Fresh Air

Children splash in blue chlorination as I pass,
as bronzed guards stand vigilant in fire engine tones.
Everywhere grows the ardent green of our wooded city,
summer wildlife roaming in tanktops and flipflops.

I reach the outer edge of my route,
skirting the border of pastoral civilization.
Meadowlarks flit above and beetles scurry below,
birds and bugs alike chirping their mating songs.

Returning down the highway and barraged with scents,
I inhale the fumes of the hustle and bustle.
Chemicals are abound in the aorta of town,
from the ink on my hands to the gas in my tank.

I struggle to hold the fickle red monstrosity together,
as it shakes, rattles, and rolls from place to place.
Frank Zappa and ACDC fade in and out on the distant station,
providing a soundtrack to my final approach

I kill it and lean back on the vinyl seat.
One more day being the delivery boy.

The Most Amazing Thing

Last night, I had the incredible fortune to be involved with one of the largest movements this country has ever seen. I attended the Kansas Democratic caucus, in support of Barack Obama.
I have supported Senator Obama in his bid for the Presidential nomination since early last year. However, it has been these last few months at the University of Kansas that has opened my eyes to power of the Obama movement.
Barack Obama has been able to reach the youth of this generation like no one else has. In these seemingly dark times, many of us had given up on America. We believed that those in charge cared only for themselves, and not for their countrymen. But Obama has changed that. He is politician like none we've ever seen. He gives us hope for a better tomorrow.
The effect that the Senator has on me personally is astounding. Were he not in the race, I wouldn't know who to support. A mixture of fear and cynicism keeps me from believing the promises politicians make, even those of the same party. Just look at Congress right now. We thought a change in leadership would mean an end to the destruction wreaked upon this country by the Bush Adminstration, but we were wrong.
When I hear Senator Obama speak about the future, about hope and change, I can feel the sincerity in his voice. I believe that he has a vision for this country, one that means nothing but good for all of us. In fact, the thought of the change that he talks about gives me sort of an allergic reaction, makes my nose tingle and my eyes water. He gives me a reason to believe in America once again.
While last night's results nationwide were mixed, here in Kansas, Senator Obama people turned out in overwhelming numbers for Senator Obama. Over 17,000 Kansans caucused for Obama on Tuesday. To put this in perspective, only 1,400 Democrats statewide caucused at all in 2004.
It is my greatest hope right now that Barack Obama wins this nomination. There are still over 20 primaries and caucuses left, and with the help of the American people, Obama could win all of them.
He has shown a capability to turn out huge numbers in traditionally Republican state. If Obama were to win the nomination, he could easily take even Kansas in November.
Barack Obama deserves to be the next president of the United States of America, and we can make it happen.

A Bit of Poetry

Night Junk

Constant stream of light
flowing toward uncertain unEnd
dreams filter from darkness
a hypnotic collage of chemical landscapes
the collective memories of the unborn
exist in invisible connective tissue
like lightning in a snowstorm
A fine coating of imagination
covers the ground, schizophrenic litter
Madmen stalk the streets
behind a camouflage of norms
You know one
We all know one
We all know all

Uncertainty, Principle

It is a rough day for realizations. I cannot help but question what I've chosen to study, and whether or not it is what I should be doing. Sad thing is, it's too late to turn back now.
The issue of journalism has me torn. Today, in my Research & Writing class, we had to come up with story ideas. The same thing happened to me that always does: I could not think of anything. Which in turn, made me think.
Am I really cut out to go into journalism? Is this what I want to do. I have been told that I am good at writing, and I really do love it. However, with the issue of journalism, it doesn't seem to me that I have the sort of drive or attitude that it would take for traditional reporting and the like.
Now, the newspaper is a family thing. Three previous generations of Lowell have gone into the newspaper business, and I seem destined to be the fourth. Yet I struggle with the questions of what it will take, and whether or not my desires conflict with my obligations. There is no doubt in my mind that I need to get on the ball, if I intend to start out as a newspaper reporter.
I feel that the problem with getting a Journalism degree, is that they attempt to box you in, in terms of newspaper, magazine, or broadcast journalism. Would it be a significant step to go into either newspaper or magazine, and then switch? Ideally, I would like to write for a magazine, it's more my style. However, realistically, I would be more likely to start out with a job at a newspaper. But do I really want to do any of that. In all honesty, I really just want to write.
That means I need to start writing, and do it constantly. I have a problem with motivation.
Then there is the issue of my obligations. I feel obligated to, one day, go back home and to run the Concordia Blade-Empire. It is the family business, and I fear that when my father and grandfather are gone, that it will fall apart. I don't want to see that happen. The question is, will I have enough time to do all of things that I feel I could do, before I need to return?
And what are these things I could do? I don't know what kind of writer/reporter I want to be, not at all. I would love to cover culture, movies, music, that sort of thing. These are things that I have a bit of a feel for, and am quite knowledgeable about. But, these are trivial matters.
Many who know me could tell you that I am a very passionate about at least a few things. World affairs, politics, the human condition, all things that I have a great interest in. And I'm very opinionated about these issues. However, how do I, as merely a journalist, go about "saving the world" as I see it? Especially without compromising reputation?
I don't know the answers to these questions. At least, not yet. But I am going to make an honest effort to continue writing about them.
Adieu.

Chroma

Rose-tinted brilliance strikes against the sky,
while cool blue illuminates darkened buses.
Golden-burning stars stretch across the black,
while verdant greens drain from the surroundings.

As the shades and hues explode in our minds,
synapses connect and recall blushing memories.
Flashing lights and flaring intensity follow,
to the thumping backdrop of life's beat.

Warmth seeps from the atmosphere,
so goes the luster of your laughing cheeks.
Frames darken alongside prospects,
leaving one bleak outlook trapped to concrete.

A visionary's raised fist surrounded,
by fiery oranges, poignant grays, and stark whites.
Imaginative creations of what ought,
earth tones overtaking the brain's palettes.

Beautiful, dirt brown mixes with lost greens,
blooming yellows and reds remembered.
Pristine blues restore life to the flesh,
skins of every tint and tone all burst smiles.

So when the changing of the seasonal guard comes,
may the radiance of every color return.
Never to be cast away again at the smallest slight,
nor to lose their significance to the iris of all.

The Soundtrack

"There's something happenin' here, what it is ain't exactly clear."
As I stay in lockstep with the stop-and-go traffic down the broad commercial strip leading to the interstate, Buffalo Springfield plays poignantly in the background. Here I am, leaving the breakneck pace of my college lifestyle behind, and with it, the remains of yet another failed relationship. It is time for me to return home, to see friends and family on this holiday of Giving Thanks. Between the music and the gentle vibration of tires on the highway, you are almost lulled into believing that this long, strange tip is mostly out of your control.

"I'm feeling rough, I'm feeling raw in the time of my life."
Here I stand, facing oblivion. A strange gray film had settled down in front of me, blotting out the landscape ahead. I soon penetrated this weird fog, continuing my journey of hopping from one small town to the next. I could keep going down the interstate, surrounded by nothingness on either side, but I prefer the backroads. There is something about traveling through the various hamlets, with their close-knit daily lives laid bare for all passers-by to see.

"I am yours, you are mine, you are what you are."
I'm sitting in my car in front of a shopping mall, with the wind whistling about. This place is like a blown-up version of home, with rural community being supplanted by larger and larger commercial developments. I contemplate calling her. Maybe after dinner.

"It ain't me, it ain't me, I ain't no fortunate one."
As Creedence tears into the opening chords of "Fortunate Son", I glide through the farmland surrounding yet another village. I see decaying farm equipment sitting beside rusting buildings. The closer and closer I get to home, the more everything changes from suburban corporate concrete to the collapsing rural setting I'm more familiar with.

Time for Change...To This Blog

I'm too busy and have put writing off for far too long, so I'm going to convert this blog into an outlet for all my creative writing, not just political thoughts that I don't have time for anymore. So with no further ado, here is the first installment of my new blog.

American Synthesis

Making love to the absurdist noise,
crying out in the fading street light.
The spectre looms as we sleep,
the sad-eyed posterchild weeping smeared tears.

To the heroin drama we give praise,
the intoxicated comedy we laugh in disbelief.
Breakbeats pounding in the boy's eardrums
leave a desire for rhyme and its riches.

Rhythm of flesh and breath give life
to a new being, a costumed freak god.
He/she rises above the pulsating crowd,
a Gypsy Baron/ess lording over the muddled mob.

Powpowpow, the righetous bring arms,
seeking a skirmish with the new scum.
The horde of angry eclectic electric soldiers
ensuring the fall of the indoctrinated.