Wednesday, May 9, 2018

The Good Eye

The photographer takes a picture of me waiting at the drive-thru, all I hear is the camera snap the picture. The photographer is hiding, but I know I heard a camera snap a picture. 
The purpose of seeing has a lot to do with identifying what's around you. I think they call it: "Awareness." The magic is what happens after you open your eyes and see things happening on a full live display, so in first person, I'll chose my words cautiously, because you may get something out of this piece. First let me say that I don't think seeing is everything, because a lot of it has to do with perception. Let me explain: I drove a broken car to pick up my mother's medicine; I know this, but to someone else: I drove a nice car to the drugstore and to a blind man: He heard the car go by. While at the drive-thru, I noticed children playing kickball on a small cement playground from afar. Realizing that I used to be in that state of thought, I noticed a tear falling from my good eye. I won't get into the left and right brain chemistry but my other eye was watery as well, so I'll exclude the thought of a mental breakdown. I'm a grown man who's been through somethings, so don't ask me where the tear came from. Anyone would be moved by what I saw but there was something special about this magical display of live human interaction. The magic was that the children had no clue that a complete stranger saw them playing. If seeing is believing, then I believed that there was something pure about children playing. As an adult, I have a responsibility, yet, I tend to understand my own role in this picture. The light flows through my cornea, into my anterior chamber then through my pupil and my lens focuses on what I believe to be seeing. The tear came from some where deep in my soul. The sound of the children playing hit a nerve, I felt something in my soul as a human being. I don't need sympathy because of what I perceived to be pure, but I noticed something clear about this picture. That may be why the tear fell from my good eye. I then regained my composure and drove off, in my broken car. Maybe it was my sinuses. 

Wednesday, April 18, 2018

She Passed out on Stage

"I love you Sasha," Johnny said.
"You don't love me,  you love Katy," Sasha responded, slamming the door in Johnny's face.
It was her big event tonight, a big show, with fans from all over the world coming in to see her sing. In all of the talk about her selling her soul to the devil and all of the other mess that came with the entertainment business, she still couldn't wait to get on stage and sing her song about bringing people together and talking about her view of the universe. After a life threatening phone call, it was clear that Johnny wasn't going to go away. He even paid to have some nasty pictures of Sasha put out to the public and with less fans that was less money for Sasha. Feeling the heat from her father, she decided to dress modest for her big event, even though she knew it was going to be hot on stage. She even stopped drinking. It was clear to the world that Sasha was turning into a more mature artist and the fans were soaking it in. The feeling was mutual, but the hatred that came with fame had got the best of her and in the middle of her new song, she passed out, and a stagehand had to drag her off of the stage, in front of millions of fans. It was clear that whatever demons that Sasha had been dealing with, they had caught up to her. The strange thing about Sasha's story, is that she was always afraid to fly until she got on stage. Johnny, and all of the hatred towards the attention that she had been getting, had put her in a coma. They got the best of her. In her coma, she was like sleeping beauty waiting for a kiss to wake her up. Fan after fan had written her letter after letter, hoping to hear some good news. They prayed and prayed for Sasha to get up out of her hospital bed. The video of her passing out, had somehow seemed like the last image that the world would see of Sasha. Thirty years after that event, she awoke to a tune that a nurse had been playing. She woke up singing. Doctors, and the last of her relatives, rushed to her aid. The news hit the front page. In the thirty year span, all of the talk about her being possessed and being a lunatic had faded away. Single, cripple, and in a wheelchair, it seemed that she had lost everything, but the good lord spared her voice. At fifty years old, she got on stage in her wheelchair and finished the tour that had crippled her. If she was possessed and had somehow sold her soul to the devil in the past, God had saved her from the wrath of a nation that she represented. Sasha was an American artist, American born, and American made. Through it all, her story lived on, and, til-this-day, people still sing the last song she made about her personal relationship with the angel who woke her up singing. Sasha's story saved the music industry, she brought life back to a dying art. On her death bed, she opened the hearts of haters. Sasha's voice had the power to cast out demons. On stage, she wasn't afraid to fly, and when she died, the sun came out in the midst of the clouds. Sasha spread her wings and flew away.  

Saturday, April 14, 2018

How I lost my mind

At first I thought it was folks obligation to acknowledge me, but I later found out that in all reality, until you earn people's respect, no one really cares. They care, but it's like, it's not them, so why should they. Some people just hate you for just being you and there's nothing you can do about it, so why try, like I said there's nothing you can do about it, leave it alone.
I started having these strange thoughts after I saw people who lost their limbs in wars and later found out that drug dealers were shipping drugs in their coffins, my mind went blank after that. I guess some people lose their minds first and when you lose yours, then that's when they start asking for forgiveness. Has anyone seen my real father? I sure am glad someone stepped in and took over the load. I've always tried to be a good person, I don't know why a parent wouldn't want to be around me, maybe it was something else, something that I don't know about. I wish I had the money to pay back the man who stepped in, but I guess that's the great thing about sacrifice; I'll vote for him to make it to heaven, my heaven, at least.
I somehow made friends with a guy who tried to commit suicide because his wife left him and probed him for child support. After seeing him crying in the hallway and listening to his word selection on the phone with his ex-wife, I decided to get married myself. I didn't make it. I guess that's why everyone breaks the rules. At least I tried.
Two days later I saw this lady with no cloths on and decided to watch, I later was told that I had a chemical imbalance in my brain and shouldn't look at people who like to be naked in front of other people. I guess the corporations don't sponsor stuff like that because they can lose money. Once again, I lost one. I'm a sinner, I'm sorry but after it's done, it's done, and I can't go back and close my eyes. The thoughts won't go away, you know.
I decided to apply for a job but they told me I was too qualified so I decided to start building engines and selling them for a cheaper price than my competition. When I started making money I actually felt like a somebody, then my girlfriend got jealous because other girls were excited to see me. Strange things started happening when I started making money and somehow my engines were not the hottest thing on the market anymore. I guess that's the price of winning then losing.
I don't like hurting people but for some reason I couldn't help but notice people didn't mind hurting me. Oh boy, I'm on to something.
I tried to entertain the crowd, so I told the truth about how I felt and they booed me off stage and banned me from ever coming back and performing again. When I woke up the next morning, I felt like trash for getting what was on my mind out to the masses.  They say honesty is an expensive gift. That maybe why I'm kicking the can down the road.
What really was the tipping point was the night when no one showed up to my event and went to my buddy James's event instead. He killed someone and I found out that he made a lot of money for what he did and for some odd reason people keep giving him more of their money. Um, excuse me officer, I think you may be arresting the wrong guy.
I started to feel paranoid when all of these people started asking me questions about my financial situation. I know there are a lot of people doing things that they shouldn't be doing and succeeding at it, but I'm broke and they keep bothering me. I wonder why, but it's fine, I enjoy the company. I guess I found my answer.
Sitting alone in a room every night, I start having these visions of what life would be like if I were not born, but it's too late, I'm here now, I have to make the best out of it.
After trying to reason with so many things that don't make sense, I just have to take it as it comes and that's how I lost my mind, I think. I may have lost it when I thought I was king of the world and everyone bowed down to my statue, nah, it may have been before that. I may have lost it when I realized that I had given everything away for free and found myself broke. Yelp, that's how I lost my mind, I lost it when I thought everything was free. That may be why I have to pay for this pill now, I have to pay for it so I won't forget to remind people that everything cost money, even my own medicine. And that's how I lost my mind, I lost it when I found out that everything comes at a price. A price that someone will eventually have to pay for. 

Tuesday, April 3, 2018

The Show that Saved the World

"I'm afraid Rios, I'm afraid," Cassandra says, taking off her costume.
"Afraid of what? Cassandra, we need you to get it together. I'm tired of being booed off stage. We finally have an audience and you're afraid," Rios says, while trying to coax Cassandra into getting back on stage.
"I'm tired of this. I can't do it."
Cassandra runs and locks herself in the bathroom backstage. She falls to the ground shaking.
Looking at her script, Tasha notices that she only has one act before her scene and the audience is enjoying the show. Tasha frantically knocks on the bathroom door.
"Cassandra, we're going to need you to get it together," Tasha says, in a high-tone whisper.
Wiping the tears from her eyes, Cassandra tries to ignore them.
"I can't do it."
Tasha begins to rub the door as though it were Cassandra's back.
"Cassandra, I need you to listen to me. Show business is all I have right now. I've lost everything. This is the only thing I have left that makes me happy. I'm going to need you to get it together. I don't know how word got out but we have a good crowd tonight. Please, Cassandra, I've lost everything. I need this show," Tasha says, begging, eager to get in the bathroom to convince Cassandra to finish the show.
Silence fills the backstage atmosphere. The whole crew, even those in the act, now have Cassandra's part on their minds. Then the knob on the bathroom door begins to turn. Cassandra slowly walks out of the bathroom and heads straight towards the backstage curtain. No one says a word, they just follow. Peeking from backstage, she notices her father in the crowd, the audience is really feeling the show. She fixes her costume, grabs her prop, looks at her fellow cast members, then enters stage right.
In the midst of her performance, flashes of articles of dead friends, school shootings, and lost loved ones flow through her mind, over and over again. In character, she tries not to notice the huge crowd, but that's really all she and the crew really ever wanted, nothing more. Exiting the stage, Tasha thanks her as the audience applauds and stands. Throughout all of the hardship and heartache, throughout all of the mayhem and destruction, the show went on. As roses fly on stage, everyone proceeds to curtain call and takes a bow. Cassandra glances at all of her fellow cast members, and waves towards the good audience. They all take a deep breath, exit stage left, while also walking over the roses on stage.
"What a good audience," Tasha says, noticing the lights fading to black.
"What a good audience." She says again, then sits down backstage and says no more.
 Everyone places everything back in order for the next show.
Cassandra's dad takes the footage of his daughter from his phone and uploads it to YouTube. For some odd reason the country's mood went from sadness to excitement.
It was a good audience.
That show, somehow saved the world. 

Sunday, April 1, 2018

Purple Schizophrenia

A dentist studies oral specimens like a surgeon studies organs.
A preacher will talk about things from the heavens, while the nature of a prostitute can hold a man from reaching the temple of his brain.
Psychologically, rhythmically, and harmoniously, a writer must search for words to relay his or her message.
Some words have meaning and some don't, but a person is forced to wear purple when misunderstood.
Laying in her hospital bed, in her mind, she sees mass amounts of followers tugging at his robe. Words from choirs singing in her head.
Wool hair with the rays of the sun resounding from the temple of his head, like the hair of a lion. The knowledge of a psychologist cannot explain that which is not of this world, that which she is holding on to, that which is telling her of another world. The voices won't go away. 
The mysteries of dying lost souls, searching for a savior.
Isis, Osiris, Horus, and Set.
Mary, Joseph, Jesus, and Lucifer.
Amon, Amun, and Amen.
She, who hears from the Gods.
A breakdown in the relationship between thought, emotion, and behavior, leading to faulty perceptions.
Withdrawal from reality with inappropriate actions and feelings.
Fantasies of heaven and delusions of heaven and earth coming together as one.
The dumb, the blind, and those held as slaves, all leaving the presence of this world to follow him.
The voice in her head telling her that he is God.
Jumping up from her bed, she notices Mary Magdalene standing in the corner of her room, telling her about a man who would listen to her.
Born king of angels, speaking of things other than this world.
A universe in his own mind, clothing made of fine cloth, a shepherd for the sheep.
The alpha and omega, a feature with feathers of sparrows surrounding him while healing souls.
Monotheism, a threat to the rulers of earth so that every knee shall bow and worship him.
An ankh, reshaped in the image of a man being tormented and crucified on a cross.
Could this be the answer for everyone's woes.
Rising for the sins of mankind, only to bare the burden of such a cunning and sinful creature.
Pages from old scrolls with magazine pictures of old Pharaohs with their noses missing.
"If you choose to pay close attention, you may find the keys to Zion in the old artifacts, look closely they're laced with gold," another voice whispers in her ear. 
Lying back down, the smoked mirrors separate her from the other psych patients, blinded by truths, truths hidden in plain sight, in the shapes of triangles and pyramids in the forms of wires through the looking glass?
While her mind is dissected and fed medicine to heal her lost soul, the sun stands still in the sky as the medicine puts her to sleep, only to rise again in the morning.
In a field of scholars, two wise men become distracted by a married woman with children visiting her wearing a purple dress.
In repentance, they contain their thoughts. 
Blinded by the light, glaring from the sun, they notice a few disciples in the distance pointing to a swinging pendulum on the clock. Visiting hours are over.
She speaks of flying six point stars and children in the slums of Israel, running from fragments falling from the sky.
"Don't leave me here alone, please don't go," She screams, while crying, as her visitors exit the ward. 
Unnerved by lack of attention to the matter, she watches as her sovereign family fades beyond the horizon of her padded room and on their voyage through psychological academia they grow to understand that a poor woman's makeup is the dirt on the ground. Although delusional, she tries to follow, and at the end of her journey she finds no one at the cross and a tomb with no one in it.
Awe struck, and a prisoner in her own mind, she steals a purple cloth from the psych ward then jumps into a crowd of people labeled with the sickness called: Schizophrenia. A man in white scrubs chases her into the crowd, wrestlers her to the ground, only to baptize her in a sink of medicine. She later awakes, reborn, with a fresh start in a padded room. When she is set free, she spreads her message while holding on to the purple cloth. It appears as though she has found a savior. It appears as though she has been born again. It appears as though she has been healed.
All the while, everyone else thinks she's crazy, but in reality she just sees things differently.     
She's a believer.   

Tuesday, March 27, 2018

Get back up and try again.

You may notice a few bruises on a champion and you may see some people get eliminated from a spelling bee.
The magic is when you see them try it all over again next year and are forced to retire from doing what they once believed that they couldn’t do.
After getting knocked out and eliminated so many times, they almost make it look easy, once they get it right.
When their run is over and there’s nothing left to do, they sit down and talk about it, so you, and people like you, will get back up and try again, just like they did.
If taken care of properly, a broken bone will heal, but don’t you understand it’s motivation is to heal and get better.
The moral of the story is to get back up and try again.

Wednesday, March 21, 2018

The Ghetto

Okay, first let me figure out somethings.
A genius is suppose to be someone unique, in some pretty normal or odd circumstances.
That may just be my interpretation.
I woke up and realized that sometimes a normal situation can be just someone's interpretation of normal.
So in reality what may seem normal to me may not be normal to you.
Forgive some of my wording but I'm just typing to give you an idea of a "ghetto" interpretation.
The definition changes because the word has a harsh meaning but if you're reading this then I'm sure it got your attention. 
I guess I'll use myself; being raised in some rather unusual circumstances, I may see things that I can relate to that other people cannot.
I'll try my best to explain the situation.
I woke up on the street where I used to live when I was a kid.
Don't ask me how I ended up in my old room, but I did.
I decided to come back.
Running from reality, I asked my dad to stay at the house where I spent the majority of my youth.
My intentions were to take my retirement money and help him get things back in order.
Don't ask me why, but he kept the old place; that could explain why nothing worked the way it used to.
There was a rat about the size of my two fist hanging around, so I killed it, or him.
I think it was trying to be my friend, I don't know, it kept popping up in some odd situations.
Realizing that there was a dead rat in the house being consumed by ants, the word "proper" popped in my head.
Proper is a term that could mean something different to those who don't know what it means, especially when you see artist or volunteers spray painting ideas on other people's property.
To the doctor, none of what I'm seeing or experiencing is proper because a rat can spread disease and people shouldn't be painting other people's property.
To the scholar, that's not normal.
The reason why I say this is because to the painter, it may seem proper or normal.
If only my nose were unclogged, I might know what the smell is that's making me light headed.
I can only imagine what plant the people across the street are hiding. 
Kids can find some amazing toys in this neighborhood, she seems so happy jumping on that dirty mattress on the curb.
The water man must be painting the curb to mark his territory or it could be that someone just didn't pay the bill.
A teenager on the roof with a tarp and a wooden ladder laying on the spouting, it must be about to rain.
A firing range must be on the other street because someone let off a few rounds last night.
I wonder where all of the people went that used to live in this neighborhood, it used to be so filled with life. 
For some odd reason as a child the sun seemed to shine so bright in this neck of the woods.
I guess it was because I saw things from a different angle or was just too young to see things clearly.
Now the houses that once stood are all torn down.
The people don't seem happy at all, there's a big argument going on down the block.
I've just come to accept that by me coming back here, I'll never be taken seriously again, but I'm fine with that.
I've always considered myself mentally challenged for always willing to give others a helping hand,
Or maybe I just see things in people that they don't see in themselves.
The selection of music seems to be displayed in the oddest fashion because all I hear is bass and for some odd reason maybe just a few houses seem organized.
I guess the people who bettered themselves left, never to return again.
I guess the girl who got beat up on the corner some years back, cursed this place.
Looking out of the window, I remembered how this place used to look.
I remember flashes of the big dude and his gang waiting for me to come out of the house so they could finish me off.
I remembered telling my mom to tell them to go away because I had no more fight left in me, I could barely see out of my right eye.
I have a positive outlook on life though.
That maybe why I'm one of the few who came back to try and save this place.
I could give up at any time now.
I figured if I spent all I had and came back, others would get the point, that maybe why they fixed the pot holes in the street or it may just be because someone complained.
Realizing the lack of hope, I looked around at the dirty walls and remembered the day I left for the Navy, only to be injured trying to fight Captain Hook.
Like Peter Pan in Never Never Land, I came back for the lost boys, only to find that they all grew up and found a new home.
I missed the memo that some lost their life defending their territory when I left.
And some struck gold, never to return to the ghetto again.