because my xanga got too old.

Old is New.

I recently purchased this time machine, that allows you to relive your childhood.  In my case, someone else’s childhood.  This box, plays both Nintendo and SUPER Nintendo games, the games my parents never allowed me to waste time on when I had nothing BUT time to waste on them.  I’m also blessed to be around a store that does nothing BUT sell these old games, 3 for $10 and the classics i’ve found are just a tip of the iceburg of my collection investment.

Classics So Far

NES
Super Mario Bros.
Super Mario 3
The Legend Of Zelda
Ninja Gaiden
Adventure Island
Blaster Master
Q-Bert
Street Fighter 2010

SNES
Super Street Fighter 2 New Challengers
Megaman X
Super Castlevania 4
Super Mario World
Tetris Attack
Donkey Kong Country
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles IV: Turtles In Time

And counting.
Also recently, I came upon the dreaded stories of Silent Hill, specifically Silent Hill 2, and scared the crap out of me and my cousin one night. When I went back home I decided to play it with Michelle, and then it became a nightly happenstance.  We added Kayla and Kelley to the mix, now with Dan, Erica, and Sara to boot. Literally, at least every wednesday night after mine and dan’s hip hop practice, we go home and scare ourselves straight for about 2 hours and become immersed in the world of Silent Hill. We already beat silent hill 2, we are currently working on Silent hill Homecoming. I took it upon myself (with kayla) to purchase the First Silent hill, and even though the graphis are a major downgrade, the story is still ever strong.  Then we started playing Silent Hill Origins when Michelle wasnt around, currently the stories can sort of fold together, but the fascinating thing about the lore is that the characters change, but the town stays the same.  We revisit the hospital, the school, and the streets.  With each iteration, the graphics change but the walls do not and it is just fascinating, that the 6 -8 of us can call this hell of a place home.

Also me and dan have been working so ever hard on our hip hop and I have to say, it is the best thing that i’ve created with dance ever. The way we synergize is just ridiculous and the end product will be magnificent.

I miss my Intangibles, I’ just got so much to do here in Oneonta.  After this semester of TERPS, i dont ever see myself dancing like this again.  But poetry is forever.

TERPS

Is happening for the last time for me. And I couldn’t be happier yet depressed about it.

So much to write, and not enough time to do so.

Michael

They never used to ask if Mr. Jackson could sing.
Instead of looking for his voice
They ask him to hit his notes
Like the way his face hit the fire
Now all the media can say is
There is a terror
Lock your doors and hide your children
This monster
Can you see him?
Unnatural
On the ground he floats
It is sorcery
He is ferocious- KILL this beast
This undead pharaoh
He wants us to change the world
To keep on till our force stops us
But he is
Off his wall
Spilling blood on the floor
Where he sacrificed his disciples
Stop your siren song slave!
You are ghost
Not a sheet with eye holes
You are skeleton
You are maggot crusted sarcophagus
When you mutter your incantations
You spew mold honey with dried milk
You are a beast
Because you take from me my wonderment
And how I wish I knew what it was to be you.

See, you used to be gold
You used to be silver
Liquid metal, crystal shining
People would chant your name as if you were there to save them from their wretched lives
You were King
You were leader
Pioneer
The first and the best
Creator
And I wish I was your brother
Michael
I would never steal your thunder
But I would capture it in salt shakers so that we could sprinkle lightning
On everything sand that needed to be glass
Instead of extending your arms to the sun
You instead crawled inside your face and ate your way out
I’d beat that notion of beauty into you
Brother
So that you could learn to be comfortable in your own skin
Stop singing songs your 8 year old mind can’t understand
There is no way that you found how to love a woman
Before you learned to shave your five o’clock disguise

You are immortal to the rest of us
A legend
You wear one glove
So you’d still keep your grip on reality
But instead of sliding over you slipped
I can see the seconds passing residue on your countenance

Your cheeks
Look like they want to meet your forehead
As if you were trying to kiss yourself to bed at night

You are a vampire with no reminiscence
I wonder if you can still smell your memories
You look like a carcass of regret after thanksgiving

It doesn’t matter if your black or white you said
But don’t talk as if you have a choice
You are Dracula now
Because you sucked the soul out of yourself
And you’ll never see your reflection anymore
With the moon full
You tell gravity that it is for the weak
Nobody wants to know your story
They just want to watch you throw your innocence off a three story balcony.

I miss the way you made me feel before you thrilled me into pity
Before you walked on the moon
You left footprints in the beach of my soul
You made me move again
But in my own skin
Not the one society fitted me with
I wish I could tell you
That this is how life should be.
But you’ll never listen because you’re far too gone

The only way to be birthed
Is to return into the earth
and I want to save you, beast.

There is a song inside you yet, waiting to be sung.

Why Omni decided to blow my mind before my first TERPS performance, I'll never know.

brianomnidillon:

marginally assisting my good friend Sierra work through some poetry that she’s submitting today (as a finalist for Write Bloody - round of applause for that please). I had never seen this. So good i spontanously combusted into flames. Literally had to stop, drop and roll around to put myself out. Gaaaahmazing.

one a.m.

she is the kind of shaken

that makes me feel perfect:

pale and empty like the frames of barns

about to be torn down,

but the girl isn’t old.

she bleeds green sapling branches,

beautifully disheveled and harmfully ignorant

to how cold the winter will be.

she drinks bottles of wine like excuses

and cries at stupid movies.

good at getting what she wants,

better at getting what she doesn’t.

fueled off chaos and lonely in silence

so she makes every blinking eyelash a collision.

the first day we met

she kissed me drunkenly like high school.

i couldn’t taste it then

but her chest is a hallway.

her head is detention.

there is something burning behind her eyes,

but her pupils sit like nicotine filters.

don’t give her matches:

she will light them.

don’t give her sweat:

she will drink it.

she will break you.

left alone she will shatter your teacups

and ash on your love seats,

sit shotgun as you drive on her guilt trip,

switch faces like Shakespeare masks.

she will hang up, stare dirty, laugh crazy.

she will wake you in the middle of moonlight:

steal you away from dreams of yellow leaves and iridescence,

holding her mistakes as paintbrushes

as the blood drips solar systems on our kitchen tile.

she will smile like empty clock faces.

laugh like the bottom of vodka bottles.

apologize for overshooting 11 stitches.

no, you cannot have a cigarette.

i wish i could be the one with the needle and thread,

sewing with insurance-paid fingers her miscalculation.

i would hem her hands over themselves

so she would know how it felt to be helpless.

embroider the word consequences into her forearm.

she wears manipulation lipstick,

thinks because she is a psych major

she can sweet talk the doctors.

but girl, right now there is someone being paid

to check up on you hourly.

take the attention. take the white walls

and white linens. take being lonely

and never alone. take being sober

in a hospital ward.

i cannot carry you.

my head is heavy enough.

this world is going to lose you,

around and around in traffic circles,

so take each person as a road map—

we are not pit stops or bathroom breaks.

every day your faith is going to trick your eyes into crossing,

dare your heart to stop beating.

reality will mug you in the middle of street

and steal back what you think the world owes you.

please stop saying you’re sorry:

responsibility will come easily.

the hard part is keeping it,

is owning it like your finger prints on the empty bottle

and the blood stains on the blanket.

no, i am not laughing.

no, this isn’t funny.

your ribcage is a harness.

if you let it, life will hang you.

we cannot catch you:

we can barely stand to watch you fall.