Alma Mater: The Significance of Education

I recently graduated from Stony Brook University. Though I may be the minority, I speak candidly when I say that I have sincerely enjoyed nearly every minute of my time there. There have been trials and tribulations, but they are all part of the education I received. As a transfer, commuter, and working-class student, working an average of 30 hours per week, yet still managing to find time to volunteer at research labs and hospitals, I am blessed to feel so connected to the university. How is this possible? It's all about where you put your passion.

I think identifying with your studies is incredibly important for anyone seeking higher education, although the practice should be instilled as early on as possible. And I don't mean simply liking your studies for career purposes. Taking ownership of your studies, learning to instill a sense of connection to the education you are receiving, is important for securing happiness and positivity throughout your college (and school) career. It is also an important life lesson.

It's simple, really: We all take classes we don't want to; we all get stuck with that one course we absolutely dread. However, no matter how pointless and cumbersome the class may seem, you're guaranteed to learn something new and interesting. It is inevitable. And that very fact makes it not a waste of time. If you approach the class actively seeking to learn something you hadn't learned before, you will feel more engaged, more connected, and more interested in the subject. This goes with life, too: If you are stuck at a job you hate or in a situation are obligated to be in, either change it or make the best of it, and that's a matter of attitude. Make it matter. Make it worth it. Take pride in it and put your happiness into it instead of waiting for it to give it to you. In life, you have to make your own happiness. 

I have met hardworking men and women who never finished high school with a larger intellect than some of the kids I've met in college. It's all about where you put your passion. Every experience is a learning experience and if you approach life with curiosity, with a sincere desire to learn, and to own your education, your life will be enriched. It's not about the diploma on the wall - its about the vibrancy you impart onto your life and the life of others. You are your education.        

The Freedom of Truth: Liar's Plea

Truth is a curious phenomena. It is something that can be very powerful and beneficent, but also incredibly spiteful. For those who adhere to truth and honesty, life is pretty kind. The truth will set you free, so they say - free from guilt, free from fear, free from apprehension. I think the greatest danger in falsifying the truth (lying) is the culpability that builds inside us. As time goes on, guiltiness will haunt, while the chances of the truth coming to the surface increases. It is a terrible, beautiful game.

Truth is dangerous and powerful. Hold true to it and it will never spite you. Turn your back on it and truth will stab it. 

Most people avoid the truth because of the pain or consequences that result from its admission. To avoid such inconveniences, we often fabricate a lie to put off the angst of the moment. The problem  with this is that the pain is minimized for a time, but after a while, especially if the lie is maintained, the pain of the truth getting free becomes far worse. The bigger the fiction, the harder it will fall, the sharper the pieces, and the farther they'll scatter. Also, as time passes, the victims of truth will increase exponentially. Truth must be kept in check by ensuring it is spoken of more often than not. Truth enjoys attention.

We all lie, and little white lies aren't so bad sometimes. But there is a huge difference between a petty fib and a massive fabrication. Have you got lies you've been keeping for a long while? Do they eat you up inside, but you're too afraid to tell the truth? Set those who may be hurt by the truth down and tell it to them gently yourself. They will appreciate it, maybe not immediately, but with time they will respect your courage. It is the worst when the truth is admitted by someone or something else. Don't be afraid to befriend the truth. Truth and honesty will sprinkle your life with goodness. It is the essence of karma.

Liar's Plea

If some solitude can be sought between

The rind that segregates me,

Perhaps some air could leak inside 

And nourish this sheltered being

Whose memories confine with sin

The falseness they betray,

While truth stands by

Suffocating, 

But refuses to decay.

What We Can Learn From The Elderly: Aroysgevorfen

I currently work part time at a nursing home on Long Island. It is sincerely the best job I have ever had (aside from being a writer). I have volunteered at nursing homes before, the most memorable of which was when I spent time at Coler-Goldwater Specialty Hospital on Roosevelt Island, NY. I spent my time in the dementia and bed-ridden wings of the chronic care facility and realized how such a simple gesture of sitting down and speaking with this someone, visiting them, sharing in their company, can brighten their day and bring a smile to their face. If you have a family member in a nursing, rehabilitation, or long-term care hospital, PLEASE go visit them, go spend time with them and make them feel loved. 

Some of my friends have expressed an inability to work with the elderly. They tell me they couldn't handle it emotionally and it's too sad for them. Similarly, I have read articles lamenting nursing homes, saying their happy exteriors are just a farce. It's a societal problem; we shouldn't shun the elderly, we should incorporate them into our lives, no matter the state of their decline. A nursing home is only as positive as people make it, that includes the visitors and staff. 

The one thing that the elderly have taught me is to appreciate the present. 

No matter their mental or physical state, people can still react to things moment to moment. Though they may not remember you in a few minutes, they appreciate what you're doing for them at that moment. Though they may be trapped in a delusion, a smile no less fills them with joy and a happy gesture can capture their misplaced fascination, if only fleetingly. It is the simple things that count. Pay attention to their mannerisms, listen to what they have to say (no matter how nonsensical), for not even age can snatch away the grandeur of compassion. Give them your respect and your love, and they will sense it. Respect them for who they are and were, and realize that it is the tiny moments of now that matter to them most.        

Aroysgevorfen

(Yiddish: "wasted") 

A senile man said to his mirror,

“I’m not Dorian Gray,”

And as he shook his bony finger,

He said, “You too will fade away!”

Stubbornly he stared it down,

His face contained within,

Pacing, naked, stern, his scowl

Refused to let this reflection win.

“You’re not the man I was,

You’re the child I am now!”

He scrutinized the scaly hubs

In which his tired pupils bowed.

He traced the lines that donned this shell,

Like a fractured Faberge egg,

Into the cockles of Time’s vast dell

And succumbed to its vicious phage.

The impudent structures of this cask,

Feeble, adulterated, and gross,

Possessed no tokens of their past,

Which was forthright tarnished when juxtaposed.

The cicatrices, faded, absorbed;

The supremacy mislaid within;

Hair, sallow; allure, usurped; 

Disturbed, he returned to the eyes again.             

They seemed foggy with cataracts,

Their fiery glint snuffed out.

His skin resembled melting wax;

His knees, consumed by gout.

And starring at this ransacked body,

The crusade of life had pillaged it bare,

He could not recognize the shoddy

Chrysalis that met him there.

Where was all the jubilance?

Where had that effervescence gone?

Played out like a game of Risk

Or some old-fashioned song.

“You’re not the man I was,”

He whispered once again,

“You’re the child I’ve become.”

But whatever happened to the man? 

How To Capture Time In A Jar: Stabbed In The Heart

Well, you can't actually capture time in a jar. Sorry. In fact, whether or not time is a physical thing, able to be captured, is a matter of debate. Short of contemplating the nature of quantum phenomena and time's questionable reality, the formula for capturing a moment is as easy as slowing down.

God has given us the gift of memory, however fleeting, so that we may reflect and learn, remember and appreciate, recall and hope. Much of our lives seems to be spent rushing through things, to get to the next thing, in our endless list of things. But learning to slow down, to look around you, and to recognize the beauty of this moment, what is special about what is happening right now, is an art that will help you to solidify your memories and make them more vivid. Savor where you are right now and quell the worry of where you have to be. We must learn to not look on our memories with regret and contempt for the future, but rather to allow them to frame our moving forward and to look on them with happiness that they happened. Everything that has come before has contributed to today. You can use your memories, like nature intended, or you can let them use you. 

Some things are out of our control, but time is not necessarily one of them. If we change our perception of it, if we learn to slow our pace, to see the little miracles that surround us, and to appreciate the now, the then, and the what will be, we can enrich our lives.   

Stabbed in the Heart 

Fate will pine the loss of Time

And let Chance seize the world.

Bitter Luck won't give a fuck,

While Serendipity laughs and whirls.

Irony bays and impatiently waits

For Contradiction to hide the foil

In the chest, but there is no rest

For a Heart's cosmic toil.

Fight For Your Passion: Omasum

Don't second guess yourself. 

If you feel it, if you taste it, if you can't escape it, embrace it. 

Everyone has a passion. Some of us are consumers, indulging in things or experiences. Some of us are producers, people who have a drive to create things. Some of us are both, but nearly all of us has a passion. All of us has something we are passionate about. 

Is there something you can't live without? Is there something that motivates you against your will? There are good addictions and there are bad addictions. Bad addictions destroy you. Good addictions sustain you. They can be hobbies, they can be interests, they are things that make you happy and help you reconnect with yourself. Often, it is when we are enraptured in our passions that we feel most alive.

In the hustle and bustle of contemporary reality, it is sometimes hard to find the energy and the time to feed those passions. We feel the drive, we feel the desires, but we convince ourselves there are more worth-while things to be done. That is you denying yourself. That is your heart telling you what you need. It's a hunger - feed it!

This life is a gift. That means it has been given to you and you own it, so you do whatever you wish with it. Would you rather pursue your passions and fail or never pursue them and never unlock your full potential? Don't be afraid to stop EVERYTHING and GO!!! 

Book signing for DBAM at Stony Brook University

Omasum

The iridescent taffeta that covers my stain glass bones

Builds a wickiup of plasma that smolders and corrodes

And this algid patina that covers my radiant face

Keeps from the world the smile that it scolds.

In the black and white albedo of a lunatic sphere

That bleeds a curious complexion, both brutal and queer,

Its prism projects molten opal upon the cardboard race,

Who communicate with buttoned lips and listen with biased ears.

While they fold in their lackadaisical limbs,

Taking off their hats, splitting their lips upon the brims,

I cast my crystal cobwebs across their noses in disgrace,

Listening as gravity crinkles my thorny heart like tin.

I can hear its asperous teeth dig into it like pi

As that morose masquerading marionette in the sky

Continues to encircle me, soldering my carcass in place,

As the golems peregrinate around the apocryphal sty.  

Listening to the masticating music as it unfolds,

Transcending the bitter warmth and sweltering cold

Until a dynamic paralysis trickles into the case

Of alligator skin that covets this once human mold.

And what I knew of longing seems to gangrene into fear.

That gentle glow has turned to tarp, through which I’m forced to peer

Upon a smithereen of what was once my cosmic base, 

Which I snatch up starvingly like a begrudged souvenir     

Until that nimbus vulture that emblazons my chagrin,

Hovering like a noxious conversation that’s been drawn too thin,

Bursts like an aneurism, cascading naked shards of space

That land upon my gasoline tongue, quite saccharine. 

And I taste the aureola, combusted before my elytroid eyes;

And I collapse onto a padded pedestal, whose pain is amplified; 

And as my heart gallops off, its bent-in bruises throttle its pace,

Until it too is smeared across the flippant canvas and dies. 

There I fall like argyle rain

In the foyer of consequential refrain,

Collecting like autumn leaves

In puddles of psychedelic disdain.

I cachinnate at all the almighty delusions I sought to free,

Yet I still pursue the jaundiced cud that trundles out of me.

Shout Out

I met a guy through the grapevine who has his own poetry blog and is trying to get people excited about his writing, especially his new book. His name is Plot 121 and his work spans a large swathe of themes. Check out his blog and support your local artists. Much love.

The Strongest Kind of Love

I have a question for my devout readers, one that I have asked friends and colleagues, and am always surprised and intrigued by the number of responses I get.

What is the strongest kind of love?

The most popular answer seems to be the love a mother has for her child or the love shared between siblings. Though I am fairly certain I am not a mother, I absolutely can see without a doubt the strength of that connection. As for sibling love, I know that if it weren't for the genetic relatedness inherent in the DNA of the blood coursing through myself and my brother's respective veins, I would probably hate the guy. Yet, I love the kid - always have, always will. So to that end, it certainly is quite strong.

My answer, however, is a bit more general: I argue that the strongest kind of love is one where - no matter what you do, no matter how hard you try, no matter what anyone or anything else tells you - you can't not love them. Think about the two examples I just gave. A mother can't choose to not be the mother of her child. She likewise can't not love her child. I can't choose to not be my brother's brother and for the same reason I can't not love him. Or is there indeed a choice?
Are there other instances in which one could love someone so much that, no matter what, they will still love them? A situation in which relatedness is not involved? I would say yes.
I think, ironically, the love we feel for ourselves isn't built this way, but it should be. The love of the self should stand strong, even in the face of our mistakes, our regrets, our flaws. No matter what, you should love yourself.
Let's take this even further. I think - in very unique circumstances - someone could meet someone else, fall in love, and, even if the relationship dissolves, even if they have a falling out, they move on, they still retain that same undeniable love, no matter what. This can happen between friends or lovers. I think it is a rarity, but even if the other person goes on and falls in love with someone else, that unconditional love will persist between them, maybe even only by one person. That I think that is what unconditional love is. No matter what he or she does, no matter what conspires, no matter how much you try and push them out of your mind, to escape them, you still love them. And that's ok.

People have disagreed with me on this (some even saying, "That sounds like it sucks"), but I want to know what you guys think. What is the strongest kind of love? Leave a comment below.    

“The deepest frustration a poet must endure, having spent a life of expression through words and rhyme, is never possessing the ability (for his tools are endowed with this singular flaw) to adequately encompass that mystery we call love.”  

UPDATE: MY BOOK IS OFFICIALLY OUT!!!

This post has been a long time coming, but I am honored and in awe to announce that I am officially a published author. This is truly a dream come true for me. My book, Death By Active Movement: The Certainty of Life through Poetry, has just released on Amazon.com. The book is a collection of original poems exploring the relationship between life and death. The poems are meant to illuminate the concept of death and to show how our own evanescence, the fleeting nature of existence, is precisely the reason why life should be cherished and appreciated. All the wonderful miracles, all the pain, all the sensations, everything it means to be alive is beautiful precisely because it must all come to an end. From love, to the afterlife, suicide, and everything between, the poems cover a broad sweep of subjects, some sweet, some somber, some graphic, some grotesque, but all filled with novel ideas and powerful imagery. Thank you so much for all your support and much love to everyone who orders their copy. 

This is the pinnacle of my life thus far.  

UPDATE
Christine Sampson has just written an amazing article on the West Islip and Three Village Patch covering the book. Give it a read and learn a little bit more about myself and what's between the covers. I'm incredibly honored to have this distinction. Much love to Chrissy for writing the article.