As an artist/content producer, one of the first questions you should ask yourself is what message you want to share to the world? We should probably ask ourselves this question every day, for every piece we make, from the beginning of our careers up until the end, when we’re older and wiser. This way we can see how our priorities and internal vision changes throughout the years. Some people, no doubt, are less concerned with their message and more interested in fortune, fame, and stardom. They simply picture themselves up on the stage in front of thousands of screaming fans
“Move, move it faster! If you don't stay with them, they drag you behind the machines,” said the old translator. “I’m tired and hungry. We’ve been walking for three days now!” “It doesn't matter. Have many more days to hike, so better move the faster, otherwise will torture you.” “I told you. They won't lay a finger on me. I’m a genius. Do you know what a fucking genius is? It means I’m smarter than all these bastards. Although, I still don’t know exactly how their machines work. We don't have those in my country. It must be some hydraulic robotic tech equipped with motion sensors. I haven't really worked with robots before. Of course, I understand the theories, but I'm more of a chemist
Scotland is rich with diverse histories. As a child, I knew I was Scots-Irish. As a teen, I felt different, somehow. As an adult, I learned I share a bloodline with ancient Picts of the Scottish Highlands. The Picts were self-educated in all forms of nature from weather patterns to rainfalls, from plant life to waterways. They could traverse the most complex marshes and survive to tell others how to do so. The culture survived the iron age and into Medieval Europe. The culture did not survive Christianity’s purge of Western Europe. Because Picts did not record their lives, all that is learned about the Pict culture comes from
I met a man years ago who was a professional real estate entrepreneur. He used to work for about eight months a year on various projects. Mostly, he bought dilapidated properties for cheap prices, fixed them up, and rented them out. He was able to set up his businesses, then go and travel for two to four months per year. He used to cycle across the continents with other friends. He biked through Europe, Africa, and when I met him he was planning on traversing all of Eurasia. He loved it! He explained to me that there was no point in going away for a few days or weeks. Travel should be complete immersion.
“Holy Moley Joe, you have to come and see this,” said Adam, acting a little bit excited but still quite calm, like he always is. “Whatt. Whaat izz it? Tell me,” I said in a drunken/stoned/retarded/slurry voice. “You'll see, you'll see, come with me.” My house now looked like it could start winning Guinness World Records for the most-sickest party, and after what I saw the kids doing, we actually did win a Guinness record. It was fucking amazing! I followed Adam through the crowded living room, out my front door, down the steps, and to the side of the house. “Come on, you´ll see in just a second,” he whispered, with a sinister grin.
After the intense poetry jam, I went out back to see what was going on. Ping-pong tables were set up behind my house. Several teams were competing in organized tournaments with prizes awarded to the best players. This wasn’t your typical ping-pong match; this was Beer-Pong. Where competitors had to maneuver their balls across the table and directly launch them into big plastic cups that were full of beer. A highly skilled and difficult game, and one that I didn’t dare play because my pathetic pong skills were no match for the fierce rivalry found along those wet tables. Plus, I was already quite tipsy and was trying to pace my drinking.
“Damn, how tall are you?” I asked him. “6,8. That tall enough for ya?” he asked mockingly. “I used to play ball back in school.” “I believe you. But I know someone even taller than you. He’s not of this world though,” I rebutted. Implying that he ain’t as badass as he thinks he may be. “Sir, what the hell are you talking about?” “Never mind,” I said, “May you and your lovely wife have a glorious evening.” I walked out of the store with my bottles in hand. The only beings that could tolerate my pathetic commentary. Here I was. Alone. Completely Alone. Christian was gone. Probably living well with his family. I’m sure they don’t mind spending all that extra cash that just appeared in their lives. Because of me...
Sometimes, I like to write short pieces based on a specific thought. This is a fun and interesting exercise, and a good way to express myself through the Stream of Consciousness style. Below are five examples I’ve been working on, enjoy! The Eagle and the Rat An eagle swoops down from above with great speed and agility, diving to the ground like a military jet. His eyes set. His form; a symbol of perfection. His target stands carefreely, munching on plant matter, as he always does. He takes his ultimate and final munch and swallows the life-giving nourishment through his tiny little throat...
Hello happy readers, lately I’ve been having a burning desire to read all of the classic texts, so I purchased The Complete Tales and Poems of Edgar Allan Poe. I’ll be honest with you all, I have read very little so far. It’s a very big book (over 1000 pages long!). I also bought about ten other books, plus I’ve been very busy with all of the end of the year mayhem that is still happening here in Colombia. I also published my two new series The Mad One and The Greatest Party!, nonetheless, I did manage to read Bells, which is a delightful poem, if I do say so myself. I love its flowing, rhythmic, rhyming prose and deep, thoughtful, mysterious message.
I had no idea who this guy was or where the hell he came from. Dave found him somehow through his vast array of contacts. His specialty was snakes. He toured around the country with his elongated friends to add an extra amount of culture and edge to house parties and various social events. He had wavy blond hair, a transparent goatee, khaki shorts, and thick leather boots. One of my rooms was converted into a snake lover’s paradise. There were various props, branches, and edibles set up along the walls for the creatures to climb on and eat. A few rats and mice scurried across the floor waiting for their imminent deaths. The space was supposed to help people to conquer their fears.
So, I bought my ticket at the station. There must have been five thousand freakin people in that place. Every type of fried food was available; filling the air with a tempting aroma. Screaming babies, kids running around like maniacs, and adults acting like typical adults, patiently waiting for the buses to come in, listening to the call of the conductor’s assistants yelling and naming off the various destinations. And there I was, with my few bags, my slacks, my spectacles, my panama hat. Everything I needed to begin this new adventure.
“The first thing you have to realize before we undergo on this path is that everything around is okay, you are okay, I am okay, Joe´s house is okay, Jessica and the pill dealers are okay, Jimbo isn’t okay, but we will bring him to the sacred land of okay eventually with some effort, the earth is okay, everything, generally speaking is okay, do you understand this overall okayness?” He said this in a low raspy struggling yet poetic voice, and then a huge puff of smoke left his mouth, and he coughed so hard that the bed shook beneath them,
When you meet someone new, the first date (the first impression you make on this person) is probably one of the most crucial moments. For, many base all future thoughts (and interactions) of who you are as a person, based on your behavior during this potentially fun or disastrous event. In this post, I’ll be giving some simple and practical tips on how you can impress your date and ensure a second date. Let's begin! Don’t show up late. Your time is the most precious thing you have, so when you go out on a date always be punctual. Although, there are some exceptions to this rule.
For this reason, I have not been able to hold a “normal” job since 1982. That was the year when shit really got serious for me. In 82´, most of my family and friends disowned me. Leaving me to my own devices. I had long unkempt hair back then, wilder than histories maddest scientists. Actually, my hair is still this way, which is one of the few things I cherish in life and am relatively proud of. Anyways, I almost graduated University. I was studying chemistry which always came easy to me. For me, chemicals were as typical as looking at the marks on the palm of my hand. I knew them all. How to use them, combine them and exploit them. I was one of the most talented and dedicated pupils. But one day I was overly stressed.
Brent Hill Keeper - the bold, depraved trucker. The Viking-esque conqueror of America’s highways. The cigarette smoking, head banging, black wearing, lead-footed gas fiend, finally parked the enormous metallic beast and I was actually quite happy to step out and stretch my legs. We had been blasting and barreling through the states like a cannonball of death and pain. Death, because of the death metal he constantly played at full throttle while we screamed along at insanely excessive speeds, scaring the shit out of me, driving right through and over countless - helpless furry little creatures; squirrels, snakes, stray dogs, coyotes, and a few baby deer. I think we even had some pigeon carcasses impregnated into the front grill of the truck,