button..
It's all about trying new things.
Slowing were briding the gap.
Looping untold tales of blues and jazz into our samples.
The things considered classical.
Instant vintage.
The things we keep hidden in headphones,
The venerability of hype.
It's always about the crowd.
Afraid to digest something different.
This was the first time I met her.
At first I laughed,
Reaction that I faced my own ignorance.
Listening again finding purpose.
Not knowing that we'd come to spend the rest of our lives together.
All three minutes and forty five seconds.
I was dishonest.
Not revealing anything real about myself until I heard it for the first time.
The first time she sung.
Music.
This wasn't an image to be upheld in front of others.
Or the gossip type spread circle to circle.
I was never exposed to this.
Skimming the top layer ready to press next.
Too far caught in the slander that first impressions can give.
History often repeats itself but this wasn't the case.
This was wholeheartedly the epitome of how she effected me.
The rhythm of how she moved.
How she spoke.
Like that I matured almost instantly.
She became my biggest influence.
A two way street that bridged the gap of my own ignorance.
After time I began to leave my headphones on the dresser.
We were amplified.
She'd follow me everywhere just as I'd follow her.
Soon it caught on to the masses.
Each and every thought became a publicist of what she'd recite over and over again.
A parental advisory issued with every cover.
Finding the one became a catalog.
Stumbling back to the first interlude all over again.
The copyright not for sell
Mar 13, 2018
Mar 13, 2018 at 10:48 PM UTC
*encloses all with
softened light:
exercise repetitions
as health advisory..
decisions on paths
taken and not..
regrets missed connections
weather limitations..
no shorthand LOLs
a throwback letter
to an earlier time
with instant delivery..
this best of both
old and new..
an ending with
affection..
an email of note...!*
May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 12:57 AM UTC
As culled from an arts magazine, 13 March 2019
Socialist Realism - The official doctrine in Soviet art and literature after 1932 that evolved from the traditional commitment to social and civic concerns into an all-pervasive general ideological mandate.
-Yevgeny Yevtushenko, 20th Century Russian Poetry
collective exhibition space vibe community
interactive narrative brown neighborhood
defined commodified Indigenous
identity tone-deaf decolonial
narratives populist intertwined
exhibition curatorial vision
culture local artists arts district small galleries
DIY spaces speaking out against
gentrification displacing shelter
studio space elsewhere late stage capitalism
collective mantra underdog art savior
corporate entity partnering insensitive
ignorant collective brown people art
contemporary work that may not fit
into establishment art galleries
media advisory venture collaborate
creative community authentic
local statement of expression excitement
creative energy arts district project
many levels collaborate local
creative important creative
community what that collaboration
looks like ongoing local artists going
to be engaged in planning commissioned
project community buy-in consulted members of the creative community Indigenous artists curators museum
directors professors burgeoning landscape
cultural framework critique talk individuals
entities inclusivity open
dialogue opportunities project
conversations collaboration discuss
your projects share our work with you
common ground work together healthy sustainable
accountable decolonization
Mar 16, 2019
Mar 16, 2019 at 5:41 PM UTC
Like an airplane reaching its climb they break through
My once composed and seamless blanket is now a
valley of holes punctured and breaking,
They seep into my pores and leave me shaking.
These words manifested as bullets and knives
To do endless damage, leave me barely alive.
But the friendliest of fire is what hurts me the most,
My most powerful enemy and advisory is the one
free to coast.
That who truly knows what is inly flung,
In myself, only I can be undone.
My exterior is a thin barrier,
My only defense against the world.
Sep 20, 2018
Sep 20, 2018 at 4:28 PM UTC
Morning
the alarm goes off
I wake up
I turn it off
I go back to sleep
My mom or dad comes in
they wake me back up
I lie in bed
for 10 more minutes
then I get up
I go to the bathroom
and stare at myself in the mirror
I sigh...
I pretend to wash my face
I go back to my room
I stare at my closet
and decide what I'm going to wear
I get dressed
I go down stairs
I eat one of the following items:
oat meal
-Chocolate chip
-Maple brown sugar
-apple cinnamon
Whole wheat bagel with almond butter, peanut butter, cinnamon, and/or jam
cereal if there are any good options
-Peanut butter bumpers
-GOOD granola
-organic chocolate *****
with coconut milk
toast with the same things as bagels
I say good morning to parents
I argue with my sister
I drink my orange juice
eat my vitamins
bring my stuff up to the sink
go up stairs
I lie on my bed
I go into the bathroom
I brush my teeth
I go downstairs
I pack my backpack
I pick out some shoes
I yawn
I go to school
School
I go to advisory
We play cake(a game)
First class
I space out
I draw pictures
unless that class is of the following:
PE
Writing lab (if it's not about grammer or spelling)
Art
Music(Because all the string instruments make it impossible)
I go to math
I get too confused to know what the hell is going on
I go to writing lab
we write and then teacher goes into some speech about commas
I go to french
I have no idea what the teachers talking about
I go to PE
If we aren't playing soccer, basketball, dodgeball, batmitten, capture the flag, or volleyball than I ****
Lunch
Yay!
I eat
I talk
I chill
More classes
Art
I tell my teacher how much I love her outfit
I read the board
and I make art
Music
UGHHHH
THE TEACHER IS SUCH A GRUMP!!!
I listen to her yell at people
I play my instrument
Study
Almost done with school
I finish a bit of homework
Going home (Or going nordic skiing)
I get a snack
I do homework
I have dinner with the family
I do more homework
I get ready for bed
I read
I go to bed
Every day is the same
the weekend is just a bunch of chores
hanging with friends some times
and stay up late watching my favorite shows:
Bones
Glee
CSI NY
CONAN
SNL
Ugh I need a change.
Jan 13, 2011
Jan 13, 2011 at 1:12 PM UTC
*(this poem don't matter much
unless you balk with ***** to essay upon,
thyself, thy valentine failures,
children and ex's who have ex'd you out,
sad love songs
one more time,
even joyous ones,
foolishness human,
then this intro source code,
is an unnecessary winter weather advisory)*
a phrase, song~played, scratches,
brain self-commands
via electric synapse
To: the current in-resident body
extrude denude private places
riff,
get to thy work,
decompose on them words:
in the private places
play with the lowly lowest ranking,
private, who by nature, sees
finer the dirtiest,
privy to the privy,
privilege them
to the most personal,
spit/spill/weep/deep
some or none of it all,
cause the scratch is the
poetic salvation to that
bitch~itch, write
the best you get,
dispossess the beastie best
in the pvt. places,
ain't much/no difference
tween beastie and all the crapper rest
draw from the private places,
cast up to light,
revelations devaluations sensations
impolite,
well kept secrets
if you can say it good,
then draw it up from the well
where the private places
were|where sent to drown,
and if you can't,
no bother brother,
after this exculpation excavation,
I'll go back with you
to adding a rock to the
bottom of the pile,
the mountain of superficial crap
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 12:13 PM UTC
How a humble son of Scotland
Fought to enviable height
First a paratrooper captain
Then as a British knight
This witty chap from Glasgow
Loaned himself, a decorated past
From Distinguished Service Order
To NATO's advisory cast
As the press took him in notice
His wiki posts drew no pity
As with his tale of valour
He was defamed: "Sir Walter Mitty"
Nov 12, 2019
Nov 12, 2019 at 10:48 PM UTC
I love to hear the songs my mother listened to...
For when she was advising
that was what was playing...
"The love and happiness"
That Al Green stuff.
That stevie wonder,
Off the Wall,
Fat Luther Stuff
I want to hear a band
back up a love ballad...
Because When My mother advised
She showed me good music....
But now my uncle had a baby
A real NWA
sowing his seed
to that "face down *** up thats the way I like to...."
and well thats what he advised
because all throughout the house
it was "All the way live"
And now my cousin got a baby...
Two Chains sounds way better than One..
And since muppet babies don't come on
the lil man hears Wacka Flacka Flame
When the radio comes on
See the labels say it best
Parental advisory
So the music they suggest
will be what rules
Society...
Jun 13, 2013
Jun 13, 2013 at 4:56 PM UTC
A reflection on birthdays, friends departing this world, and surveying ones life
~~~
this one poem is not lurking,(1)
turmoiled bursting,
shaking, quaking,
release aching
write it in droplets,
my chest speak squeaks,
each thought, a stanza,
each moment, a bonanza
of the doled, muddled mix
of tremblings on this my extravaganza,
renaissance day of birth
upon this earth
sixty five calendars,
this space,
so gulf and so narrow, (2)
for what profit this man
for himself, others?
a Judgement Day of sorts,
where the man~poet is efficiently
prosecutor, defender,
judge and jury,
as is he not,
his one true
peer?
let his biases be betrayed,
his fault lines be paraded,
let his deeds be the unlawful legal coda
by which he is remanded
if found guilty of a ledger imbalanced,
more sins than glory,
only one sentence permitted,
life imprisonment
even the NYC weather
clued in and deity cooperative,
wakes me up to this advisory:
Overcast.
Slight chance of a rain shower.
High near 65F.
High near 65.
what portent this oracle,
a warning guide to this morass
of a contradictory, crevassed man
full of mea culpa poetic messes,
his old is his high...
or are these just winking,
birthday instructions from
an observer on high?
this space of years, this life,
so gulf and so narrow,
engulfed, yet so sparse is his barrow,
his first minutes of the day
a lean inventory taking,
for better or worse
as he overcasts a full review,
plus a bonus (!)
a forward progress prognosis
there is a fresh formed
Cain mileage marker upon his brow,
a check-mark scar,
resultant of his self-checkup
upon the tree rings of his tiring body
weeping only because a mistrial is declared
and no verdict returned
and he rises for coffee,
promising himself someday an honest resolution
before...
these the acts of
sixty five calendars,
of this, his-space,
so gulf and so narrow,
subjected to a now daily interrogatory:
*for what profit this man,
his actions, his loved words,
for himself, to others,
to this world?*
October 1, 2015
~~~
(1)
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1417203/there-is-a-poem-lurking/
~~~
(2)
*but I can't stop
for each hour of the last 72
has witnessed a new poem
in-between
minute one and minute sixty five
written for you,
writing for life,
writing of this moment,*
this space so gulf and so narrow
*in and between
the unity of
us*
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1413760/for-ernesto-l-gonzales-aka-the-dedpoet-the-in-between/
~~~
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 5:09 PM UTC
make the reader/lover gasp for the reasoning for breathing
first order of the day, dreamer-reader,
lover,
shock the consciousness from stillborn to newborn and gasp
at what it takes to grasp the physical self
into a riotous state of alertness
recite sweet nothings in one ear,
newly writ lover tricks,
while nibbling on the other,
or perhaps
conducting a general physical examination,
a concerto of seasoning reasoning
your advisory on the human state,
the reasoning for breathing well received
1/7/17 9:59M
Jan 7, 2018
Jan 7, 2018 at 10:23 AM UTC
Another plain ole average day. Facing the treacherous walk through the bustling streets. Swimming against the fish who never look up. Distracted constantly. Faces you'd never know, were people too.
Forecast predicted some winds. Advisory to stay at home. We all know there is no such thing when it comes to work. Grabbed the rain coat and on I went. Barely made it a single block. Couldn't see two street lights ahead. The fish were scarred. Slamming off one another. This was no average storm.
A splash. A wave. Puddle ruined my pants. Passing car coated me with only god knows what. These were ***** waters. Soon rivers, took over the concrete. A rainforest of a jungle now. My tie chocked up my neck. Briefcase forced me to sink.
My eyes soon were teased. I was stranded out at sea, or so it seemed. Until I crashed into an island. I soon found as a haven. Standing beneath the city clock. I waited patiently. Knowing I would never survive out there. Until, a beacon shined through all the grey.
My skin froze. No, not from the rain. From the way this women looked at me. Hesitant yet amazed. Awe filled up inside her faster than it did in me. I blinked. Thought maybe I have finally gone insane. But no, this was happening. We both stood in place as if the hands of time broke down. Something kept the gears idle within the clock tower.
We were drenched from the passing storm. Standing under this monument. We paused accepting the falling waters of the sky. Cowardly so, we never even spoke. Just admired. Simply and silently. Two statues stuck in a daze. Standing as skyscrapers amongst umbrellas.
Looking into each other for a moment that lasted long beyond both our years. The water washed away our wear and tears. The city vanished. The storm ceased to be a bother. The fish faded into the ocean. It was just me and her. Shipwrecked. Stranded. Alone. Or so we thought before. Soon learned, our destinations were never meant to be. We fell in love. Swiftly and unexpectedly. The way the heavens intended. Grey clouds blew through us both and out came the sun. If not for this treacherous storm, I would have never met... her.
- Nicholas A. McNutt
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 2:50 PM UTC
brate be
seven feet
balkan handz
yugo betrugo
atm tear it off
toni da serb
rade belgrade
brate be seven feet
balkan dropkick
es ist optik
es ist kopffick
we so yibbish
we so yibbish
diz is fibbish
gimme widdish
diz be the last day
of yous ridiculous stay
on this world
last day of ya stay
gimme your girl
gimme da cash
para be stammel
du hammel ik fick dich
he a sturdy kidic
aber keine wichtig!
come over and watch
gimme some cash
i'll cut ya head off
yous trash
ain't no madov
ya
know the code bro
inspire me baby
shorty now a sporty
nach dieser feier
gimme some raki
my pantz be khaki
benz like stasi you
know the code joe
gimme gimme gimme
bibi bibi bibi
ain't no real like
the copy of a copy
du opfer ich schneide
deinen kopf ab
eingeweide
quill'n
you gotz to chill
we so yibbish
we so yibbish
diz is fibbish
gimme widdish
jacket originally stolen
cevape and börek
para and babas
we don't care yeah
life be quick
touch my d##k
rub my d##k
life too quick
energy months
mothman *****
michael myers' titts
hyper years
feel me like an o.g.
you know the code brate
wenn ich deine fresse schlage
yugo betrugo
ebonics we got this
yugo betrugo
brate in die fresse pate
we so yibbish
we so yibbish
diz is fibbish
gimme widdish
ain't nothing new
check the views
just one fu##in fan
will burn ya jam
hip hop colors
flip flop mamas
beach feelingz
we need ringz:
MASSIVE
we need chainz:
CUBAN LINK NECKLACE 1 KG CLASSIC
Feb 18, 2020
Feb 18, 2020 at 3:34 PM UTC
I guess the image I had was corrupted I never mentioned filibusted. A seething whit I couldn't match from a advisory who met her match. The prose the verse it all unspun to show what really was undone. So ****** off the parson said and go home to your Steele bed or find a den that warms you more and forget the pain that came before.
Oct 1, 2012
Oct 1, 2012 at 4:13 PM UTC
How can I get it across to you delicately that I want you to do all the ***** things to me you never told anyone, not even your Tumblr?
People say “respect your body”
I respect my body. That’s why I’m asking you to destroy it.
I can beg.
Use me to feel like a man.
You can have me any way you want.
Don’t be gentle.
Scratch me and bite me and make me scream
Bruise me and leave marks on my body.
I’ll do anything you want me to do.
Then when you’re done, you can kiss every part of me I let you destroy, put a t-shirt on my body, tuck me in, and sing me a lullaby.
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 11:13 PM UTC
You are like my
favourite advisory column
among all of my
favourite magazines.
Jan 26, 2016
Jan 26, 2016 at 12:15 AM UTC
Edward Carnegie was once a normal man,
Steel monopolist extraordinaire.
Till a fateful dip in rail stock,
Lead to his discovery of time travel.
Confused, he landed just a few years from the modern day,
Where he was arrested by the Time Police.
"Edward, we'll set you free,
If you defeat public time enemy,
The Alien."
So off went Carnegie to the modern day,
To face off against fellow PTE.
But what was revealed,
Shocked even the Time Police.
His business partner, Henry Frick,
Was the real villain all along.
"Buckle up, we're going back in time!"
Back to the time of steel money,
Frick had almost bested Carnegie.
"The company is mine Edward, stand down!"
Though undenounced to Henry,
His advisory had pumped his veins full,
Of the Blood Of Steel.
Mar 22, 2025
Mar 22, 2025 at 3:06 PM UTC
Thank you for the best present I ever got
Our oasis by the bay,
Was ravaged by storm and hurricane,
And the men came with earth moving equipment
Built us a renewed sheltering wall that,
Soon enough, will be tested.
The earth movers have long gone.
But a malted milk colored mound,
Broad but not too tall, of the good earth,
Smack dab in the middle of the lawn,
Somehow was left behind,
Like the stickers, the new car dealers plant w/o asking.
This mound, conspicuous like most of us,
Seems very out of place.
But like the box the toy came in,
The young children come from houses all around,
To climb upon it and declare for now,
They are the victors over life.
Even the **** deer that eat
The most colorful plants we raise,
Come in the early morn,
To climb to the top,
An advisory from the animal kingdom,
This place, this land, this isand,
You think is yours,
Was ours before and
Has never left our possession.
So I call the contractor,
Come take this vestige of the
Future and the Past off my kingdom of grass,
And when he picks up the phone,
And asks what he can do for us,
I am looking at the children
Dancing, scrambling, climbing upon
An obstacle perfect-sized to let them
Learn the pleasure of success,
I remain silent for I know not
How to say without sounding weirder than
I already am,
Thank you for the best present I ever got.
June 1st
This day, this morning at 5:55 AM.
Jun 1, 2013
Jun 1, 2013 at 5:59 AM UTC
Any Patriots welcome interrogation manipulation coerce this patient showing errors of my ways challenging thinking need a reboot? Write it backwards a queen asleep in the storm of God's prayers a list to the mother crucified to their delight.
I fight.
Parental ****
Advisory vague
Plague
Use my vision see only derision personal shadow devalued
Worlds shadow that binds to grey vanity in the words they pray
Hard headed we're right moving again feeding that bread
That heaven sent
Fire earth we start again
Fear no man I heard one say
Sufficient
Know yourself
Question on a soul level stand for no shovels
Doctors who probe and answer my yes' nos' emptiness grows on this plane we call home. JOB.
The living breathe every day in my stride I speak I pray the word my home not the bombs they throw. My body my own not the pills they grow. This patient knows and this jezebel crows that she follows the word I heard
no, it's deep in the soul
Hers dark and sold, forgiveness on the day the droning drops
drops
Away
In my mind the play speak on your strength let your regret pass away let the beast decay that you made
In my loneliness
Weeping
Crying to the beating
All around the
World feeling
The home we're receiving.
Apr 5, 2016
Apr 5, 2016 at 5:32 PM UTC
Tell me, if loving you is healthy
Been holding my tongue full of worries
Nature's shades can be yellow, blue, or green
Please show me things I have never seen
I'm only asking for dominance, full of desire
You had your chance, I can now call you a liar
My hands cannot stop from writing you different poems
Afterall, I still wonder, will you read all of them?
All of these try-outs are a waste of time
It's all unworthy, was it because I'm out of time?
'Could see your sins and they are relentless
I know you're skilled, though I still think you're perfect
The options I've been dealt are done foolishly
These silly reasons are lowkey plain stupidity
So tell me, if loving you is healthy,
You can tell me the answer to stop and finish it with an advisory
Oct 20, 2017
Oct 20, 2017 at 6:31 AM UTC
The fragility of life..
always like walking on knife.
All the stage of life are often..
pressing, met with love and compassion.
As we gets weaker, incapable...
deeds of life become miserable.
Grief grows as death draws near..
we need every anguish to bear.
Counselors and spiritual advisory..
become more and more dearer.
No disease makes one realize..
when a close one dies.
Good deeds and acts of live..
be our ultimate goal all the time ..
We have to make this great progression
with peace and without aggression.
deovrat - 14.08.2014 (c)
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 1:32 AM UTC
My safety advisory system been elevated to RED
Please be aware of your surroundings at all times and do NOT leave your body unattended....but! I should capitalize that...BUT it is not always a choice. And lately, awareness and attendance to my body have not been a choice. I cannot stay in this body at night. It is uninhabitable. And I tell DT there is so much I can’t talk about. So many things that happened that I’m so ashamed of ~ things I cannot believe I did. And I don’t trust myself. I don’t like the huge blackness that surrounds me that continues to threaten me every night.
I don’t want to remember. I want to forget it all. All of it. Because at night, when the anguish and pain torment me to the point I consider taking a bottle of Vicodin, and slitting my wrists in the bathtub, it scares me. So many things that remind me of back then terrorize me now, in my present moment. And I know I need help with it ~ but at the rate I’m able to communicate about this stuff, I will surely be dead before the torment stops. DT tells me to be patient, be patient…but it just keeps getting worse and one night my patience is going to run out and I will do something irreversible. But still he says, be patient, he says he has respect and patience and he will be here when I'm ready to talk. But I'm afraid to speak because the truth is too scary. I offered to draw him a picture instead. His patience feels infinite and yet I still feel as though I am drowning and he is taking too much time blowing up the life raft.
I feel sick. And I feel worried. The pain is torturing me and the pain meds barely touch it. It’s that bad right now. I want to cut...it’s been a struggle.
And I feel worried. And not just for me. I have two good friends whom are also struggling and I don’t know how to help them because I feel so lost too right now. I want to help them but I don’t know what to do. Just be right here, I guess. I wish I could tell them that it’s going to be okay ~ and I could say that, but I don’t know how long it will be before we make it to okay ~ and I don’t know if I have the energy make it that far.
My Security threat level has now been raised to RED. I am safe right this minute, but I don’t know how long I can stay that way…there is no way to tell.
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 9:01 PM UTC
Last night I heard the Devil talking in my head.
He said it's an emergency.
Said he had some words for me.
He told me when the wicked speak, it's his breath that projects their frosty voices.
That everytime I've lost someone, he was the advisory behind their fatal choices.
He told me he generously opens wallets, doors, legs, we shouldn't go through.
That we do exactly what he desires us to do.
& **Everytime we set that fire to our souls,
He gets high off the smoke.**
Maybe you don't believe in God & you're reading this thinking, man he's so dumb.
& although I respect anyone's beliefs, can you just answer me this, where else would the evil come from?
A child doesn't seek to cause pain, to deceive, lie, or steal, they learn it from us after awhile.
& if there's no Devil, no origin of evil, how'd it get here? Who taught the first child?
These questions deteriate my mind. So maybe it's me, Being a good person is out of style, I'm the only one that seems to have the nerve.
Funny, we say we Love God but we lie more than truth. Hurt more than heal. Steal more than give. If we're doing all the things the Devil wants us to do, then who do we really serve?
My cousin has threw his life away, I whept heavily because maybe it's partly my fault, & although I said for him to do better, my voice was soft as powder.
The Devil doesn't whisper, he doesn't stop speaking, & we must yell our love to the ones we love because right now he's talking louder.
I hear him.
Dec 13, 2015
Dec 13, 2015 at 10:18 AM UTC
Depressed
but I still sit here oppressed by you
and your ******** of how I'm suppose to not **** up.
The consent and ideal mentions of how to be strong willed
fade into the background when I find out you've gone and drank yourself silly and got high to numb the pain.
I'm stressed
but who wouldn't be?
It's been three weeks and it shouldn't be,
without you, there's only two;
my brother and I
but where were you?
Like I've said to you before I'm done
and can't keep playing these games anymore.
You hear what I'm saying but it's like you don't understand.
Then again I guess you never really understood how I worked as well,
but in all honesty
I'm sure as hell not like you.
I'm a mess
but who wouldn't be?
I do my best but it couldn't be,
without you there's only two;
my brother and I
but where were you?
Like I've said to you before I don't care
but whenever I say that, it's like I fill up with despair
Look inside-- my head aches from anger and my heart from forgiveness.
I'm overwhelmed by these emotions and either way I get hurt.
It's you or me
always has been, always will be.
Suppressed
I lay here,
and with doubt I play fair
thinking maybe one day you'll come up to me and say
"sorry."
With emotions so strong,
maybe then I'll buy it.
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 9:44 PM UTC
Hello, my name is Dennis Drain, I am 17 years old and currently attending Silver Creek High School as a junior. My school has officially made changes to its curriculum to fit a big picture school. In this form of schooling students explore there interests and gain high school accreditation threw the real world work they do in the community. In speaking to my advisory teacher Mr. Topp we have found that having an interview with a musician who knows the business would positively impact my career. I have great interest in the rap industry. I have allot of lyrics that I have wrote and would like to start recording. As part of my semester goals I would like to start to build a foundation of musicians, lyricists, company leaders, and producers. You can contact my advisory teacher Mr.Topp during the hours of 9:00 Am and 3:30 Pm at the schools number (208)-578-5060 or through email at [email protected] . I would be able to do the interview via Skype, Facetime or Googlechat. Please help me in attempting to chase my dream through hard work, persistence and the community you belong to. You can contact me personally via email at [email protected] facebook or by phone at (208)-720-0961 ask for Dennis. Thank you for your attention to this email, I look forward to speaking with you in the near future.
- Dennis Drain
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Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 3:29 PM UTC