It Was Said With Love

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Let loose, be unfiltered and uncensored. Play with your craft and stop being scared of what others might think.


Jack writes a twisted poem playing with random thoughts in his head.

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Miserable, missable, invisible
Dis the bull get the horns
Get recorded watching porn
Sell the tape in black market
To the underwear gnomes
I know the underworld’s flows
Hang with zombies roasting brain wondering about peculiar things
Wrapped around my hot dog
That hot broad’s buns come hot off the stove
This Hot Rod runs with nowhere to go
Interconnected, my thoughts sense it
Write like I forgot to have breakfast
My behavior all reckless
By the water cooler angry calling…

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The Designer

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The mind of a creator is a place where magic and tragedies are one and the same.
Whatever happens happens when they take their work seriously.
And the one’s that don’t get left behind.

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Much on the plate to eat. This and that. The want to eat it all while faced with the impossibility. Could take a bite of each thing just to get a taste, but not one thing would get finished.

Building glass towers…

Running out. The bomb is ticking and there is not time to sit and think of how to stop it. It’s time to act and make a move. To feel like something was attempted. So that if the bomb goes off it feels like at least the best was tried tried. In case one thing doesn’t defuse the it, it should all be considered. Lives are at risk and being helpless is not an option.

Sculpting away at the block…

This doesn’t belong here. Being capable of correcting this error makes it a duty. The weight of when it’s right or wrong to make a move is overwhelming. What if it’s the wrong call? What if the decisions have the capacity to…

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Aimless

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The easy way out shortens our sight and understanding. Rationalizations against methods meant to discipline only prevent learning.

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Lost while handing directions

Claiming knowledge of the swiftest shortcuts

The path with the least resistance

Here is what is needed

Here is what is not

All these innovative designs to ease the journey never taken

These wastes of time are how getting lost began in the first place

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Loosen The Grip

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The most difficult challenge a writer faces is learning to be less critical of themselves. To allow the work to stand on its own. Learning when to stop editing themselves and how to let go of the work when its time.

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Click, click, click… Typing away at the keyboard. Minutes morph into hours, then days, then weeks. Before too long, months have gone by. A hundred thousand words on a manuscript. The deadline for the first chapter is in a month. It’s time to edit that first chapter. And edit. And edit. And edit that first chapter.

Typing away at the keyboard. Minutes morph into hours, then days, then weeks. Before too long, a month has gone by. Ten thousand words edited to the fullest of my ability. All the little finalizations required get attention. That nervous shiver of whether or not something is going missed. Confidence is hard to have, but I know it has to be let...

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In Bed With Arthur

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Arthur, after having liberated the evil from the corrupt family, was once again caught by the corrupt police and returned to his prison. The cage where they accuse him of insanity. He knows the bad guys don’t win. And he’s the hero of the story, so he will not lose.

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Eyes open, I’m in bed
Six years, been like I’m dead
Tech sticking from my head
Strapped, chain down
Dark room, no sound
Mind rush, go round
Fear, possessed now
No exit near while held down
Tears, the scream bounce around
Leering gaze from the shadows of the room
A crooked grin, hazy, sharp teeth, it’s hungry too
An abomination, with no hesitation it…

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Detach

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Realize your Inner Monologue (Commenting Inner Voice) and your Conscious Mind (Perception, Awareness) are two different entities co-existing.
You are only your awareness.
To Listen is for the Conscious Mind to focus and the Inner Monologue to remain silent and without judgment.
Thus the floodgates of Perception and Information open.
Limitless Intellect.
Infinite Understanding.

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To Win The Fight

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Martial arts. The performance of the brutes. A poem of fighting based on fighter.

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A fluid dance. The impact of precision. Movements morph from one to the other unforgiving, uninterrupted. Sequenced by desire and sought out by need. Survival in the form of elegance. Delicate and subtle shifts settle fractional inch debts with force. Bruised souls crumble when missed tipped toed landing heels out standing sore. Beautiful the twirl. The skirt. The umbrella. The dip, the hop. Shields to stop reception. Only the hurt happens without intention.

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In Your Head

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A short dark and twisted rap about head.

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I’m a madman
Hanging out with Batman’s villains
Quite a bad man
Chillen with the sandman
Feelin’ kinda of goofy
When I’m feelin’ on the ladies that I’ve roofied
Breakfast in bed be the truth, G
Vitamin D for the bitches
I’m a brute, see
Her head be tripping
Stumble
My knees weak
I’m humbled when my dick she grippin’
Sippin’ that red wine
She’s takin’ her damn time
She wants to go home
But the glock to her head says it ain’t time
She don’t want to no more
I don’t want to joke her
But if she stops too soon I might…

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Gone in a Flash

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Flash Fiction written in under ten minutes as an exercise. Jack dives into the first person perspective of the last living moments of a kid trying to impress a girl having gone wrong.

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This isn’t how it was supposed to go. There is no way to turn back now and it’s all a waste. Hindsight is 20/20. We only realize our mistakes could have easily been avoided had we given them just a little more thought. But there is no turning back now. There’s no way to save the moment.
All of this for a girl. Who would have imagined the lights would be cut off this way? To prove a point. To show off. Faster than a speeding bullet, yet even the Flash knew when to take a breather. When to take an extra second to think.
Now that it’s going this way, I’m not even sure I get what I was trying to accomplish. How could any of this have played out well?
As if time slowed down, nearly to a halt, this moment goes on forever. I see a second by second breakdown of the last plays of the game and…

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Three Types of Suicide

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In this explanation, Jack breaks down his understanding and beliefs on the topic of stigmatized suicide and the three groups of suicidal people.

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We currently live in a world where discussions on suicide are so viciously stigmatic that they’re nearly unheard of. Sometimes the discussion is enough to help an individual, but the risk of getting institutionalized is too great to attempt the dialogue at all. We’re underdeveloped in the area as a result. Most with suicidal thoughts aren’t even planning to act on them, they’re no more than thoughts. But the inability to discuss these thoughts lead to the held energy manifesting in other ways. Many times it turns into action because there is no other way to process the information.

We should be capable, as a society, nation and planet, to discuss things without another person deciding what it is you mean by it.

In this short explanation I offer perspective on the matter by walking you through the three forms in which acting on suicide can manifest.

Let us begin…

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Poker Crown in School

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Life is filled with ups and downs. Having the bravery and confidence to face all those moments equally will result in a fruitful future filled with learning and accomplishments.
Jack gives his thoughts in this poem.

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Patience is being tested
Straight aces on the table
Royal flush out of multiple choices
Pure crowned blood
Feeling able to take all the chips
4.0 mil stashed in the castle
Freshly dipped and gold plated
Playing the game is not a hassle
Cards in my hands
No class clown telling jokes to jesters now
Passing grade A performance
The brightest of Knights
Strokes of the lance questioned
Ready to fight once mentioned
Giving my…

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Predeterminations

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A reflective analysis of the philosophical predeterminations we make about the world and the people in it. We always think we have things figured out while it is obvious to everyone else we’re making assumptions.

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We claim to know the most while always knowing the least.
We boil the people around us down to simple generalizations not considering all the intricate details that make them.
We tell the world they’re being fake when they don’t behave according to our uneducated guess.
We pretend we’ve got every circumstance figured out to the smallest of details and cast blame when things fall apart.
We deny it being obviously a result of our lack of preparation.
We know what everything is for, what motivates each individual, what everyone thinks and feels at all times.
We feel there is no need for questions when we already know the answers.
We feel there is no need to be told because we won’t believe what doesn’t match our predetermined notions.

We, in our primitive prideful minds conclude and conclude with zero input from the reality of the matter.
Yet, we are stuck trapped thinking this is real, this is accurate. The world is what’s wrong not our assumptions.
We are arrogance, it leaks most from those of us who’ve accomplished the least.
Who understand our…

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Why?

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Feeling closed inside but unable to stop the strive.
This lyrical poem shows Jack’s fight and what he might do given the try.

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Do I feel weak?

Is it I refuse to speak of how my thoughts are bleak
Shriek inside, seek relief, heart dry dead mounted on a cross, I’m so fucking lost
But I refuse to think ‘cause I’ll sink into a slump and shrink
Lumps stuck in my throat, I’ll begin to choke, start feeling cold
Reckless and out of control but I won’t let go ‘cause there’s no telling where this car’ll go
It’s nowhere any of us would want to know
Obsessed with little regrets, don’t believe in hope
Lie to myself, “I’m the best,” “Not a mess,” “I can do this, though.”
Infest my mind with screaming voices testing me
Deafening noises
Definite poison
Stay poised when the moment is pointing three fingers back as I fade to black
In the middle of a heart attack that…

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God Doesn't Like Cheap

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With Religion these days being no more than a system used for financial gain and societal control, it's hard to know what needs to be done to be saved.
This brief thought based rant suggests what might be happening.

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Traditions forced into gullible minds
Manipulated by systems designed to take advantage time after time
Consumerism hidden behind the face of a god
Obey and offer a sacrifice of finances so the pearly gates open
A stay at God’s place is expensive
Meet the conditions, pay the fee, sign here
Maybe you’ll be considered
Salvation only arrives if you stand in line
Free will is a crime
But if you buy the goods you’ll be saved
If you waste the time and money you’ll be loved
God doesn’t love cheap

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Aged Identity

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In an Identity based atmosphere we see a struggle between the new and old
We feel the need to expose who we are to everyone
Voices unheard, just to discover our identity was never what we thought it was
This philosophical thought explains the idea.

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The end of our ignorance dissolves with age
We learn from mistakes
Memories are always the bad ones because they hold the lessons
There is never an ultimately perfect version of ourselves to get to
We are always just better than we were, be it in one direction or another
Sharing what we’ve learned might help someone else understand what they must do
But it is the job of no one to fix all the broken in the world
Only the broken can fix themselves through the lessons in their mistakes
We have to accept mistakes as our fault for any of this to be possible in the first place
We have to be willing to change things we believe make up our identity to fix ourselves
We grow from young to obsess over our identity
We grow to old to pick the things which don’t belong there anyway

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Inner Demons

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With a crumbling country we face the biggest Social-Political divide since the civil war.
This Lyrical Poem tells Jack’s take and much more.

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There’s something innocent in thought
Theories of what’s not caught in the web
Vanish to the back
Knotted after tied in the hot headed
Hard to not get in bed
Wedded to the beliefs of the dead when its fed daily
But instead what we mean seems to flee us
Jesus died for no reason, see us
Beating, mistreating each other even when we don’t mean to
We can’t help, we’re helpless and selfish
Hope for better version of ourselves to shuffle through
So we stop hurting each other to do the things we want to do
But it’s senseless, we can’t stop even if we wanted
It’s who we are, it’s who we’ve been, it’s who we’ll be
The monsters we don’t acknowledge
Degrees wasted from college
Knowledge lost at every turn, at all costs
Lodged in our souls the demons we hope don’t grow
Ignoring them, we don’t know
They’re slowly taking control
Blinding our sight, ruining our lives
Driving the ride down the hill with the lights off
While we’re hopped on pills denying its part of us
Fighting to destroy the world we’re tried to build
Darkness we’ve tried to conceal reveals itself to have always been real as hell
A president that won’t chill but stays cold
Bold messenger birds deliver blue messages which hurt the innocent youth, the immigrant too
We don’t know what to do
Media buries the truth and we just believe what they want us to
Pin us against one another because we don’t bother to fact check each other
We’re monsters just like our four fathers

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Self-Taught

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Jack rambles about not believing in writers block and explains why.

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Once in a while I draw blanks when attempting to come up with something new to write. But I don’t quit. I’m well trained. Disciplined enough to know just by writing my thoughts down I’ll get somewhere.

I’ve taught myself to expand on seemingly any amount of writing through nothing but will power. I’ve stopped believing writers block is anything more than a state of mind the inexperienced go through. It’s become too easy to turn nothing into something.

See, one of the main lessons about writing is to understand that what one means when they say ‘being a writer’ what they really mean is being a self-editor. Understanding how to twist and turn your own words into something greater than they were on the first round.

Take the first few sentences of this very aimless rant, for example. I can simply change the perspective to third person and pretend I’m telling you the story of a struggling writer. One who is about to force through his writers block and come to the conclusion that anything is possible with a little effort. But in reality this started as nothing more than a mental exercise. Nothing more than my writing to myself about not knowing what to write. Yet, that turns out…

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