SO I APPLIED TO THIS GIG...

I recently applied to be a guest writer for the website Men Style Fashion. Guess what? They said yes. The following is the letter that I used to apply to the website.

Perhaps this can be a source of inspiration to those of you out there feeling like you're in the dumps.

Sunrise Birds

Welcome to the great new world of the internet. Where miserable idiots reading poetry get instant gratification by googling the word "poem" and clicking on the first thing that pops up.

Blithering

When you're sitting at home alone dressed in nothing but your tee shirt and socks, gorging yourself out on the decadence of chocolate chip ice cream from the tub - I hope that whatever it is you are mindlessly doing on your laptop is worth the feelings of silent guilt and shame that you feel when you finally step on the bathroom scale.

Notes on the election results midterms 2014

We, as the collective entity that is the millennial generation of America, decided not to turn out to vote in this midterm election. This saddens me. This grave error in our generation judgment of the future has led to the demise of our education until the year 2020 at least. This is not to make you feel culpable or implicit in anyway as to this feature. But, it is your duty, your civic duty as an American citizen to turn out to vote. And you did not.

My Favorite Word

Certainly, within the confines of what it means to be a writer, one of the most common uncommon questions asked of me is: "What is your favorite word?"

On the nature of thoughts

People - the way that I word that statement makes it seem that those multitudes of people are vast in their number, however those people might be real or imagined, one can never tell these things - always ask me why I never post on a regular schedule.

Minding It

DISCLAIMER: This post is either slightly or extremely vulgar, depending upon the width of the relativity field which emanates from the gyroscope that is your mind. If you are put off by that sort of thing, then might I perhaps suggest something a bit more pleasant: cat videos.

My Rifle and my Trumpet

Alright then. Here's another one for all of you miserable sods who content yourself with the idea that reading poetry to yourself aloud, within the confines of your own room after a few swigs of white wine straight from the bottle is slightly better than, say, spending the entirety of a night on the town in the back of some random nightclub and drowning your vodka in a pool of your own sorrows and smudging your tears with the soulless substance that was your mascara.

What happened to the Cowboys?

OK, guys. I'm going to try something new here: a poem.

Once again...

Once again, I am left alone; to discover ever wider discrepancies within my Kingdom of Introspection. Beyond the typified amalgamous carnival freaks and gong-crashing circus monkeys that normally dance across the awoken torment of my imagination, my mind is presently occupied with the vital, critical task of disseminating what sort of extracurricular transcontinental paradigm shifts that have fallen atop of my weakened resolve like falling pianos over the past week.

So, This is College?

LAST EDIT: NOVEMBER 28

Sometimes there are stories that we really do not want to write. Sometimes these stories plague our dreams and haunt our days. They remind us, chillingly, of the fragility of the human condition - especially of our own insecurities.

Staring at the Pointed Star

I’ve stared at many walls in my lifetime.

Mom: Don't Read This

MOM: don't read this.

In the beginning of one of my favorite movies of the modern decade, The Secret Life of Walter Mitty, there is a scene that a lot of people seemed to have missed. In this scene the main character, Walter, is doing something that is extremely important to anyone that travels - he is balancing his checkbook.

Clawing at the Sky


In recent months, my imagination has been fogged over by dragons. In fact, ever since I saw THE HOBBIT: DESOLATION OF SMAUG, I have been thinking about dragons. I thoroughly enjoyed Smaug's monologue under the Lonely Mountain.

Miley Cyrus called me lame

Another party I've missed. Another dance club I've walked past. Another foamy wet-tee shirt experience that I've chosen to ignore.

Into the Fire

HEY GUYS! Sorry it's been awhile since my last post. My laptop has been in the shop getting some much needed repairs. I hope to publish a few posts this week. This post, as it is Memorial Day here in the United States, will be dedicated to those fallen men and women who have made the ultimate sacrifice for freedom.

A single Conversation

09 MAY 2014

A single convo with a lady in Starbucks named Nan covered the following subjects. As a result, my brain was tired:

Al Shabaab, I hear you want me dead? Get in line.

It goes without saying that my readers probably know that I get around. Unfortunately, I get around in some very unsavory places. I do a good job of covering up my tracks - but sometimes I just can't avoid making enemies. This is a list of all the people who probably want me dead or at least financially insolvent by now - because there's just no pleasing some people.

Not really a poem of a Healing Heart.

I pray to God that you’ve gotten rid of that teddy bear.
With all of the raging thoughts that I can hardly bear,
going to and fro within my mind causing evermore wear and tear,
your love of me shouldn’t be there.

Into the Mind of the Money-Eyed: How the world is becoming centeredaround the illusion of economy

There is a startling trend in the world today. The trend of the mass populous in this individualistic society moving further and further into an Orwellian post-apoc world where there are no more nationalities or ethnicities, but corporations.

How I went broke, and you can too! In seven easy steps.

Let's set the record straight on this one: I was born into what many people I have associated myself with over the years would call abject poverty.

Surf's up in Paradise, and so are the hookers.

Oahu. Paradise. That’s what they call it. The brochures. The television documentaries.
I say that if you are not too careful, Oahu can be a living Hell.

Spooky City

This city. This youthful vibrance. This aged decrepitating filth.

SEARCH 2014: TO INFINITY AND BEYOND MYSELF

NOTE: This post is still being edited. Sort of.

LAST WEEKEND, I was apart of something spiritual and uplifting. It was my second year at SEARCH, which is the annual Winter Quarter retreat for Catholic students involved with the Newman Center for Catholic Campus Ministry at Western Washington University.

Mo betta

NOTE: This is not a poem. It's not really much of anything, really. But I walked on top of a dead person yesterday. The Hawaiians believe that any person not of royal blood or distant family is not allowed near the grave of an ancient King. Or else the bad spirits will curse you. I am actually of royal blood - Irish, but still royal - so I do not believe that I was affected. At least, that's according to the custom.

Pele

NOTE: I have since returned from Hawaii, but these are a few random notes I had taken in my journal.

Stranded on the North Shore

The dodge is broke down. Here, just past Turtle Bay on Oahu’s North Shore, in the parking lot in front of Fumi's Kahuku Shrimp truck.

A night with the stars, and all that I'm left with is questions.

NOTE: The following was written in a nightclub in Honolulu, on a collection of paper towels that I got from the restroom.

At Pearl Harbor



The wind ripples across the surface of the water.

24 Hours in SEATAC Airport

NOTE: These events are the prequel to my most recent post.

Oahu.

I’ve finally made it to the beach.

It’s 3am.

It’s humid.

A way with words

NOTE: I wrote this in a remote mountain village in north Africa. It was sunrise.

Someone recently told me that I have a way with words.

A way with words.

The Ghost of She

The wall.

I’ve been staring at it for the past three hours.

It hasn’t moved. Wait a minute - no, that was just my stomach.

Spaghettification: On coming home, after a long time away.

Driving along the gray asphalt “Scenic Byway” that is Langley Loop: wind, rain, and the vestigial radio waves of talking heads hit my windshield as I make my way to drop off my next resume.

My fascination with Douglas Adams

Douglas Adams is one of my favorite authors.