Skin You Alive

You have got to be kidding me. I can't believe I'm about to defend this show, but... sigh I had to.

image from poptower.com

I know you've heard about the "new" controversial show that hit the airwaves last week consequently riling up every bigoted, ignorant, and just plain hypocritical person/organization in this country. Skins, which is originally a show produced in England is about a group of teens who use recreational drugs, have sex, and are immune to common sense and monotony. This show has entertained American youth for years, but the minute it comes here as a remake there is this whirlwind of judgment and disgust based solely on our country's incredible ability to ignore our own sexual depravity when it comes to teens in entertainment. Ahem- Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera, Mandy Moore, Justin Bieber. Instead, the US is condemning a series that might just be the most honest (okay a bit exaggerated) representation of youth... besides Degrassi ha. Okay, I'm totally taking license here, but I'm trying to make a point.

Teens do in fact use drugs and they also- gasp - have sex, but with every fiber in their historically warped, willingly oblivious being, America does not want this all too real exhibition of growing up to be broadcast to the masses.
Advertisers have been pulling support from the show in fear of being ostracized and boycotted by a bunch of raving lunatics. This is from this article on msnbc.com: "THR.com first reported Taco Bell pulled out of the series — which chronicles teens having sex and doing drugs — because 'it is not a fit for our brand.'" I'm sorry. WHAT?! I cannot count how many times I have seen on their twitter account a retweet by a young person proclaiming their need for Taco Bell after a "reeedic smoke sesh." Also, we all know Taco Bell is the place to go when it's 2 in the morning and you've got a bad case of the munchies. Taco Bell knows all too well stoners' prevalence to ooey gooey melty crunchy or however the ad goes.
And to all you car companies who shamelessly fled from advertising during the show like cowardly ninnies, say goodbye to your ads exclaiming "rugged masculinity" and "toughness," because apparently, when the road gets too rough instead of powering through it you pull over and call your mommies crying.

On a more serious, yet wildly outrageous note, the show's being considered a violation of child pornography laws. Granted, I too am a little concerned with the age of the actors on the show. If, however, THEIR PARENTS consented to having them on it, well then I guess that's fine. Why? BECAUSE THEIR PARENTS CONSENTED. I will say nothing further on that particular matter, because I am sure there are more pressing cases of child pornography in the US that involve younger, more helpless children, and if this investigation is taking manpower from that dire, vile problem then I absolutely have no words. No words to express my immense discomfort and nausea with the thought that this legal, completely professional syndicated show is taking precedent over them.

The Parents Televison Council should be ashamed of themselves for undertaking this witch hunt that is undoubtedly a cry for attention. This organization reminds me of those crazy PTA members who wanted to remove Romeo & Juliet from the high school curriculum because it promotes indecent behavior. SHADDUP. There are bigger fights to be fought, but because this one has a bit more celebrity attached to it there's a mad (and I do mean MAD) scramble to announce their passionate aversion to it. There's a solution to all of this. RAISE YO KIDS RAISE YO KIDS RAISE YO GD KIDS. Watch them. Be proactive parents. Turn off the TV. Young kids shouldn't be watching MTV anyway (ahem Jersey Shore). I could get into a whole slew of things wrong with a parenting organization trying to oust a TV show from a network in the name of "protection," but I've bored you long enough.






I'm out.

Questions, Questions, Questions

Do you ever wonder what drives people to build relationships with certain people? And I don't just mean romantically. Actually, I don't mean romantically at all. What goes through a person's mind when they see someone and immediately know they have to form a bound with them. What unspeakable force draws us to the people we find ourselves surrounded by? It has to be more than just common interests because then everybody in Williamsburg would be skipping through McCarren holding hands and singing that Bobby McFerrin song, eating vegan ice cream and downing whiskey. There's an X factor, I guess. That incomprehensible knowing. That potential.
A more interesting question, since we humans love dwelling on negativity, is the opposite, what makes people write others off without so much as a "hello." You know the people I'm talking about. You see them and immediately you make a snap judgment. There's just something "off" about them.
And don't get me started about the whole, "boys can't be just friends with girls" foolishness, because that plain drives me crazy. Many times I have questioned this statement and wondered what ninny came up with it and all the idiots that repeat it. By the way, they totally can.
I dunno. I just woke up this morning with lots of questions about...life. About people. About events that turn out just to be another page in my diary. Sigh. Anyway, relationships are weird. I don't think I'll ever completely understand how they come into fruition, but that's not necessarily a bad thing... so...


This song makes me happy. haha



I'm out.

L O S T C ON Q U E S T

He stood with his back to the bar watching patrons drink and talk about subjects submerged under sober uneasiness and pride. The clinking of glasses irritated him, but also excited him in a familiar way. The sounds of nighttime always allayed his loneliness. Knowing others came to the bar to escape the unrelenting fate of solitude, he sighed with relief and scanned the room for the next person he would escape with. When he first started his job he was reluctant to introduce himself to pretty girls, sure that behind their kind eyes lurked only the inscrutable desire for attention and a free shot. Quickly learning that they were eager to offer more than their attention, he felt no harm in indulging in fleshy validation. Growing numb with every encounter and regretful with every number tossed away he began to fall into a blissful nothingness.

Music echoed loudly through the speakers. Girls danced provocatively only to get guys' attention, shaking and gyrating unspeakable wants. Guys salivated over the knowing motions and clumsily attempting to get attention by laughing too loudly and pushing each other. He watched with amusement this weekly charade in which he never partook. Then he saw her. She had been watching him from across the room, patiently waiting for him to notice her. He did. A panic came over him, paralyzing him. It was her. A girl. The girl? He had been with so many he could not be sure.

It was a night like any other when he met her. Immediately writing her off as an easy target, a notch in his bedpost, a girl to conquer and leave abandoned. Though she was different from the rest, uneasy in her approach, unsure of her fingertips that lightly brushed his arm. An unrecognizable timidity crossed her face when she laughed at his awful jokes and smiled innocently at his mundane, cliched compliments. Her eyes penetrated him when they exchanged anecdotes, she peered into a place he was so far removed from he knew it didn't exist. Yet he went through with the selfish, debilitating act. She woke up next to him in the morning and her presence startled him. Usually he opened his eyes to an empty room and a warm spot where a nameless victim previously laid. Demurely pulling up his sheets to her glowing body, she grinned at him with unknowing- purity. He felt sick. Telling her he had to be somewhere soon he feigned agitation as he glanced at the clock by his bed that read 10 AM. Without saying much, she moved quickly, repeatedly apologizing to him, dressed and left, but not before giving him the warmest, most sincere kiss he'd ever received since he moved to the city from his small town. In that single kiss he remembered who he had been and what he had become. She left. He looked in the mirror, trying to see that place she saw. He had been withdrawn for so long he forgot who he was. His face looked haggard and old. Dark circles ringed his eyes- black pools of malcontent and horror. He almost screamed. What had he done? What had he been doing? All these girls. All these people. He began washing his face, gently at first then feverishly, rubbing his face raw, trying to scrub away himself. In his search for affirmation he abandoned thought, feelings, reason. These girls were nothing but meaningless shells in which to hide his vulnerability. With every girl he marginalized he lost a piece of his humanity, a multitude of self-respect. He began to resent them, the girls. They never gave him want he wanted, what he needed. They were instant gratification, fleeting validation, false hope. But in one kiss he saw what he had been suppressing for as long as he could remember, but made a great effort to forget. And until tonight he thought he had.

The music all of a sudden got too loud. The charade on the dance floor turned into a frantic, impassioned fight amongst the sexes, then a mindless, erratic orgy. He felt dizzy. Nauseated. The room spun and he ran to the bathroom past eager faces clutching dollar bills, anxious for another drink, past lusting eyes, past apathy, past fear, past loathing, past everything and everyone that reminded him of himself. He let go of all the guilt, the pain, the anger, the bitterness, staring at it mildly, swirling around in a bowl of indifference. He felt better. Much better.
He sauntered back to the bar, holding himself gently. She stood in front him yet seemed so distant. He looked at her. She looked at him pitifully. He was pathetic, she thought, yet felt a pang of what she didn't know. Maybe it was understanding- or affection. Shuddering nervously, embarrassed by the thought of their passionless night together, she finally broke the awkward silence.

"Hi. How've you been." She had to lean over the bar so he could hear her speak.
"Fine." He lied. She knew he was lying. He looked down at his feet. She smelled how she smelled the night they first met.
"Um," she paused, he looked up imploringly, "Can I get a whiskey ginger?" He stared at her unable to comprehend what she said then finally replied,
"Sure. Yeah," he gave it to her, "It's on me." He said those words, pleading for her forgiveness. She refused his charity and his apology. She finished her drink at the bar, staring into his eyes as she gulped, the whiskey and carbonation burning her throat sweetly. She put the glass down. Waiting a moment, she pierced him again with her eyes. She kissed him. He could taste the whiskey and ginger on her cool lips. His eyes closed, she pulled away, put her money on the bar and left. He stood awe-struck. The music played. He never saw her again.




I'm out.

She Is Who She Is

Essence of crushed dreams sprinkle her aura like twinkling stars against a sheet of black hopelessness. She sits back on the bench in the bar, eyes closed, you could almost hear the thoughts wildly spinning in her head. There's an energy that emerges from her person, whipping you in the face- warm... too warm. Her eyes open and she speaks. She says things in rapid succession, you cannot follow everything. The nonsensical becomes a wavering, incoherent medley of sounds that you cannot enjoy or control. Berating listening ears with negativity wrapped tightly in insecurity. Pouring from her lips like liquid fire, her words burned in ways that no one could completely understand. A clusterfuck of self-destruction and malevolent intentions will her to a place unknown to some, relished by others, loathed by the rest. It's a place devoid of reason or reality, a diabolically personal manifestation of horror and disdain. Rapidly overtaking her body, threatening to unleash a fury of inexplicable, unsuspected proportions, alcohol coaxes this volatility with sweet mocking. Encouraging outrageous, perplexing behavior, the molten beverage succeeds in unleashing this incongruous person. Reeking of self-loathing and severe distress, the pungent odor of defeat stings the nostrils and burns as it enters your lungs and screams through your body. Being so close to such a strong energy depletes everyone around her. She is a walking vacuum, sucking positivity out of the air until it becomes stale and stagnant. She has been this way for as long as she can remember. With severe certainty she begins to lash out. She shrieks about her terrible life and her lack of love. She wails about the unfairness of humanity and colossal mistakes that riddle her life, inducing perpetual sadness. Then she begins projecting her insecurities onto others, images of morbid indecency lightly place themselves over the faces of others, altering their true selves, a distorted falsity that has become oh too real for her. Again she speaks with violent conviction, retorting coldly, rambling angrily, name-calling, accusing, belittling all in hopes of deceiving the pain and numbing herself. Of course, this never works and instead forces people to flee. Run away from her innumerable complexities that are divulged with overwhelming intensity when the liquor consumes her. She is someone we all know... maybe ourselves? Continuously struggling in this heartless, selfish society. She is who she is.


I'm out.

Missed Connections w4m, BLB

I'm about to admit something no sane person should admit. However, it's because of this inexplicable partiality I feel for this writer who has been serial-spamming craigslist with his writing. It hit me like a lightening bolt, tingling through me like electricity. Painful and illogical, but beautiful and precise. I'm not sure if it's sleep deprivation or this total stranger reawakened something within me I've almost forgotten- love, love for words, love for thought, love for the intangible, the ridiculous, the absurd.
Alright, here's my secret: I scroll through "missed connections" sometimes when I'm bored. It's become a habit born out of sheer curiosity and the hope that some guys could be true romantics. This leads right into why I wanted to write this post. There's a guy out there that puts up missed connections on craigslist, but instead of "looking for a blonde wearing a red jacket and black boots," he's writing profoundly insightful, heart wrenching poetry that has left me in a state of shock and awe. For months I have been terrified to write poetry on my blog. For weeks I have been putting off updating in hopes of discovering a topic I can write about freely, and then I find this guy's blog. He's like everything I aspire to be as a writer, fearless and unwavering. He writes in a way devoid of commercial, patronizing rhetoric. Instead he uses words with a biting, uncensored ferociousness. It's like he's fighting, constantly fighting. Fighting himself, fighting the words, fighting format and style, fighting conformity, fighting for his place, his rightful place in a world full of doubt and hopelessness, disrespect and sorrow. He shows no remorse in his words, his thoughts forming violent serenity, if you can call it that. That description makes sense when you read him, maybe it doesn't, but that's what is so appealing about writing, it's (in)comprehension. His writing is so poignant because he doesn't throw his intelligence mockingly in your face, but slips it into lines and phrases with stealth and careful thought. His name is Frankie Leone and he is Williamsburg, Borough of Lost Boys... or more affectionately, the "missed connections writer."

This is my very first post about another writer... It's fitting because of the New Year and all. A lot of firsts have been happening in these last few days, many interesting occurrences. This year really is going to be fantastic, I really can feel it.

I'm out.