On the theater floor

I stand on the theater floor distanced from actors and their acting. Wonder why i am here when all i do is stare. Bugged by the blatant disconnect between the setting and the plot, Wait for my cue, now am up!, then i stop ... LINE !! ... "For the last time Owi you dont have any lines to say, just stand like a social psycho and dont get in the way". What !!!

That arogant ignoramus cheaply sculpted piece of clay, was what I thought of the director as i spoke to that AK. The menacing mad metal mocked my human intonations, apparently clearly stating this was his play for the making. Wait, who is in charge ? the metal or the people ? maybe the peoples metal better yet the metal people. Thus we word no more in words but in the language of the whip, and we whipped ourselves to living in a whirlwind such as this. The night issues in the nocturnal knife wielders, while the day brings the day-walking criminal state slingers. Some politics for a piece and a piece for some politics, pictured in the imperfections of this picture perfect prison. Police with bloodied batons holding roses and a gun, battering man as beast as they seek to maintain the "Piece".

Vicious voices of vein are crowned by virtue of their vice, rewarded with my soul, with my sweat and my life. The protagonist is now as antagonistic as it gets, and the antagonist is ummm ....... no comment ... One thing has been made clear in absolute abundance: My role is absolutely established and its absolutely redundant.

DEAR SPRING: dedicated to a random potato pants

My dear Spring,

Its been less than half a season since we last saw, but i must say that it feels a little longer than eternity. Pardon my hyperbole and my exaggerated depictions. Pardon my cheezy one liners and my less than romantic tendencies. I trust that this letter finds you in the best of health, and I can picture your mild but still imposing smile, like the splendid and yet still very imposing Nile.

Summer is almost passed and fall will soon be upon us. I just pray that it passes fast so that earth can reunite us. I miss your perfect temperature, those 60 degree days, you are the embodiment of moderation in any and every way. I wish i didn't have to be reminded of the existence of extremes, with the dark winter -20s and the summer 115s. I wish i didn't have to be reminded that the extreme will almost always attack the mean. That's why you are only two out of the twelve months of the year, that's why we are the only two that actually seem to care.

Being with you appears to be the only thing that can get the clock moving. All of a sudden a day starts to feel shorter than a minute. Then you are gone in less than an hour and all I am thinking is that I miss it ... But now the clock is no more ticking because you are no more here, and I will have to wait another long and painful whole other year ...

I will see you again after a painfully long wait, A wait that we never know if we will be able to take ... I want you to cry me a river while i bottoms up a crate, and let us leave the rest of our destinies entirely to fate ...

In the mean time all we have are the memories of each other, and we must fall back on the experience of the times we spent together ... Perhaps if it doesn't kill us it might actually make us tougher, who am i kidding please "kill me now - Your insane lover" :)

NO POSTCARDS FROM HELL

A very big man but actually pretty small, at least goes out of his way to convince most that he is tall ... An incredibly smart fool, a uselessly sophisticated tool, In the middle of winter, An Olympic sized out door pool ... A representative of certain (in)actions, derived from sad, radical and misguided factions, drowning in invincibility, will probably burn down an entire town just to be the center of attraction. An inharmonious symphony of irritating screams and bells, and absolutely no postcards from hell.

A boy, a girl, a boy girl and a girl boy ... taboo .. A who that chooses to dictate the truth ... you ... A smoothly rough process that uneducates the schools ... another fool and a bunch of very sophisticated tools ... A bruise ... left uncared is like an open fuse, and a crawling curious baby with a serious point to prove ... Perhaps a move in the wrong direction with the right ideas to sell, might actually be responsible for us receiving absolutely no postcards from hell

Brainwashed to communicate in the language of dead presidents, ignoring all the hungry and the half dead residents... Fed with all the crappy half-baked and half dead intent ,,, Should be nominated for an Oscar for the all scars and half pretense ... Repent !! .. for what ? frankly i dont see the sense ... Never fasted during Ramadan and munching right through Lent ... At least feeling kind of ashamed for a life less than well spent ... Even with all this drama there is still so little to tell ? .. and still getting absolutely no postcards from Hell.