Opposites

Nobody gives a flying shit about poetry.
Yet here I sit, opposite
Spilling my guts note by note and bit by bit.
For the sake of keeping a lost art form
Alive and well.

No actual appreciation for my alliteration
Like freshly released prisoners in the proximity, no laces
tighter than my similes.

No respect for metaphor

Where's the preservation of the art form?

Who knew of haiku? Who allotted the sonnet?

I am iambic pentameter.

Shooting jump shots on the perimeter.

Life: I might be madly in love wit' her.

So it's give and take, give and go
Love and hate, fast and slow.

A Native's Submission

In this room, so big
in spirit, not necessarily space
Although both contain content and they both more than save face
Anyways, in this room so big:
One elephant, one pig.
Two elephants, two pigs.
Spanish and a Chinese twist
American--the Warholiest.
Tibetan, Buddhist, original kiss.
Chilean traditions

Here's a Native's submission into the Wordsmith Hall of Fame.
An actual melting pot in this room so BIG. Make a name

For yourself, for us as a generational conundrum.
Beat the drum, see right through

Playing it sentimental yet playing it coy fish clock--Morning View.
Call me Flo-Rida Mar-Lin, cuz that's my fitted for two thousand eleven and incidentally they're changing their logo next year. There there.

The aforementioned elephants protect against the abundantly absent haters-
just straight pachyderm stomping them.

The previously mentioned pigs provide elusively everlasting friendship for you and a kindred spirit...

Can you hear it?

Currently Untitled

Find myself on the quest of a lifetime
To find a place where the footprints
Cease to exist

Blazing trails to quench my undeniable,
undying need to resist

Spinning sideways standing still this stratosphere,
ionosphere, atmosphere, sometimes so clear
sometimes so near
Everything and nothing all at once; this sphere dangles on its axis, a slow tilt
A gangster lean built for the long haul
Stand on the tallest stilts, you'll never reach an end...the stars...galaxies...cosmos...
Infinite...
This must be it, the place we sit
Ride the wave, take a hit

Longing to leave a legacy. See my soul
Our names shall be remembered somehow, some way. Can't quit.

A Midsummer Classic Night's Dream (Excerpt)

...I come from the camp of well-rounded lovers of life; you know, the ones capable of appreciating the complexities of this crazy entity we call life. We are the ones who have fallen in love with the surprises of life, the predictability of spontaneity and the options viable to us on a daily basis. We have discovered visions of the future, pacts representing the past and we can currently control our present. It is with this in mind I present to you the optional ability to appreciate the arts while supporting sports. Ladies and germs, A Midsummer (Classic) Night's Dream:

Blending sports and intellect is sometimes a strange beast. When some closed minded folks think of sports, they think dumb jocks, drunk jaw jabbering fans, stereotypical, loud arguments and pointless competitions among Neanderthals. What up with that? The failure to recognize intricacies within sports-the vast variety of sports-the unification capability of sports-only limits their argument in that it actually makes the hater sound dumb, drunk, stereotypical and pointlessly loud. I get it though. I see why people hate on sports fans. Their closed minds won't allow them to see a person capable of liking more than one type of thing-that there are well-rounded individuals in existence who may like to attend a ballgame in the day and maybe a Shakespeare rendition later that night. Why should this matter to anyone? That will probably remain open for interpretation until the end of time, but if I can say that I led people to a portion of the endless debate's conclusion, then I'm good. Yea, I'm good.

So, why am I connecting William Shakespeare to the MLB All-Star Game?

I would really like to see people just be a bit more open minded. I want people to be entertained. I want them to be passionate about stuff, whatever your favorite stuff may be. Let's promote passion! Passion for your stuff!

I've heard that Heaven, if there is a Heaven, is a playground. I think I'd be OK with that...

Tom Thibodeau Will Outcoach and Outclass You

March 6, 2011
Bulls vs. Heat in MIAmi, FL

What can I say? I'm a sucker for great coaching.

This game, this season for the Chicago Bulls is twenty-two years in the making. This is the birth of an old school, and I mean old school, brand of coaching from the potentially perennial Coach of the Year candidate Tom Thibodeau. Coach T has been around the professional game as an assistant coach long enough (21+ years to be exact) to channel Red Auerbach and Dean Smith, and he uses the most fundamental principles and instills them throughout his entire twelve man roster.

Tom Thibodeau is light years ahead of that baby-faced-what's-his-name coach for the Miami Heat (seriously, who the hell is this guy?). For every fantastic, did-he-really-just-make-that shot from Dwyane Wade, Tom Thibodeau is fifteen steps ahead of the development of the game as a whole. While Erik Speolstra seems to rely on the athleticism and talents of a few overrated so-called superstars, he does not have what we call in the sports world credibility. Seriously, how long can Pat Riley sit idly by and watch this jokester try to coach his team? Think of a director of a film. He's orchestrating an entire motion picture while the actors play their parts, listen and remain coachable.

And oh how coachable these 2010-11 Chicago Bulls are this year. Led by third year PG and serious MVP favorite Derrick Rose, Thibodeau has his team playing the right way. They're toward the top five in every major defensive category. He's got them playing together, sharing the ball on offense. He's got them competing at a high level on both ends of the floor. He is maximizing the potential of the entire roster, making moves throughout the game, working the officials, mixing and matching the components of the game's flow. Much is to be said about team chemistry, and it is the coach's responsibility for building that pH balance to its most abundant ability.

While we celebrate the 20th Anniversary of the Bulls' first NBA Championship this season in Chicago, I have a feeling that we'll be talking about Tom Thibodeau twenty years from now similar to the way we talk about another guy you may have heard of, the man who directed The Dynasty, Phil Jackson when it's all said and done...

We hear the MVP chants when D-Rose steps to the free throw line. Isn't it about time we start hearing the "Coach of the Year" chants?

Oh Banksy, You're The Banksyest!

If you want to talk about street art, you want to act like you know about making an impact in a world where art imitates life and most likely vice versa, you want to talk about a movement within a movement within a society's restrictions and freedoms, you want to talk about worldwide wonder created with every awe-inspiring piece, you have to, no you need to start with the one who goes by the name of Banksy, also known in certain circles as Mr. Brainwash.

With the release of his debut film, Exit Through the Gift Shop and consequential Academy Award nominations for Best Documentary, Banksy's admirably amazing availability and artistic ability was released into the wild known as mainstream media.

We know all about the conundrum that is known as selling out. You know, all eventually successful artists find themselves susceptible to being called a sellout at any given moment by any given diehard fan or circumstantial critic. This unfair accusation usually culminates with the artist's totally deserving praise and award-winning work after years of toiling as a quote: underground artist. The hard-core fans are upset, because let's face it: we are selfish, we don't want to share and we want the distinct pleasure of knowing that we know something no one else does. That makes us happy. That validates our endless seeking.

But deep down, we are happy for the Banksys, the Arcade Fires, the Darren Aronofskys, the (on a personal and older tip) Incubuses of the world. We are happy for them, because there is no denying their raw power and magnetic attraction and we can't help it if the rest of the world is slow to catch on to the awesomeness of our interests.

My Amateur Protest

This is my amateur protest.
This is Pro-Life, Pro-Choice, Pro-Yes.
This is Pro-Gay, Pro-Straight, Pro-Sex.
This is Pro-America, Pro-World, Something to protect.

This is Pro-Love, Pro-Giving, significantly prolific.
This is Pro-Soul, Pro-Spiritual, Pro-Lyrical.
This is Pro-Democracy, Pro-Anarchy.
This happens to be Pro-Peace, but Pro-War when necessary.

This is Pro-Constitution, Pro-Solution.
This is Pro-VegeTERRYnism, Pro-Disestablishmentarianism.

So I guess that makes me the Protaganist
in this amateur protest...

Suffering agonizing defeat after agonizing defeat only makes you more hungry for victory.

So this is Pro-Individual, Pro-Family, whatever that may be.
This is Pro-Enlightenment, eyeing the solution toward which we eek closer and closer to
with every rhyme I speak.

This is Pro-Fantasy, Pro-Reality.
This is Pro-Happiness. Don't be mad at me...

This is Pro-Cassius Clay, Pro-Muhammad Ali.
This is a prototype of perfection marinating.

This definitely, quixotically QUID PRO QUO.
What do we really know about where we go?

This is Pro-Social, Pro-Solitude.
This is Pro-Infinity, Pro-Balance.

Pro-Possibility's Magnitude...

So I guess that makes me The Protaganist in this amateur protest...

Suffering agonizing defeat after agonizing defeat only makes you more hungry for victory.

So process the progress.

Proverbs and pronouns.
Unwound and presented to you...
from me...

RIGHT NOW...