writers art

Lord,

    I really

       Think Its

          Great that

             The Winter Is

          At

        The

        End

          Of

         Its

            Ridiculously

         Cold And

       Seriously

    Unappreciated

Season

jewish?

Over dinner I told my father who was donning a golden Star of David medallion as heavy as was gaudy- screaming I’m Jewish- “You are not Jewish”.

Drunk as a man who drinks before showing up to a family dinner-

Mom and I are not taken back- nor are we that he proceeds to talk about himself the entire night.

Nor are we that his actions are loud and abrasive. Nor are we that he preaches loneliness… And nor are we that he sneaks aside to pay.

He’s a good man with a good heart- and his intentions are well… if he just learned to keep away from the booze.

singing problem

Hi, my name is Louis and I have a confession. I have a singing problem. I wake myself up every morning because I am singing to loud in my sleep- and it just continues throughout the whole day.

I can’t help it; it’s not even a conscious thought anymore. I’ve been to several doctors, and they keep pushing drugs on me- and I told them I don’t want to go that route, it’s not healthy, but I’ve usually been drinking and cave in and take them anyways.

I just break out on subways, restaurants, bathrooms, while teaching. I was singing so much that I had to go out and start a band, you might have seen us OLD MONEY, (shameless plug noted).

The only hope for me is knowing that I’m not the only one out there, a young urban professional; let’s call him Jed Pavolich came to me with the same problem. And we have been getting together to discuss our problems and try to put a positive spin on it.

So if you are anyone like Jed or myself, perhaps we could all meet and sing about our problems! HELP ME

clasp of my hand

With just the clasp of my hand

I can grasp the land

From the Canyon Grande to Amsterdam

Ampersand

 I can close my eyes and drive while high

Shoot scotch on the rocks for one block

Almost get caught by the cops

but sneak by

you just gotta relax and take a chill pill

I told you I don’t fuck sluts , but maybe he will

Go all the way and back

Eat that rotten snatch

That stank like a batch of shat

Rats

Shouldn’t have had that second bottle

Cause that gnarled tooth troll

Is really started to look like a model

With a tight figure 8

The type id eat like a steak

And like the blood off my plate

Ace

In the sleeve

And its tattooed on my arm

My lucky charm is living hard

Guard down but still in charge

Murder

Is what I do to mics

You shoulda seen the fight

Coroner pronounced him dead on sight

20-20 is for suckas

20-40’s what I use when im checkin out your mothers

Loving is what I love to do

So get it through

Ooooh is what the ladies do

When they swallow sweetlou’s legendary goo

Gooie gumdrops

Its fun to run it till the gun drops

Blaze the place till the sun stops

While some cops

Still chillin at the donut shop

Thinking sprinkles or not

When they get glazed with a shot

Swish

Straight through the basket

This hard style im living

Ill never outlast it

Snap

That’s outlandish

Id rather be chillin out on a beach somewhere Spanish

Oley

Catch my drift

A lot of shit passes these lips

Asses and clits

Get lapped up real quick

If your booty clapping

Ill spit

Hot fire till the day I tire

Or hit the pit

capish

winay pichu

The world is in the palm of my hands, a mere seed waiting to be planted.

Hidden in the clouds a secret garden consumes energy and breeds life in heavenly amounts. An overwhelming state sends my body into chills knowing I am in the presence of something magical.

Worlds and cultures collide at soaring heights.

A looming peak dances over the infamous Machu Pichu for adventurous trekkers who wish to see true beauty and magic come alive in a new perspective.

I choke for words to describe my feelings.

Slowly my dreams are coming to life, as I claim my stake on this world. The amazement of becoming familiar with new lands draws me to the brink of tears, as I mould my existence.

I’ve seen a miracle. My eyes scarred by the touch of magic. The seed has been planted.

May.8.08

three dollars and a lifetime of memories

Our plane touched down in Leticia, a small town in the south-eastern part of Colombia that bordered Peru and Brazil. Our plan was to take a boat along the Amazon River to the city of Iquitos, Peru- with only five days to catch our connecting flight, and on a backpacker’s allowance; our journey began.

            We found a decent flat only five minutes from the river, but spent more than twenty trying to talk the price down. I love a good bargain brawl- you know the one that leaves your conscious unsettled to the point it might have jeopardized the safety of you stay. Finally coming to an agreement that we were overpaying- we hit the streets in search of a ticket for the boat going out the next day to Iquitos. There were two companies in town and you can guess it- they were both sold out. So we threw on our dishevelled faces and pleaded with them that we desperately needed to be on that boat. Pulling us aside, he slyly whispered to us “meet me at the dock at four; I’ll see what I can do”. What he did was give us give other river dwellers seats- as we crept onto the boat, we left a dock full of landlocked unfortunates.

            The boat was not exactly what I expected. I had in mind a quiet open-seated riverboat that gracefully waltzed down the chocolaty river- instead it was a deafeningly, claustrophobic speedboat that motored past all the beauty.  As we stopped to board new passengers- we were eventually kicked out of our seats and placed in the engine room at the back of the boat. This actually turned out to be the highlight of the ride, as we transferred to the bright and breezy back- we soon made beds out of all the travellers’ luggage and took in the rest of the ride.

            The boat docked and we grabbed a tuk-tuk, a three-wheeled taxi, to a recommended hostel “Hobo’s Hideout”. Love the moniker, don’t you? We paid for a room and headed into town for a bite to eat when it all began- swarms of colourful taxis, reckless tuk tuk’s, cars and jalopies sped down our side street in a blaze of glory, furiously waving flags and mashing on their horns as if the end of the world were coming- it turned out to be over a soccer match. To my very eyes it appeared that they were celebrating a victory- I later heard it was a tie. But as all of this was going on in front of me- I had no time to think, so I did what any adventurer would have done. I lunged myself onto one of the passing tuk-tuk’s and joined a gang of cheery youth, shouting and hollering- to me it seemed like innocent fun. I soon learned a lesson about misjudgement as my caravan drove further away from the city core.  This wasn’t the part that threw me for a loop; it was when we entered their rival’s part of town and had to duck when a hail of rocks began showering our taxi. I was hit in the chest, and a nameless passenger was also hit- both of us walking away unharmed, though the gang with a little more hostility than I.

            Parking their tuk-tuk on the edge of town, we got out and discussion of retaliation ensued.  I just replied “No me gusta. I don’t like”- it’s all I really knew how to say, to explain my lack of interest. So this is where we parted ways and I rode safely back to the town square in yet another tuk-tuk ending my little adventure.

            The next morning we met Walter at our bus, and bribed the driver to let us sit on top of the bus with the luggage- two dollars later we had the best seat in the house (figuratively speaking). Arriving in Lautus, we stocked up on goods and boarded our multi-coloured, river boat to our unknown destination in the midst the Amazon jungle. As our boat departed- a smile crept upon my face in amazement at the true beauty of my surroundings- my dream was now reality.

            Two hours into the ride we came across an intersecting tributary which boasted an array of pink, silver and black river dolphins. I giddily jumped rocking the boat, enthusiastically snapping pictures, only ever managing to capture a tail or fin as they frolicked in and out of the murky water.

            We eventually arrived at Puerto Miguel, a long narrow sandbank that was lined with makeshift houses on stilts- keeping tides and unwanted gators away from little kiddies. The village was without electricity except for one gas generator that was hooked up to a booming stereo. We sat down to eat some dinner and later played catch with a hardened fruit with some of the local kids. We talked Walter into taking the canoe out in search of alligators, so the three of us loaded into the canoe and paddled off just as the sun was going down.

            The dip of the paddle, the swinging vines of a playful monkey, the baritone of the lonely toad and the powerful gusts of the heron’s wings that straddled the rivers thickness; replaced those of cars, telephones and the hustle of everyday life- as the stars began freckling through the sky. Though we never did see a gator, it didn’t take an ounce away from the sheer presence of beauty.

            The next morning we went for a quick dip in the river before departure and were introduced to a couple of nipping piranhas. We both hastily jumped out of the water after I was bitten on my finger and Ryan reached second base with his nipple biting friend. After dressing we said our farewells over warm beers and rock and roll blaring from the boom-box. We got back to our hostel in the evening after sharing a rooftop ride with a heap of vibrant bananas and waving to every soul that we passed.

            It was our last full day in Iquitos and we decided to take a tour of the slums of Belin. From above, the homes were littered with sheet metal roofs, tarps and wooden flats, while the streets were ridden with waste. I’m not going to paint it beautifully, because it wasn’t- what was beautiful, was the people. The bright smiles and life that radiated from this port was phenomenal. Children flying homemade kites, teens losing soccer balls to the river and fighting at who had to retrieve it, canoes passing floating houses sending regards in waves and whistles, toothless grandmothers smiling over babies- and as I took in all this beauty I found myself turning in circles trying to capture everything standing at the edge of a soccer field, when I heard a voice shout “Hello”. I turned around and made my way to a young man I would grow to know as Teddy. He had a beautiful wife and child and invited me into his home. We talked about life and sports and the similarities in our cultures, as well as differences- and over a short period of time a crowd of people had gathered intrigued at Teddy’s English or perhaps that a couple of foreigners were perusing their neighbourhood. We exchanged emails as we departed and returned to city square.

            The town had an important agenda this evening as Peruvians from all corners gathered in the town centre- signs in hand growing with anger as the masses continued to multiply. We walked back to our hostel as the scene got more violent. Now locked behind the hostel entrance we killed the lights as protestors marched up our streets rattling gates, smashing bottles and chanting- all I could make out was the word ‘muerte’, meaning death in Spanish- I had no clue what I was in for. All I was thinking is that I have a plane to catch tomorrow and I want to get out of here alive. The night carried on with streaks occasionally making their way past our hostel and the noise of violence echoing through the streets. While sitting in the back courtyard sounds of footsteps banged on rooftops above ours heads- we had no clue what was in store, I don’t even know how I fell asleep, but eventually I did, fortunately rising to yet another sunrise.

            The day was dead, nothing was open and we frantically called the airport. They told us that the airport was closed, but was opening in the evening. With our flight being at seven we had managed to luck out. Apparently the strike was over rising prices in the economy and the people were taking it to the streets- you should have seen the police running away from the citizens- it was a very powerful moment. We hopped on a tuk-tuk and I left Peru with three dollars to my name- but was left with so much more.

timeless classic

With these smooth beats

Made by Anonymous D

It’s guaranteed to leave its mark

Like hippopotamus feet

In the jungle or the dessert

It don’t matter what the weather

It’ll leave you soaring higher 

Than birds of a feather

Until It comes swooping down with talons

And strikes you

Now you’re losing blood by the gallon 

Ill write you

The situations thick

Your pains are growing

Like Allen, 

Quick, grab my hand

And ill lead you 

Our of this land

Before you fall to the man

Cause you’re a lamb

And I’m a man 

With a fork and knife in hand,

Who’s getting ready to eat you

First by verse

So stick to your own territory

And think twice

Before you pick up a microphone 

And bore me

You’re left feeling sorry

With your head 

Between your legs

The same story

So quit pushing and catch me

This beats a timeless classic

Like The Great Gatsby

I’m putting time in

And paying my dues

I’ve got a lot of hours clocked in

Writing in my room

And I’ve passed up a few brews

To finish a tune

So while I diminish these dudes

And take them to school

So they finally understand the saying

“That’s playing a fool”

While I keep it cool

Like the arctic

My games on point

Like a dart hitting a marksman

Who’s wearing a shark fin

Let the open sea be your coffin

Death to all rappers

Who got caught coughing

Or fat rappers

Who got caught eating to much chocolate

My mind will never stop

It’s like the second hand on a clock

And it’s fuelled by the memories

That I never forgot

My passion for word play

Lives close to home

Like the clever Sherlock

So let me take you

On an endeavour for pot

So, quit pushing and catch me

Sit back take a hit 

And relax g

You can’t force it

Or string it along

You either got it 

Or you don’t

Or you bring it all wrong

So go ahead

And sing the little songs that you wrote

In a shower, in a car or in a boat

It’s all a joke,

My wordplay will provoke

The biggest sceptic

To switch from epilepsy shakes

To Coke floats

So go…

Quit pushing and catch me

And ya’ll can leave the rapping 

To the master, Peace

april 24/2008

the sultan

There was this beautiful young sultan that wanted to own all the sand in the world. So with his father’s inheritance, he started buying beaches and oceans- slowly accumulating a great deal of land.  He would spend all day roaming his secluded beaches only stopping to build sand castles.  He loved his time on the beach. He was able to dream.  He could vision bigger, grandeur castles with moats and secret tunnels and bridges.  He studied the tides to tell just how far the ocean would swell and build his castles just out of harms way. As time lapsed he acquired more beaches and built more sandcastles.  The beaches became littered with his creations- each on carefully thought-out and acutely different from the last.  He was very particular about his obsession and soon began enforcing barriers to make certain no one would tamper with his majesties. He once caught a young peasant wandering one of his beaches off the coast of Morocco, and not to go into detail, he made the child permanently aware that he had been somewhere he shouldn’t have been.

He began losing sleep over his desire to own every beach in the world. He even started tricking and scamming people off their land. He started purchasing entire islands, filled with children, husbands, wives and all sorts of workers: chefs, builders, seamstresses and craftsmen.  He kicked everyone out of their homes- giving them sparse time to collect their belongings. He had small vessels that he crammed the inhabitants on, and shipped them to mainland.  Within the snap of his fingers, islands were empty- leaving him in a paradise to create at peace.

One night while sleeping, he had a vision.  He could take advantage of the builders and craftsmen to design elaborate castles, and he could have the chefs cook for the builders when they themselves weren’t building.  The he thought, that would give him more time to acquire more land and further his impetus on covering the world with his majestic sand castles. So into action he steamrolled.

Islands filled with simple happy souls at work and play were in for drastic changes.  No longer free to roam they had to meet quotas of sandcastles built and to enforce this the sultan arranged a hierarchy of inhabitants- giving leniency and tolerance to those in charge of keeping order.

Sandcastles began clustering up all along the beachside, often measuring 3-4 stories in height and some only mere feet from each other.  The sultan was now hard at work purchasing new land, breaking down the individuals, and positioning those in charge- that he was spending more behind the scenes of the operation- but his life was going to fast to acknowledge.

And with an almost fairytale ending, the sultan had finally bought all the sand in the world.  It had taken him 46 years but he had completed his lifelong dream.  The sultan now in his 60’s, had aged almost double from the toll and pressure of running across the globe; constantly searching, fighting, stripping, rebuilding and conquering those in his favour.

Now 62 and not the beautiful young sultan he once had been- finally had time to sit and enjoy his lifelong achievement.

He began his journey to embark on his masterpieces- stopping in the west indies to gaze at his beauties. Boarding ship after ship he basked in the greatness of all his castles meticulously jutting from the earth in perfect unison.  He shipped to every corner of the globe, in South East Asia, Europe, The Americas and he eventually made it back to his birthplace.

He had not been back in over 40 years and he had a hard time fighting for a memory.

As he walked around his timeless home, he made his way to the veranda that overlooked the Mediterranean.  With each step he took he began getting powerful sensations.  It was his memory finally catching up to him.  He got closer- step after step until he was entrenched in a dream.

The young sultan hung over the balcony- eyes fixed on the calmness of the ocean that day-and as he stared a reflection appeared.

‘It was the upper torso of this monstrous castle his father had created with a team of designers and personal friends.  And it was with this vision that the young sultan ran down his whirling concrete steps to the infinite grains of sparkling white sand. And as he dug his hands past the sun-baked exterior, the coolness from within brought his body to life.  Each day after his studies he would rush to the sea’s limits and with outstretched arms and his white satin sleeves rolled up past his elbows he would get lost in the sheer depths of it all.’

Waking, shaken from his dream- his body lay sullen among the white sanded beach and

legend has it that the aged sultan began to cry. He cried for spending a life devoted to selfishness. He cried for ruining the lives of those forced to pursue his dream. He cried for losing site of his childhood dream. He cried because he was alone.

And it is said that the sultan shed one tear for every single grain of sand that he had owned- and it was these same tears that washed away all his castles- all but one on each of his beaches. And if you are lucky you may be able to spot that lone castle remaining, and it is said that it will speak to your soul and warn you never to lose site of your youth.