I feel a long post coming soon.  I’m not sure about the subject, but it’s coming!  Just a forewarning for all of you who don’t like to read that much and comment little.

Here’s a word of advice for all of you out there.  Probation has to be the worst experience in my life, right next to death, which of course I haven’t experienced yet, but from what I’ve heard, that sucks too.  Anyways, I’ve become involved in a semi-long distance relationship, and from what I’ve heard, those never work.  Yep, they never work, kinda like me trying to skateboard. 

…However

I am a determined person.  I’m going to try my best to make it last as long as possible, and though I sense some sort of event similar to an anti-apocolypse (heh, I like that!) coming on soon, I’m going to keep my head high.

…did that sound subliminal?

Anyways, I have realized something.  I am not afraid of anything.  I don’t know what drives this more than likely naive mind set, but I really fear nothing.  Of course, there was this one time involving plastic sporks and cyran wrap, but I really don’t feel like going into that right now.  Truthfully though, I find myself walking by a ferocious rottweiler saying to myself, “If that dog gets loose and tries to bother me, I’ll shank it!”.  I would probably think I could catch a bullet if I had to.  Of course, the reality is probably that the only place I would end up catching it is in my side.  Sad, but true.

So much death…

My friend’s (yes, one of my “gang buddies”) friend was shot yesterday.  You can look in todays paper on the front page, bottom right corner, and read about it.  A month before that his cousin was shot.  Two weeks before that his nephew died because someone set his home on fire and bolted the doors shut.  I just find myself asking why there is so much death. 

Why?

---

Things Change
I used to post up on Highland block
Since I was seven.
Ever since my gramps got his
one-way ticket to heaven.
Plastic swords, treasure maps,
camo coats, and toy gatts.
Used to walk up to the corner
to get me a piece
Not a piece of chrome
But rather
Just a piece of a Reese.
Fallen soldiers lie in streets now
instead of the dirt.
Instead of bandanas,
cowboys and indians,
in the alley’s are where
those blue flags lurk.
Used to run to the store
to get me a pop.
Now the only pop we get
Is what makes peoples’
hearts stop.
But times are tough.
It’s hard enough
just trying to survive
without worrying about
staying alive.
We walk on thin ice
Because we can’t walk on water
So poor
We put ketchup in rice
To give it some flavor.
Back when we were kids
playing “War” is what we’d do
But that was all just training
Because now we die in the streets too.

---

Later

Caleb
(buff)MUFF
Hustler By Day
Hardcore Gangstar @ Nite

Newsflash!  My password is DearJohnYouSuck
I wonder how many people will actually fall for that one.  Hahaha you idiots!  What morons!  Anyone who actually thinks that this is my password should be shot!

What it do?  What tha bidness is?

Article I.

You know what I hate?  I hate girls that play games.  It’s childish.  I always have that problem with girls.  They seem to always act like kids.  It’s not funny, it’s not cool, it’s not annoying, it’s just a problem.  If a girl is going to go out with me, and then play games and be indecisive about every little thing, then I don’t want any part, you know?  I’m a big boy, and I really have no emotional, physical, or psychological time for girls making misanthropic naive decision that have no basis, nor grasp, on reality.  Love is NOT a game boys and girls.  Love is NOT chess, or backgammon, or solitaire.  If love were a battlefield, then I’d earn stripes.  That’s how it is.  End of Story.

Article II.

Poetry.com is a load of crap.  They just sent me a certificate stating that I was the “Editor’s Choice”.  Little do they realize that I am a Superhero, i.e. I have X-Ray vision.  (I can see through their bullshit).  The reality is that I know that they send a letter to every person who sends in a poem, and the certificate is sent to every poet chosen to be published.  First they wanted to put me in a book.  Now they want to put me on a CD.  Poetry on a CD.  Unbe-fucking-lievable.  How on God’s green Earth do you do that?  And who will be reading it?  Who will actually be listening to it?  I gave them my permission to do so nevertheless because, the way I figure it, they already have my poem, so they might as well do what they want with it legally.  Grant you, that poem must have been the worst poem I have ever written in the history of my writing career.  Idiots.

Article III.

Why do they call it a career for things you don’t make money from?  Examples would be:  Writing poetry, going to school, playing chess.   Oh, and why on Earth do they not call some things a career when you clearly do make profit from, for example, selling drugs, bootlegging items on the streets, prostitution.  Geez people, make up your minds already!

Article IV.

I need something illegal, or else I’m going to become something I already am, but just more subliminally discrete. 

Article V.

Saying that you hate something with a passion does not make you clever.  So just shutup and go play chicken with a cigarette.

Article VI.

Don’t call me by my government name in the presence of police.  That will only lead to trouble…

…for them I mean.

Article VII.

For some reason, I’ve started carrying around knives.  Throwing knives mostly, with the occasional chopping knife in the back pocket. 

Article VIII.

Why is it that ever since I started smoking marijuana, everyone in the effing highschool knows who I am?  I went to the highschool not too long ago, only to find people who I’ve never even seen before calling me by my government name.

1.)  I don’t know you.  How do you know my name?
2.)  Why are you saying my name aloud?
3.)  I wouldn’t sell to you anyways.

This little thing has become even more frequent, the more I go there.  It persists despite the fact that I don’t smoke or buy anymore.  I’M ON PROBATION YOU IDIOTS!

Article IX.

I figured out that God must exist.  What else could explain the phenomenon of a fresh new Kleenex tissue popping up after you have pulled one out?  It has to be the will of God.

Article X.

I’m thinking about creating my own country.  I’ll just get a band of thugs to hold the perimeters.  It’ll probably be located somewhere between the DairyQueen on Albert Pike and Greenwood Street.  I need to come up with a constitution though.  It’ll probably be loosely based upon the G-Code.  If anyone does not know what the G-Code is, I advise you to go to your local EZ Mart or neighborhood ghetto.  The cats in blue will know.

---

New poem or whatever

---

I used to post up on Highland block
Since I was seven.
Ever since my gramps got his
one-way ticket to heaven.
Plastic swords, treasure maps,
camo coats, and toy gatts.
Used to walk up to the corner
to get me a piece
Not a piece of chrome
But rather
Just a piece of a Reese.
Fallen soldiers lie in streets now
instead of the dirt.
Instead of bandanas,
cowboys and indians,
in the alley’s are where
those blue flags lurk.
Used to run to the store
to get me a pop.
Now the only pop we get
Is what makes peoples’
hearts stop.
But times are tough.
It’s hard enough
just trying to survive
without worrying about
staying alive.
We walk on thin ice
Because we can’t walk on water
Put ketchup in rice.
To give it some flavor.
Back when we were kids
playing “War” is what we’d do
But that was all just training
Because now we die in the streets too.

---

Dear Jamie I’ve got a letter I would like to send It’s lacking strings of words with punctuation at the end. Should I trust this dial act? To convey the right effect? Dear Jamie I’ve got some things I’d like to set in pen I would have used a pencil but that’s just not permanent. Should I trust my printer’s ink? To express the things I think?

-Peace out-

(buff)MuFF
Eminent Threat

Its off to the Poet’s Loft tonight.  I’ll just read one new poem tonight (considering that is all I have written over the week!).  The poem I wrote was in my head the entire way back from Russelleville.  I drove there for absolutely no reason at all, or rather, absolutely no logical reason.  Its more of a prayer.

---

“Prayer Upon My Demise” © Caleb Cooley 2005

When I drift from this Earth,
all the pages that I have learned
have them turned.
Have my children keep warm
from my ashes that burn.
Let my body
return to the soil
as precious Indian comodities:
Leather and Ivory.
Do not let me
become maggot feed.
Plant my mind on a river bank
next to an oak seed
So that it will last
like the neighboring trees.
Because all that I see now
are crimson skies
and the fury of
the rising tides.
Let my eyes be the pearls
upon my love’s necklace
Keeping her safe.
Let my morals embed
in the child she gave.
Because all I see now
are crimson skies
and the fury of
the rising tides.
Let my shallow reflections
seek your face.
Let my soul fail
to cease in faith.
When the final hour
is upon my eyes
Hear this
Prayer Upon my demise.
Please Lord,
let my mind and spirit last,
even after my body
has passed.

---

Right now I’m on probation for missing too many days at school.  Having said that, my curfew is now limited to 8pm on any day except Wednesday, where it is 10:30pm for the simple reason being that my parents believe that going to the Poet’s Loft “is productive”.  Anyways, I’m not too fond of my P.O. because he acts like a know-it-all who actually
doesn’t-know-it-all-at-all.

Well, that’s it for now.  I don’t know when I’ll be on again to update, due to my grounding from technology.  So now I’m being forced to go Amish on all of you once again. 

Peace.

Caleb
(buff)MUFF

I have found a VERY GOOD song by Audioslave.  Beautifully written actually. 

(I Am The Highway)

Pearls and swine, bereft of me
long and weary my road has been
I was lost in the cities
Alone in the hills
No sorrow or pity
For leaving I feel
I am not your rolling wheels
I am the highway
I am not your carpet ride
I am the sky
Friends and liars
Dont wait for me
‘Cause I’ll get on
All by myself
I put millions of miles
Under my heels
And still too close to you
I feel,
I am not your rolling wheels
I am the highway
I am not your carpet ride
I am the sky
I am not your blowing wind
I am the lightning
I am not your autumn moon
I am the night

---

I have a the court date (finally!), for me missing those days at school.  I’m anxious to get it over with.  More than likely, I’ll be put on probation.  I don’t really mind the probation part that much though.  The limitations of it wouldn’t limit me because I’m not allowed to go out driving around after school on weekdays anyway.  That’s the biggest part of the news for today. 

---

This is another work-in-progress.

---

When I drift from this Earth,
all the pages that I’ve learned
have them turned.
Have my children keep warm
from my ashes that burn
Let my body
return to the Earth
as precious Indian comodities:
Leather and Ivory.
Do not let me
become maggot feed.
Plant my mind
next to an oak
seed
So that it may last
like the neighboring tree.
Because all I see now
are crimson skies
and rising tides.
Let my eyes be the pearls
upon my love’s necklace
Keeping her safe.
Please Lord,
let my mind and spirit last,
even after my body
has passed.

---

That’s it so far.  I’m reluctant to add more.  It’s pretty good in itself.

---

Oh yeah, I drew this today.  I know, I know.  Weed.  But it was so beautiful.

---

<3

Caleb
(buff)MUFF

Okay, so I’m planning on going to the Poet’s Loft tonight at 8pm.  But before that, I have to first go to church, practice for the praise band, and then play a song during service with the praise band.  I’ll leave around 7:30pm.  These are the poems that I might read:

“Imagine” © Caleb Cooley 2005

---

Imagine
Ten thousand kisses
hitting your body.
Its no
common commodity.
She makes it
…(gasp!)…(gasp!)…
hard to breath
Catch my breath
Can’t stand
Girl, you got me
weak at the knees.
She’s got me
shakin’
Not makin’ anything
of the night.
There’s not clock
in sight
It’s alright.
Cuz it feels so right.
She’s my
conscious seizure
Got me thinkin’
of ways
just to
please her.
I’ll bend to
everything she says
Even if it’s
like an Incubus chorus
Just a phase
It’s not just me anymore:
Its more “us”.
So I’m thankful.
Funny how meager prayers and dreams
Seem to translate to reality.
Just shows who’s in power, see
Not too soon
Not even to late,
these dreams translate
from a metaphoric state
to create
something that quite possibly
might be
the beginning of my fate.
I got
butterflies in my stomach
from it.
I feel
as heavy as lead
now the blood’s
rushing to my head.
Now I don’t refrain
from dancing with her
in the rain.
She makes me
rise from the dead.
She’s got me
like Lazarus
roll that stone to the side,
I’m free.
Resurrection
through the convection of
her radiant perfection
overwhelms me.
Surrounds me.
Its like
I’m a pre
meditated target
for Cupid’s Arrow
straight from the quiver.
It creates this river
that flows from my heart
through my veins
straight to my bones.
I’m not
alone.
She’s got me
dancin’ in ways
I didn’t think possible
makin’ me feel responsible
for my life
my strife.
I won’t lie.
I wanna spend everyday and every night
with her
for the rest of my life
’til the day we die.
I cry:
I wanna mean everything to her
that she means to me.
And then
meet her back
in eternity.

“Remember”   © Caleb Cooley 2005 

---

This place is peaceful
A sanctuary
between
Central and Exchange.
How appropriate named
actually.
A central exchange
of thoughts and theories
between my peers.
A place where the
pupils of my eyes –
the pupils that see–
become pupils
that teach me
to
live,
see,
breathe.
And hopefully
when I look back
on my journey
The course that I study –
The course of life –
I’ll make an A.
But even if I make a C
and die knowing
I tried my best
I’ll be happy.
Because I’ll know
that all that I failed in life
is what my eyes
did not see,
and thus,
did not teach me.
But I guess
it’s all just a learning phase.
What a maze.
this amazing journey.
Because you never walk
through existance.
At least you never should.
Remember to crawl
and feel the roots and rocks
in your hands.
It keeps you from stumbling
in shadows –
the dark places where
feet alone cannot guide.
Young man,
remember that
the dirt under your fingernails
does not blemish your existance.
It makes it.
Whoever said that
life is beautiful
did not live life,
Because life is not beautiful.
Life is ugly and scarred,
twisted and blinded,
and so
Life is not beautiful.
But the experience is.
So live life
knowing that life
is to be lived,
not wasted
on petty things
that will not make
a difference
when all has been done.
Remember that
life is…
and even the sun
will die
and the moon will shatter –
and the painted stars
on the canvas sky
will run.
Remember that
the ink blots that
are scattered in this universe
are what makes it so beautiful.
But above all
Son,
remember that
your life
has just
begun.

“Ode to Estrogen” © Caleb Cooley 2005

---

Females,
They come in all shapes and sizes. 
All forms and all names. 
They don’t know what they want. 
Plain and simple. 
Like my boxers, which are striped with plaid stars. 
Plain and fucking simple. 
Most have seemingly idolled the figures of
Mabaline and Covergirl practically all of their lives
– brainwashed by that sick distant relative of “The Man”.  
…they paint their faces on
with all the pretty colors that hide their true beauty…

Because above hips, chest, thighs, or butt,
the most real ass shit is the ladies who don’t give a fuck. 
I can’t believe us men still allow it,
they and we still-let-toes become mangled and bunched,
crippled and crunched in Stilettos. 

Do you realize what Stiletto means?!? 
KNIFE!!! 
We have our women walking on knives for us “Men”! 
And you wonder why at old age
they become so crippled they can’t harldly move. 
It’s all that pain and strife they go through. 
They’re living in a world of male expectations
…they’re clawing
…and crawling
…and kicking and screaming
…and biting
…tooth to brick
…to gain some form of liberation from these male expectations
– They’re the reason why 14 year old girls’ wrists are slit,
the reason why 10 year old girls think that skinny is a compliment.

They settle with style and class, deserting individuality in the process. 

You women need to realize that…

Maybe it’s Mabaline that most men are looking for but,
CoverGirl, cover for yourself because you are poetry in the making,
just a flower in bloom,
baby,
and You’re Worth It. 
No, your value isn’t judged by the Bens you spend
on eye-shadow and lip gloss. 
No, you’re worth more than just that. 
Realize ladies that you are beautiful in your own
and you don’t need our second opinions to feel good about that. 
Ladies, realize this
…because you are.

---

So, I’m planning (it’s already in the process of become a reality actually) on being a featured poet at The Poet’s Loft on December 28th, 2005.  I’ll have a 20 to 30 minute set.  I’m hoping that all of my friends, and enemies for that matter, will come to see me perform.  I guess I’m really moving forward with my writing:  Being published in a book, being a featured poet at The Poet’s Loft, being acknowledged as a formidable competitor in the upcoming Poetry Slam in March by the former winner of last year’s poetry slam.  And I’m still trying to figure out where all of these words of mine are coming from.  I must just have a hole somewhere in my brain, and they just keep leaking out of it, because whenever I look at a poem I wrote that someone says is really good, I always find myself asking myself:  “Where on God’s green Earth did I come up with that line?”.  It’s just amazing actually.  That’s why I think that my poetry is a “Gift from God”.

Today I saw a Porche down in Mountain Pine with a hay bale sticking out of its trunk. 

Sorry, thought that was pretty great.  The irony in it just amused me to death….wait, what irony?  Exactly. 

You know those little signs that you hang on doorknobs?  They usually say “Do not disturb” or “If the bed’s rockin’, don’t be knockin’”.  Actually, I made that last one up.  I think those doorknob signs are imbedded with subliminal principles.  Anyways, I got one on my front door this afternoon.  It reads:

---

Garland
County
Sheriff’s
Department

Warrants / Civil Division

 

Mr./Mrs.        William Cooley
Date                November 16, 2005

Our office has received a Civil / Warrant in your
name.  Call our office for further information or
come by 525 Ouachita.

Or advise the office where service can be
obtained.

NOTE:  Any attempt to evade service could result in a
warning order being filed against you, in compliance with
ARK. STATUTES 27-354 and 27-355.

Deputy Ford            

---

Yeah, I thought that was odd.  I’ll probably swing by there later on today.  Who knows what it could be, given the neighborhood I live in.

Well, I’m out people.  Later!

Caleb
(buff)Muff

“Imagine” © Caleb Cooley 2005

---

Imagine
Ten thousand kisses
hitting your body.
Its no
common commodity.
She makes it
…(gasp!)…(gasp!)…
hard to breath
Catch my breath
Can’t stand
Girl, you got me
weak at the knees.
She’s got me
shakin’
Not makin’ anything
of the night.
There’s not clock
in sight
It’s alright.
Cuz it feels so right.
She’s my
conscious seizure
Got me thinkin’
of ways
just to
please her.
I’ll bend to
everything she says
Even if it’s
like an Incubus chorus
Just a phase
It’s not just me anymore:
Its more “us”.
So I’m thankful.
Funny how meager prayers and dreams
Seem to translate to reality.
Just shows who’s in power, see
Not too soon
Not even to late,
these dreams translate
from a metaphoric state
to create
something that quite possibly
might be
the beginning of my fate.
I got
butterflies in my stomach
from it.
I feel
as heavy as lead
now the blood’s
rushing to my head.
Now I don’t refrain
from dancing with her
in the rain.
She makes me
rise from the dead.
She’s got me
like Lazarus
roll that stone to the side,
I’m free.
Resurrection
through the convection of
her radiant perfection
overwhelms me.
Surrounds me.
Its like
I’m a pre
meditated target
for Cupid’s Arrow
straight from the quiver.
It creates this river
that flows from my heart
through my veins
straight to my bones.
I’m not
alone.
She’s got me
dancin’ in ways
I didn’t think possible
makin’ me feel responsible
for my life
my strife.
I won’t lie.
I wanna spend everyday and every night
with her
for the rest of my life
’til the day we die.
I cry:
I wanna mean everything to her
that she means to me.
And then
meet her back
in eternity.

---

Funny thing.  I was reading someone’s Xanga and they said they had Class of Liberal Arts.   If there was a Class of Conservative Arts, they would probably make paintings of oil rigs.  Damn I’m so liberal.  So socialistic.  So….me.

-Caleb-
(buff)MUFF

Another Work-In-Progress

---

Imagine
Ten thousand kisses
hitting your body.
Its no
common commodity.
She makes it
…(gasp!)…(gasp!)…
hard to breath
Catch my breath
Can’t stand
Girl, you got me
weak at the knees.
She’s got me
shakin’
Not makin’ anything
of the night.
There’s not clock
in sight
It’s alright.
Cuz it feels so right.
She my
concious seizure
Got me thinkin’
of ways
just to
please her.
I’ll bend to
everything she says
Even if it’s
like an Incubus chorus
Just a phase
It’s not just me anymore:
Its more “us”.
So I’m thankful.
Funny how meager prayers and dreams
Seem to translate to reality.
Just shows who’s in power, see
Not too soon
Not even to late,
these dreams translate
from a metaphoric state
to create
something that quite possibly
might be
the beginning of my fate.
I got
butterflies in my stomach
from it.
One moment I feel like lead
now the blood’s
rushing to my head.
Now I don’t refrain
from dancing in the rain.
She makes me
rise from the dead.
Resurrection
through the convection of
her radiant perfection
overwhelms me.
Surrounds me.
Its like
I’m a pre
meditated target
for Cupid’s Arrow
straight from the quiver.
It creates this river
that flows from my heart
through my veins
straight to my bone
marrow.
She’s got me
dancin’ in ways
I didn’t think possible
makin’ me feel responsible
for my life
my strife.
I won’t lie.
I wanna spend everyday with her
for the rest of my life
’til the day we die.
I cry:
I wanna mean everything to her
that she means to me.
Then meet her back in eternity.

---

…I’ll add more.

---

This song speaks alot for itself.  Music is truth.

“Soul Survivor” by Young Jeezy (Featuring Akon)

Akon]
Convict
Akon and Young Jeezy
Tryin’ to take it easy
Only way to go
And So… (Lets Get It!)

[Chorus - Akon]
If you lookin’ for me I’ll be on the block
With my thang cocked possibly sittin’ on a drop now
Cause I’m a rida (Yeah)
I’m just a Soul Survivor (Yeah)

Cause er’body know the game don’t stop
Tryin’ to make it to the top for your ass get popped now
If you a rida (Yeah)
Or just a Soul Survivor (Yeah)

[Verse 1 - Young Jeezy]
(Let’s get it) I can’t sleep–we livin’ in Hell (Yeah)
First they, give us the work then they throw us in jail (Ayy)
Road trip ya–I’m trafficing in the white
Please Lord don’t let me go to jail tonight (Yeah)
Who Me?? I’m a Soul Survivor
Ask about ‘em in the street, the boy Jeezy a rida (Jeezy a rida)
A hundred grand on my wrist, yeah life sucks (Ha Ha)
Fuck the club, dawg, I rather count a million bucks (Ayy)

If you lookin’ for me I’ll be on the block
With my thang cocked possibly sittin’ on a drop now
Cause I’m a rida (Yeah)
I’m just a Soul Survivor (Yeah)

[Verse 2 - Young Jeezy]
Another day, another dolla (dolla)-same block, same nigga, same part, same green
I guess we got the same dreams (Ayy)
Or is it the same nightmares (nightmares)
We let the Thugs do it for us–we don’t cry tears (That’s right)
Real niggaz don’t budge
When Mail Man got his time he shot birds at the judge (Yeah)
I’m knee deep in the game
So when it’s time to read up, I’m knee deep in the ‘caine (Damn)
Real talk, Look, I’m tellin’ you mayne (tellin’ you mayne)
If you get jammed up don’t mention my name
Forgive me Lord–I know I ain’t livin’ right
Gotta feed the block, niggaz starvin’, they got appitites (Ayy)
And this is er’day, it never gets old (Old)
Thought I was a juvenile stuck to the G-Code (Yeah)
This ain’t a rap song, nigga this is my life (this is my life)
And if the hood was a battlefield then I’d earn stripes (Yeah)

If you lookin’ for me I’ll be on the block
With my thang cocked possibly sittin’ on a drop now
Cause I’m a rida (Yeah)
I’m just a Soul Survivor (Yeah)

[Verse 3 - Young Jeezy]
Gotta watch your every move ‘cuz them eyes be on you
(eyes be on you)
Gotta drive real cool when them pi’s be on you (pi’s be on you)
Just because we stack paper and we ball outrageous (ball outrageous)
Them alphabet boards gotta us under survalence (Ayy)
(Lock Downs) They lock us in cages
The same nigga that’s a star when you put ‘em on stages
I ain’t cheat–played the hand I was dealt
Tried to tax the grand pearl when I got it myself
(Let’s Get It) No nuts, no glory (no glory)
My biography, you damn right, the true story (Yeah)
Set the city on fire, and I didn’t even try (try)
Run these streets all day, I can sleep when I die (Ayy)

[Bridge - Akon]
Cause if you lookin’ for me you you can find me
On the block disobeyin’ the law
Real G–thoroughbred from the streets
Pants saggin’ with my gun in my draws
Just to keep on movin’ now

If you lookin’ for me I’ll be on the block
With my thang cocked possibly sittin’ on a drop now
Cause I’m a rida (Yeah)
I’m just a Soul Survivor (Yeah)

If you lookin’ for me I’ll be on the block
With my thang cocked possibly sittin’ on a drop now
Cause I’m a rida (Yeah)
I’m just a Soul Survivor (Yeah)

---

Peace out
~Crip Cuz~

(buff)MUFF

I really don’t know why, but the bottom of my tongue hurts.  I have a feeling that it had to do with last night.  I went to a party, and it was actually pretty good.  I have three points that it could have had room for improvement on.

(1)  More space
(2)  More people
(3)  More contraband

Thanks for the good time everyone.  It was great.  T-Mack was laughing the entire time about all the crazy shit that happened there.  Justus and Klint hung out for a bit.  I hope to hang out with them later on today and tell them exactly what they missed out on.  They had to go at 9pm because they’re on parole, but they were still 30 minutes late, (grant you they violated parole anyways because they were together).  Oh well, everyone.  Take it easy. 

I’m still looking for a drummer for the band.  No drummer at all, and we wouldn’t mind having another guitarist.  Call me if you know anyone in Hot Springs that is interested.  Must be open-minded to music and feel the music.  Call 501.520.7979.

Caleb
(buff)MUFF

---

WORK IN PROGRESS:

---

I cut throats with ink.
You step up and take your shot
I’ll cripple you with a pen stroke.
Make you feel like you wanna croak.
Pain from the blows from your fist ease.
Crippled with ills
you can’t cripple my will
Cuz all poetic justice takes
is keepin’ it real.
Even if you got me on my knees beggin’
I’ll still have that pen a peggin’ those lines.
Which reminds me of my retalliation
Damn right I’ll put your name in a my prose
Your weakness is my metaphoric reconcilliation.
Flows I spit at the mic every Wednesday night
In front of people who’ve felt the same thing.
This is their song I sing…

Last night was great.  I hung out with some great people (Stacey, Jonathan, and Shaya) and read my poetry (memorized).  After it was all over, the former poetry slam winner in October Fall Festival Slam came up to me and told me that after hearing my poetry, he’s going to have to work ALOT harder in March at the upcoming slam.  I’m going to be a featured poet at the Poet’s Loft sometime in December.  That gives me about a twenty minute show to throw down.  I also got the business card of some lady afterwards that is part of the Spa City Board of Commissions that wants to read my poem at a conference next week.  It had been one great night.

After that we all went up to West Mountain and sat for a bit, laid in the middle of the road, and looked at the lights.  Then we all signed Shaya’s belly and that was that because before we knew it, it was time to go. 

Jonathan and Shaya went home.  Meanwhile, Stacey and I hung out and went to Hollywood Park and got on the swingset.  It was fun.  In fact, it was the only thing that there was to do at 10 o’clock at night.  I took her home at 11pm and went home.  Then I went to sleep. 

It was definitely a good night.

I am also getting a band together with my friend Justus (guitar), Tay (vox), me (bass), and we are currently searching for a drummer.  We are trying to get a sound like Incubus, but Tay and Justus like My Chemical Romance, Taking Back Sunday, and Tool alot as well.  It should prove to be interesting.  I’ll probably go over to Justus’ house this afternoon and try to work out some songs, since he finally got new strings and a tuner.  Yes, I am very excited.  This should be great.

I forgot to add that two days ago I got pulled over by a cop for having my music too loud downtown.  I drove away with a warning.  All I can say is that I’m glad he didn’t search me or my car that night.

These next pictures are of last Sunday when I went to Mt. Magazine.

On the way up to Mt. Magazine (tallest point in Arkansas) last
Sunday to “look at the leaves”, according to my Mom atleast. 
Something to do atleast.

This CD player was my best buddy on 2 hour trip up there, blasting some
Lil’ Jon and Incubus the entire way.  How ironic, it says 4.20 on it. 




These are some of the views from Mt. Magazine’s Summit.

My Mom and Dad.  <33

Nothing to do with Mt. Magazine actually.  These are my new shoes.

---

Passed out in our school clothes so we’d wake up in our Sunday’s best
I never asked for your opinion, I just got it and I get it
You move slow like daytime drama
And I’m boring like his songs
So while I’m taking you for granted
We’ll be humming along

Well cross my heart and hope to
I’m lying just to keep you here
So reckless, So thoughtless, So careless

Cross my heart and hope to
I’m lying just to keep you here
So reckless, So thoughtless
And I could care less

So paint your face up something elegant
And this time maybe a darker shade of red
Cause a long night means a fist fight
Against your pillow and my pearly whites
I want to hear you scream you like me better on my knees
So let us grieve
So let us grieve

Don’t you ask me
Don’t you fight

Cross my heart and hope to
I’m lying just to keep you here
So reckless, So thoughtless
And I could care less

Cross my heart and hope to
I’m lying just to keep you here
So reckless, So thoughtless
And I could care less

Well cross my heart and hope to
I’m lying just to keep you here (I’ll keep you here, I’ll keep you here)

This glass house is burning down
You light the match, I’ll stick around
I’ll give you everything you want
And wish the worst of what I was

This glass house is burning down
You light the match, I’ll stick around
I’ll give you everything you want
And wish the worst of what I was

Tonight won’t make a difference
Tonight won’t make a difference
Tonight won’t make a difference
Well tonight won’t make a difference
Well tonight won’t make a difference
Tonight won’t make a difference
Tonight won’t make a difference
Well tonight won’t make a difference

---

I really think I should learn to play that (Slowdance on the Inside-Taking Back Sunday). 

Sometimes it takes the brightest stars to fall from the sky before they are truly appreciated for what they were.

I’ve been thinking about that.  It’s a moral that I’ve created in my head.  Right now, I feel like I’ve disappointed so many people in life.  I’ve made such wrong decisions that I can’t go back.  I will admit this much.  I do smoke tobacco and marijuana.  I’m not really proud of the fact that I do.  In fact, I’m trying to stop as we speak.  It’s just hard.  I feel like I’ve let myself down for that matter.  I’m at Summit School because I screwed up at the high school.  I’ve let my parents down because I took money without asking.  I’ve done alot of things that I’m not all to proud anymore to even hold my head high.  I’m not moping around or anything, but I do feel kind of disappointed in myself.  Marijuana changed my morals.  My parents know I smoke.  I told them that I did.  I’ve even told them everything that I have done lately.  Not who I’ve done it with, but what I’ve done.  I am, however, proud to say that I have not touch any of those hard drugs.  I hate drugs.  I hate them.  I hate myself for ever giving in.  And right now, I just feel like I have none of my “old” friends to come back to because I’ve screwed up so much now.  I wouldn’t blame them either if I didn’t.  I haven’t been a good friend.  I haven’t been a good person.  But for all of you who I’ve affected in some way with my poor choices, you can take this as my apology letter.  I’m trying to be a better person.  At least I have God.

On a lighter note, I have finalized my list of poetry that I will be reading this Wednesday night at the Poet’s Loft downtown.  I’ll be down there at 8pm with probably a large group of people.  Anyways, these are my poems that will be on the list.  Its all performance “slam” poetry.

---

“Remember”   © Caleb Cooley 2005 

This place is peaceful
A sanctuary
between
Central and Exchange.
How appropriate named
actually.
A central exchange
of thoughts and theories
between my peers.
A place where the
pupils of my eyes –
the pupils that see–
become pupils
that teach me
to
live,
see,
breathe.
I will remember this place
Always
And hopefully
when I look back
on my journey
The course that I study –
The course of life –
I’ll make an A.
But even if I make a C
and die knowing
I tried my best
I’ll be happy.
I’ll be okay.
Because I’ll know
that all that I failed in life
is what my eyes
did not see,
and thus,
did not teach me.
But I guess
it’s all just a learning phase.
What a maze –
this amazing journey.
But you never walk
through existence.
At least you never should.
Remember to crawl
and feel the roots and rocks
in your hands.
It keeps you from stumbling
in shadows –
the dark places where
feet alone cannot guide
where you fall
and land.
Young man,
remember that
the dirt under your fingernails
does not blemish your existence.
It makes it.
Whoever said that
life is beautiful
did not live life,
Because life is not beautiful.
Life is ugly and
Life is scarred,
twisted and blinded,
and so
Life is not beautiful.
But the experience is.
So live life
knowing that life
is to be lived,
not wasted
on petty things
that will never make
a difference
when all has been done.
Remember that
life is…
and even the sun
will die
and the moon will shatter –
and the painted stars
on the canvas sky
will run.
Remember that
the ink blots that
are scattered in this universe
are what makes it so beautiful.
Remember that
even stars flicker out
and then fall,
but sometimes
the smallest candle flame
can hold its own
in even the mightiest
of hurricanes.
But above all
Son,
remember that
your life
has just
begun.

---

“Penny for your Thoughts”

Can I offer you a penny
for your thoughts?
As a matter of fact how about three:
one penny for you
one penny for me
and one penny for our minds engaged
not so sexually
Getting intimately closer as we approach the
climactic altitude of rudimental sensational conversation
Because I’m trying to get to know everything about you
From the neck
UP.
You see,
these are not your typical sexual poetical prose
I’m trying to close the door on an
all too familiar freaky foreplay game with which
most people have chose to approach you
While they’re
trying to get deeply embedded in the fine fibers of your bed sheets.
I’m trying to
find and define the fibers through which your mind speaks.
I wanna engage you
by  putting a two Karat solitaire diamond on your mind
and marrying your every thought.
I wanna lick every inch of every crevice
so I can get an oral fix
and taste your passionate imagination.
I’d rather
be naked and exposed holding you
as we’re lying and your crying
walking, fighting, and describing
the tough times you’ve had in life
and how you don’t know if you
can keep a relationship long enough
to be somebody’s wife.
I wanna feel your heartbeat
and all your inner rhythms
as they lead me toward
your warm wet waterfalls of feminine thoughts.
And I’ll
swim within em’
from backstrokes to breaststrokes
I’m penetrating every entrance
to your mind
Taking the time to find out everything about you.
Did I ever tell you about how you
fell asleep in my presence
and your mere essence
kept me up for hours as I
cowered with this feeling of a
sexually and adulterated mental connection.
And as you laid by my side
I pushed my blinds aside
and took the time in the moonlight of that night
to count seventy two eyelashes on the upper eyelid
of your right eye.
Because
as you sleep they remain open,
slightly,
and while we probably move too quickly
into some sexual stuff
I’ve always cared more about the
explicitly illicitness that came from between your lips, meaning,
your voice.
So now I’m
standing here ready
to trade in all the sexual acts that we’ve performed
for the chance to reform
the very foundation and basis of our relationship
and I
reiterate my opening statement
and I offer you another penny
for your thoughts.

---

On another side note, my poetry is being published in a book in Winter 2006.  It is called Eternal Portraits by Poetry.com.  This is the poem being published:

Windows

When the world becomes
too much to bear
and I close these windows
To escape from reality,
You become my eyelids.
Every single time,
eyes closed,
I breathe
…breathe you into me,
the silence in serenity
in the darkness,
it is you I see.
Like still photo slides
I blink and see
a new face of you,
just as beautiful as the last.
You haunt me.
But I don’t see you anymore.
You’ve disappeared from this place.
Gone to somewhere that I can’t reach.
…Somewhere I can’t see.
And I keep telling myself
to stop dreaming of you
and start dreaming for me.

---

Anyways, that’s all the news that I have for you people.  I hope to see you Wednesday night.  Jonathan, Shaya, Stacey, Justus, and I are the ones going so far.  That’s a full car load at least.  Later.

Caleb Cooley
(buff)MUFF