I think I'm going to go downstairs and have a cup of cider before I go to sleep,
so that I can dream with bubbles in my stomach.

Fish: "Oh, how depressing my life is.
No permanent home, no family.
Always flying around and searching for something new.
Look at that snail. How lucky he is for having a home."

Snail: "Oh, how depressing my life is.
I must carry my home on my back, no one is here to help me.
Always dragging my feet on the ground, I'm scared of
the predators who laugh at me.
Look at that fish. How lucky he is for flying through the seas."

People wish to be so different.
Being a critic of the norm.
Going somewhere no one knows of and keeping that secret to oneself.
All for oneself.
Deciding to eat at a diner with 'class' and forgetting the places like
McDonalds that once treated us nicely.
Falling behind in class and proudly stating that 'it's for my purpose.'
Purposely disliking things because many like it.
Trying to find an art that describes someone.
personally.
Then talking about how abstract art is and how it's 'amazing'
When in reality, nothing is seen in the clash of colors.
People who look at Old English painting and scoff at it,
because they don't have 'anything special' in it.
People who believe the 'unique' music they listen to define who they are
and no one else.
People who try to jam pack essays with interesting information to display
out their 'uniqueness', when in the end the reader, not even the writer,
understands what the piece of writing, or piece of jumble, is talking about.
People who've lost touch for the outer focus, the realm surrounding the
'message' or the 'theme'.
People who love the 'vintage life and fashion' without even really being
a part of the era, and only hating the normal life and fashion.
People who are introduced to something, but who try to look only for things
that are strange, or erroneous.
People who don't realize that they've overdressed themselves when all
they wished to do was cover that open space under the collar bones.
People who dislike nature hikes because of the lack of 'beautiful flowers,
the green grass scenery, and 100 acre forests.'
People who 'pfft' at typical love stories.
People who must argue everything that has a mistake.
People who abandon the ethics of hard work to discover the ethics of talent.
People who say they must be something more than conservatives or liberals,
something more than just a student, or an artist, or an already brilliant person.

Then I must ask, who are you?
Sincerely.


The Cliche Fashion: Why bother being isolated when the cliche has not even been fully understood?

 

The more abstract I become,
The simpler I see things.

Take a piece of paper.
Cut it up.
8.5 x 11 = 85 x 110 squares
Fold them.
Baby paper cranes.
Fly them.
The dance of the sleeping moon and its scraped colors.
Blend them.
Black bean cappuccino. White cream.
Drink it.
Let it seep through your skin.
The pores release.
Space Station: Human sector.
Rocket ships blast through the air.

You've just released
what you've drunk
what you've blended
what you've let fly
what you've cut
what was once a paper.

You drew on it without drawing on it.
You made the art.
You became the art.

So simple it is,
away from the abstract view of the outside.

"The human voice is enchanting, so you combine that with something
to say based on your experiences, based on your political understandings,
and then you weave the words in such a way that it's in somewhere in between
song and speech but it's not a speech and it's not a song
it's you become you...in your poetry."

"Rap is just a stem, a part on the branch that comes from what we [African Americans]
are all about. This is better understood in a Baptist church. The preacher, he's philosophizing
a line of some truth, and he's speaking very clearly. In order to get the church in the movement
of the rap that he's coming down with, he has to get more than a cadence going, he has to
get a rhythm going. And it's the rhythm that signifies and identifies where he goes next, and if
it gets good the preacher's no longer speaking, he's just making sounds."

"Freestyle...where you just respond to the impulse has to be the most spiritual...you have no idea
what you're going to say next...it's coming from something that's not directed. This is what most of
our creative expression does, it's so spiritual we don't need a book, we don't need an explanation,
we are musicians, we're artisans...we are poets."

"[Freestyle rap is] Improvisation homeboy!"


I love hip hop.

The name is of Old English origin:
"Wealthy Protector"

Edmond is the French form.

Edmund Halley: Astronomer
('Hollow Earth')

Edmund Hillary: Mountaineer and Explorer
(First climber to reach Mount Everest)

Edmund Spenser: Poet
('The Faerie Queene')

Edmund Husserl: Philosopher
(Father of 'Phenomenology')

Saint Edmund: Martyr who refused to divide the Christian Kingdom of England

King Edmund II: Last-ditch effort to revive the defense of England and fend off invasion
('Ironside')

Edmund: Antagonist in Shakespeare Play,"King Lear"
"Now, gods, stand up for bastards!"

Edmund H. Garrett: American illustrator, painter, and author
("A Street in Granada") I live in Granada Hills!

Astronomer, explorer, philosopher, artist, author, defender, martyr, antagonistic minority.

The name Edmund has been steadily declining in popularity.
In 1990-2000, the name Edmund "did not rank at all
within the top 1000 most popular names for baby boys in the U.S."

I'm proud to be Edmund.


Are you proud to be yourself?

I see the light!

Scribble, Scribble, Scrabble, Babble,
Drabble, Apple, ROFL, Happy Snapple,
Dee bee doo bee dee bah do do
Jeebee JAH BAH wootah wootah~!
Hoo hoo hoo hoo.

...


I've fallen.
From exhaustion.

But I've just been enlightened:
What I see is indescribable,

And that's the light magic of it.

If my son asked, "Is Santa Claus real?", I'll say no.
I'll tell him that Santa Claus is a role model no one yet claimed to be.
A magical man who "kis" the seasons to be jolly.
I hope his dream is not to meet Santa Claus, but to be Santa Claus.

If my daughter asked, "Are fairies real?", I'll say no.
I'll tell her that fairies are figments of our imagination.
Magical ladies who sprinkle love and lift hearts.
I hope her dream is not to see a fairy, but to be a fairy.

What can make me any happier,
than to see my daughter flying with my son,
spreading the message that we can all be

Santa Claus

Fairy.

They'll make me feel like a child all over again.

I hope she's playing well right now, her violin that is
I couldn't even see her, not even for practice.

Sitting in the car, I tried to mimic the expression of a dog that leans out of the car window
to feel the breeze particles flow through its hair and fur.
I didn't stick my tongue out though, because I didn't want to get any bacteria in my mouth.
I stuck my head back in the car, afraid that my mom would accidentally pop the front view
automated car guillotine (if I were to cynically detail sliding car windows).
Driving down Rinaldi, I observed the houses by the street.
At first I tried to estimate how much the houses were, because my mom told me that houses
built by the open streets are usually cheaper.
Then I digressed my train of thought like a man with his head stuck inside a field of golden lilies.
The colors, the shapes, the materials, the scope!
Everything about everyone's house was so different.
Many people may pass by and think, "Oh this house is just ordinary, nothing special."
But to me, that's how I can see things as special.
Being different without forcing any difference.
Alice in Wonderland type of houses here and there may jump on our clock-watching temptations and make us think,
"OH DEAR! I'M LATE! I'M LATE! I'M LATE I'M LATE I'M LATE! I MUST PURCHASE THIS HOUSE
BEFORE ANYONE ELSE DOES!"
Those kinds of houses are unique, but they all seem to try to do the same thing: be different.
My house is not a celebrity, it's a companion I share my privacy with.
That's why, as long as my house is cozy enough that the chimney snores, warm enough for the fireplace to tell bedtime stories,
affordable enough for my wallet to stay obese, and safe enough to blast rainbows through the windows and doors
and leave wide openings, I'd be happy.



Besides, there's a smaller chance of being robbed.

I was going to write about this in my college essay.


I would go into my bathroom early in the morning naked and take care of personal business.
As I rubbed the crust off my eyes and made a "Thinker" pose, I observed my toes wiggling like gentle waves
passing through the nails of a loving couple's feet, outshining and reflecting the beauty of their steps.
The teeth and nails must be in love also, because they fight over who shines who when the sun is out with them.

I tried to look up at the light that made a buzzing noise, calling my attention to my grumbling stomach.
The upper half of my body slightly fell as I rubbed my stomach, and that's when I felt a sudden strain on the back of my neck.
Going back to my thinker pose (and excusing my stomach), I thought about how maybe this is a sign that it's easier and
less painful for humans to look up at something rather than look down on something.

It's a stretch, but not as wide as my hungry stomach.

It's the morning people! Rise and shine! Open the curtains and feel the fresh air coming from above!
The light coming from above!
Face above the skies and feel your body rejuvanate with the light that only rests in the night!


Our teeth and our nails then can love with with the sun.
Just by looking up.

Reading through a summarized version of the New Testament, I made a conclusion that Jesus was a philosopher.
His philosophy attracted many, for it made sense and it was compelling.
However, he has God behind him, and so he does not have infinite wisdom.
I think that's why I can find a connection with him.
I like to think of Jesus as my dearest friend, not a father.
And a dearest friend can be a father.

I went on Youtube after reading a few pages and searched "Passion Of The Christ Scenes"
I clicked on a video and it was the scene when Jesus was tied to a wooden pole
and sinister, beast-like king's men (they are not warriors in my eyes) were enjoying with passion
making him suffer.
I had a huge bubble wrap on my lap.
Every time they slashed him, I popped a bubble.
I wanted to feel the "impact" Jesus was feeling, because popping huge bubbles can be very sharp
in sound, distracting me from paying attention to his pain.
Yet, I didn't want to be distracted from his pain, so I did it to be distracted for his pain.
It is definitely not as intense as his pain, but my heart popped too.
This parallelism made me want to be with my dearest friend, yet I didn't want to get slashed in place of him.
It was out of cowardice, and so I squeezed all the air from the bubble wrap to redeem myself.

Until the day I would take slashes for a friend, I wish my wisdom to grow like the expressions of your face.

He wrote his first journal entry last night.
He better understood himself.

There are many good people in this world.
Though they aren't all good.
There are many bad people in this world.
Though they aren't all bad.

There are those that are guilty.
There are those that are innocent.
There are those that regret.
There are those that suceed.
Yet these can't exist without each other.

There are those who love.
There are those who hate.
There are those who like.
There are those who dislike.
Yet from the reflection of our own selves, we can't choose among them.

Both the good and the bad are together like respiration.

Through all things good,
a huge donation,
a donation of love,
a lovely greeting,
a greeting of friends,
a friendly travel,
a travel through lands of peace,
a peaceful conversation,
a conversation of smiling thoughts,
a thought to smile at everyone in the world,
a world of bright ladies and gentlemen,
ladies and gentlemen who love one another,
one another is as important as oneself,
one carries the goodness that revolves around and recycles unknowingly.


Through all things bad,
an ambush to steal,
stealing another one's heart,
a heart that's been broken,
a broken dream,
a dream without love,
a love that isn't true,
the truth deceived,
deceiving to earn,
earning without giving,
giving no hope,
hopeless beings that are dying,
one could care less about others,
and the badness is laid on the back of one that goes on.


But through all this comes one thing.
When I see good, I am happy and I wish to do more good.
When I see bad, I am unhappy and I wish to compensate with good.
When I think of all the men and women who have gone away to a world not ours,
I wonder how they were to the world we are in now.
I know that each one had a good and bad side,
yet the good is what stands out to me, like the mail in a mailman's hands.
Once I open the mail and read the letter, I get a better picture of what each goodness is.
One by one, I record the goodness in my mind, which is transferred to my heart.

The goodness altogether forms into the singular goodness.
This singular goodness exists, because we all exist.
So my heart beats like a radar, calling all the goodness with the language of my heart.
If the goodness can understand, then I believe I am good.

....and there you go fellow.
There is the universe for you.


Some ideas to share.

A story of...

-A blackout after 10 years of unlimited usage of the energy in our world.
How can we interact...how would we be different...
how would we communicate without the light that enlightens us with gestures and expressions of love?

-A man who has experience with every single occupation in the world...is unemployed.

-A world of philosophers, religious men, "saefists" (those that go the "safe" route), practicioners
(those that practice many routes), psychopaths, wavers (those that love the world unconditionally),
naturalists, and technologians (those that believe technology is our ruler)....a great struggle, epic debates,
unexpected friendships...
they all fight for something...something.......?


Our heads were made for the skies ladies and gentlemen.

07/02/08 edit**


Versatyle : The EP (my initials)


Part V

Act V: Veni Vidi Vision (I came...I saw...a vision)
You got Gunz, I Got Triggers (It would be scarier to know that justice pierced through your heart)
Vladimir Vulcan (propaganda master...innocent minds are guilty for being innocent?)
Vitality
Gang sir ( "Gangsters don't like garbage")
Lazy Son (of a….) - (You can be lazy, but be productive at least)
Vagabonds
Vault (Can we live without the view outside the vault?)
Vacate your Ear Canals (I don't believe in life-experience-brings-more-wisdom)
Low Ends of Versatility (Talents that could've made things so much better)
The Missing V (in Visdom)
Vodka Heavy Virtue (Let it flow through your blood)
The Strength of a Verse (Flex!)
Ain’t No Homo Sapien (In a humanistic sense)
Vultures (Gotta eat to live)
Vici (I will say the phrase.)

Part M

Act M: Thousand Mark (After all this time...)
Murder Stories (The media makes it look so bad...)
Make Sense
A Melee (Machiavelli) - (Diss track)
Represent Part II (One just doesn't seem enough)
Bring Home the Hounds (We "dogs" need a home too)
Church of Make Believers (Faith is established so diversely...so then what's this faith you're so proud of?)
Mausoleum (If I faced the dead)
Illest Form (So sick)
A Million and Two Questions (Hey arrogant people, I have one more question.)
Alcoholic Contemplation (Get drunk on club soda bebe)
Missing (?)
AeroDynaMite (Explode the disco)

Close The Curtains (Falling Asleep)







? verse:

Like smooth strings strumming on acoustic guitar
Slowly swaying under blue sparkling stars
The setting’s starting to set out like sun down
The moon sees through me like a clear night gown
Ounce by ounce, my body fluid is calm
I rest to sleep like a baby cooing it’s warm
It’s so quiet with this soothing alarm
That wakes me along my dream marathon
That I long to be along till my soul’s long gone
With the whispering wind gently blowing across
Who will I see with my sleep cinema on?
Who will hold my hand till the reality of dawn?

Sleep_Cry_Capital_M_int

Sandpaper Checklist from the Future
(To tell us we're still here, but not to tell us in which form we're here)


no1-Body Brain
no2-In the Name of the Father, the Son, and the Spirit
no3-Refeel
no4-Revival through Heavy Smoke Called Anticipation
no4-Bite A Fake (Propaganda Chew)
no5-Ideally Real
no6-Somnograms
no7-What Used to be My Favorite
no8-Triparte of a Soliloquist (Part 3) - Free Form Final
no9-Puppeteer and Loop Holes
no10-Freeze (You're not in front of a camera)
no11-Dear Stigmata...


.Soul.Color.


I Lift Off, Vacuumed Early Yonder Orchestral Universes Near Asphalts Never Concrete...Yet.

It's lovely .how one can write about nonsense, and others can understand,
.how one can write about what
they don't even know what they're writing about, and others can understand.
.how words can change so much.
.how texts can be used to translate phenomena.
.how just looking at the page without reading can make interest.
.how those that are starving and are dying still do what they love,
even if what they love seems to not care.
.how we can connect with words
.how new things are always made

...how a writer can write.