It's funny how....

It's funny how so many thing's in life are funny, but so routine that they almost lose there appreciation. It's funny how, because I'm not computer literate enough to figure out how to put a picture on my blogspot, I'll be viewed less by the general bloglic. It's funny how many different ways you can play with the root word blog. It's blogtastic, or blogriffic. It's funny how inconsistent I've been on this spot because I don't own a computer with internet access. It's even funnier that I have to write these at work where I could get a call at anytime and have to leave. Ha Ha Ha, I just got a call. I'll blog you up soon...

Teddy

Slam Poem- A Mourning Mother

Randomnocity

I see an idividualistic, slightly sadistic, people who are overly ritualistic.

A need seen is an assignment given, has been lost in, or forgotten, in a self centered world view that our parents have given.

And I hate that it takes all that we hate simply to motivate.

But my passion perpetuates the fact that we procrastinate until we are irate.

So sit down, shut up, and let me elaborate.

We've, Americans, raped a land, but not our own, so we can bath in materialistic overabundance that our TV's condone.

And it's that same media that broadcasts sorrow, that then quickly says, "up next sports and weather,"
so it can all be forgotten tomorrow.

As a nature that we call mother cries and dies, we under pay an oppressed people to ensure our unnecessary supplies arrive.

We've got hundreds of movies on demand, while the chemicals it took to make your jeans seep into the Thai land.

Our children safely fight over a truck called Tonka, while the people choke on the smoke from the plants in Sri Lanka.

And the moans and groans grow so loud, I can almost hear them now, as the ground in Africa and India feel the direct stress of our selfishness.

Then, when, the mother demonstrates her hate for our disdain, we're willing to send 35 million to say we're sorry and we feel your pain.

Is Anyone In Here?

Randomnocity

There's an eire echo in this place... Maybe I shouldn't have watched The Grudge the other night, hmmmmmmmmm, no, I definitely shouldn't have watched that crappy movie, but what's that hollow sound. Is this blogging? Am I on the blogdar? Hello, Hello, Hello!

I'm just playing around, but really, the blogcept seems to boast infinite potential, but from a not so wired, slightly skeptic view point I wonder, will this really allow us to connect? Will we be able to serve each other through being a spot on the blog? Can community sustain in the blog? I guess we'll find out. I'm sure there is enough breathing room, question is, will we breathe? Hope so. Come, breathe with me.

You're doing what... Blogging?

I must admit, I'm asking myself the same question with that same curiously cute tone of voice. It reminds me of when I told my father that I was going to propose to Teresa during a poetry slam. He didn't quizzically question my proposal, but the fact that I was in a poetry slam. You're doing what? Poetry? Blogging? What kind of son did I raise.

Once upon a time I sent mass e-mails at extreme random, I called them randomnocity. Hopefully they encouraged, provoked, and enlightened, my guess is that they were probably for my benefit alone, none the less they were written and sent. Blogging just may be the necessary needle to the vein resurrection for randomnocity.