Monthly Archives: September 2013

The Reason We Become Angry

Have you ever had a missed opportunity that bothered you? And felt frustrated or angry with yourself because of it? This piece came to me today at work after recalling such an event. Enjoy.


My, how that one thought keeps appearing to torment me day after long day. Usually people I would say I was pretty relaxed, at least I’d say. But that one ridiculously mindless accident still haunts me. You know the one I’m talking about? The one you can’t let go of. Not one second will pass where I do not contemplate the fragile hairs in my head and how it would feel to slowly rip them from my skull. Some stinging steam steadily rises up through my body. A bubbling devious creature that slyly floats up from the murk. At first I’ll watch my fingers cramp up before balling themselves into tight red fists, I feel my eyes immediately glaze over. A solitary thought enters my mind: rage. Not even the cause of my undying frustration is clear anymore. My entire being fills with a heavy impenetrable dark smoke. Logic begins to evaporate from my brain and is subtly replaced with false desires. An unhealthy obsession with biting my nails begins. I pace maniacally in breathy short circles. Fuming. Panting. Smoking. Compared to everything around me, I feel heavy. Even the white walls that surround me appear as soft as white cotton. Wishing to sink my fist into anything within the vicinity becomes my sole focus. Running my hands over my face and through my hair seems to be the only sense of calm I can receive. Even then I find myself pulling at my skin by the tips of my fingers, aggressively grabbing tufts of my thick hair. Nothing can subside this growing fire burning behind my eyes. Waiting is the only medicine I can produce for myself but that only aggravates me more as the feeling of restlessness consumes my every movement. Pace pace. Sigh. Pace pace. Sigh. The familiar sound of a tea pot whistling fills my ears like a cliche cartoon animation. Anger- the beating of the rams heart in the face of unsuspecting trespassers. And the Survivors of interactions with such a creature? Either left brutally wounded or unscathed with nerves torn virtually asunder by the sheer image of wrath incarnate. Meditating on these thoughts of destruction returns my mind to ease. One must inhale to exhale. One has to sleep to dream. I must know anger to understand the value of my smile. Focusing on my lips, I let my chest drop and feel my lungs slowly become empty as the elevator in front of my opens with a ding.

Check out my Thoughts on Anger under the prose section of this blog!


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Posted by on September 30, 2013 in Journal Entries, Uncategorized, Writings


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Letter to the Millienials: Envy

Reflecting on the Christian ideas of the seven deadly sins gave me the idea to start a new prose series entitled: Letters to the Millienials. The main concept for this series being advice in the form of written lectures that I think might be helpful for the people of my generation. Today’s topic is the ‘vice’ known as envy. (Please know that my beliefs are meant to be open towards all religions, faiths, cultures, colors, peoples, and styles. The fact that this post was inspired by the Catholic notion of the seven deadly sins is not meant to be in any exclusive or judgmental. I mean for this writing to be free of judgment and only a way to give advice by offering my own humble perspective.)


Homies and peeps, let us remember our true nature is not that of the thief. We have been mostly tied to a culture of theft in our generation, specifically to harbor the happiness of others as our own. Recall a time when your peers received a reward or gift and you did not. Envy is usually born immediately- it may be in fact our first reaction, however we should not confuse it with our natural instincts. For envious thoughts breed slanderous tongues. when jealous thoughts and tongues become one, this is when we put on the mask of the thief. A creature who only strikes when the victim is most exposed for fear that he might otherwise be caught or punished. Rather than accepting the other’s happiness as something to relish in we find excuses to ridicule them, to belittle their accomplishments, or steal their deserved spotlight. Our inability to realize that we too can feel proud when someone else does, keeps us from sharing and leads us down the path of thievery. Nay, millienials this is not our natural instinct. This action of thievery has been bred in us by our society. Remember, one of the sole things in this world worth having is happiness and it happens to be highly infectious. The folly of envy is its ability to make us ignorant of this natural and factual law of life.



Posted by on September 26, 2013 in Journal Entries, Metaphysical Phenomenon, Writings


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What Keeps Our Axles Turning

The tendency of society is to over glorify things, to further romanticize what is already romantic, and to see only two sides to a spectrum. Pandora_opening_the_box

Indeed as the last generation grows older don’t we hear more and more about how great the past was? How if only we could go back? How everything was much better then? A cry out to the simpler times.

The notion of true love now existing as the cliche plot of a child’s fairytale, the cruel white knight saving a cooing helpless beauty. These retired stories never mentioning how the princess reacts to what her beloved knight had to do, kill, slaughter, and violently slay in order to save her. Or the nightmares he suffers later from the turmoil of his trials. Or the guilt both share as their happily ever after dwindles into the monotony of everyday.

Maybe the concept of imperfection, not having things go our way is too much for us to bear as a whole. We are unmistakably aware of our lack of control. For this reason we may look to the past for bliss or read those flawed but pretty stories for comfort. To search for a world with no risks and to live once upon a time like fools perishing on their journey for some Inexistent grail.

In the same way we pin ourselves against the other for lack of understanding. An age old and immature belief that ‘they’re not like me so they must be the opposite.’ My enemy, even. Persistent thoughts of good versus evil, black and white, republican, democrat, woman, man, cradle and grave. The concept of grey cast to the wayside, a flag constantly battered, torn, yet somehow tempered stronger like the sword by sea salt from the nearby bay.

Why not teach ourselves differently? And accept the quality of imperfection as something to celebrate? Wouldn’t the fables be more enticing if they focused on how the hero and heroine put aside their differences and overcame themselves for each other? Instead of appearing like two god-sent matching puzzle pieces? Wouldn’t the future appear brighter if the past weren’t idolized as our goal? And how much less bloody would our wars be if we sought to wear the glasses of our neighbors? The shoes of our enemies? And the clothes of our trespassers?

There are no holy wars, no ‘good ol’ days,’ nor perfect unrequited loves in this fantastic planet. And the paradox of our world is that this is in fact what makes life perfect. The challenge of each new day, the struggle of acceptance, and the incredible diversity of not only the human race but our universe. Yes, though the pains, demons, strifes, and tragedies of Pandora’s box persist today, the greatest gift of hope in ourselves is what still keeps our axles turning- eager for the promise of each perfectly imperfect day.

Find Pandora’s Box under the prose section of this blog. Hope you enjoyed!


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Posted by on September 25, 2013 in Journal Entries, Uncategorized, Writings


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My little brother calls me over from the table and over to a tree next to the grill. “Look,” he says in excitement, “you can see the rays of the sun because of all the smoke!” He points up to where white plumes of smoke circle around columns of holy red light then turns away to begin tossing himself the football that is usually by his side. The wisdom of this twelve year old kid astounds me for a second before I recover myself. As If he had called me over just to remind me ‘hey, there’s beauty all around…everywhere, all the time!’ I think of all the times I’ve neglected hanging out with him as we both grew older or the shows I missed. But now, as it always is when we hang out, it didn’t mean anything. The times we are together were the ones that counted. All the silly jokes and music and games we have shared lasted ten times longer then the time we spent apart. The pointless fights and yelling and the nine years and two months difference between us means nothing. In its essence, this is the struggle and undying compassion of brotherhood. An unspoken bond that neither lightning nor earthquake can dismantle.

Thank you Gabriel for teaching me things no professor ever could. Check out his band The Zeppos playing Whole Lotta Love by Led Zeppelin. ~thelionwriter

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Posted by on September 22, 2013 in Journal Entries, Music, Uncategorized, Writings


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Seeming is hard to Believe

Though I kept feeling this poem was to vague or broad in its scope, I could never figure out what to add or remove to complete it. I finally decided that maybe the message was meant to be lost, the rhythm of the poem is more the focus here. For example, the words move at a pace that help focus on the most important parts. Halfway a cross between cynicism and hopefulness, Sometimes can be found under the poems section of this blog.


seeming gets no belief

how do we happen

then die to re-live

everything done ever before

constantly new,

to be explored,lego-1


a consistently



that paints


while waiting,

for foreign audience

and coward witness

to speak the puzzle,

or have it written


either conductor’s wand

or director’s lenses,

the painter’s brush,

or the lover’s linens,


an obvious and silent song

lay visibly hidden

in the pouring ponds

reflected vision

shining lessons


to destroy,



without a tension,


lest not we mention

our carelessness now,

lest not we mention

how far off we’ve gone,

lest not we mention

this play’s final bow,


till somebody mentions

we know not






or how

eyes flit

and raise your brow,

till split

life makes a smile


crystal clear

so that muddy fears

unapologetically fade and eventually disappear


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Posted by on September 20, 2013 in Writings


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The Wings of a Butterfly (Change)

Not sure where the idea for this profound little prose piece came from but I do remember I was at work when I thought about all the ways I had changed and the way we all change. This piece could be me, you, or anyone deeply reflecting on the Buddhist principle of Impermanence. Embrace change for it is the only thing we know is true. Moment by Moment can be found in the prose section of my blog! Enjoy!



Tomorrow beckons like the promise of a caterpillar’s future. Ready to be released from that deep coma as something fresh. I raise my head towards what is next, slowly shedding the skin of my past. My mistakes, my faults, and my missed opportunities. But in this great and necessary exchange, am I also shedding my successes, my heroics, or bravery? Clasping to those paper-like memories, crumpled in the corners of my mind. Waiting to see what remains as each night I lay down to die. But do the oars of a boat push old waves behind it or simply wade through what is always new? And does that little worm remember who it was as it now flies from its cocoon? This resounding chorus of constant change- the only truth- is painted on the wings of a butterfly, the linear yet chaotic veins of the leaves, in the deep caverns of your pupils, and even heard in the solitary whisper of the grating rainstorm.

Still, I am tempted to scorn who I was for the embrace of who I am now. And still, I am tempted to dwell on what I did do rather than what can be done. Will the new winged creature lament the loss of his coat or the endless sleep it grew to love?

No. Impossible.

Isn’t the butterfly still a product of the cocoon? Didn’t its little shelter need to be woven by the caterpillar? And without the small clump of cells it once started as, when it was not even conscious of what it would become yet? Where would this butterfly be?

The worm’s whole future. The bug’s entire past. Exist with it as moment by moment pass.

By simply being there and being what it is, the world’s smartest creatures are the ones who simply live. Enacting their own transformation by occurring out of time. Knowing that sometimes change is just the wait to fly.


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Posted by on September 20, 2013 in Writings


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The Behavior of Smoke

Ahem. This poem is about smoke *cough cough* more specifically about the way it behaves and what it can look it like. This poem was also a way for me to experiment with different rhythmical patterns in my poem writing, in music this poem would be read in a time signature of 3/4. The poem Wisp can be found under the poems section of this blog.  Enjoy!

Envision smoke’s behavior

Neurotically creeping nowhere

Leaning slack, then forwards

Miniature worlds embroidered:smoke

Blue, clear spots

Never with a top,

Ceilings changing not

Its course,

Only spreading more

Unfurling forth,

Both soapy and coarse

Wrapping and thrashing

Too slowly to touch

Rapidly jumping marks,

Lined circles and cross

Dropping or cropping

Some photo-less thought

Sinking by drinking

In flipping



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Posted by on September 18, 2013 in Writings


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