the air burning in my lungs

This morning on the way to class the air was burning in my lungs.

This is not a metaphor.
This is not an image meant to conjure up a reaction from you.
This is not the physical reaction of an emotional state.

This is the simply the air above my parched state.
This is the result of an electric storm over golden hills which ignited.
This is the think smoky haze that gets caught in the valley where the sea breeze can’t quite reach,
and the air lags, stagnant above my head.

Blue skies faded into brownish grey haze lingering on the horizon.
My mind was back in India,
breathing in
the stale scent of diesel from the rickshaws and kicked up dirt that had not yet settled.
Breathing out
At a conference campfire,
Sitting downwind of the blaze.
Coughing and laughing at how every time I moved
the wind followed.

Relaxed I sigh,
fond memories are good company.

Then I remember where I am.
The foreign air above my native land becomes unwelcome.
Thick, heavy, an unwelcomed visitor with too strong of an embrace.
The stale scent in my nose,
the burn in my lungs,
the inescapable presence of a far removed disaster.

I climb the hill on the way to class.
Panting as the air makes the steep incline just a little harder.
The grass on the foothills has been sheered and the once golden hill is now bare.
I don’t care.
The beauty might be lost, but
We’ll have blue skies again.
(But what about the golden hills?)

Pressure Cooker

I’m a pressure cooker who keeps whistling
Take me off the stove or you’ll keep hearing periodic screams
I might sit quiet for a while
But wait till I begin to rile
Road rage on empty roads
Aggressively cornering in hills
As if that will change a damn thing
At every light the urge to slam the horn
Stare down any driver who dares to make eye contact
Get home and sit still and
silently scream

calm down
calm
down
chill out
chill
cold
cold shoulders
curt answers
I could answer
but
silence satisfies

Don’t ask me another stupid question
I’ll answer in nods and grunts
Silence
Cold shoulders
Curt answers
Warm stove
Chill out
Hot stove
Calm down
Burning stove
Whistle and
SCREAM.

Sweet like Splenda

She turns and smiles at me
And I think out loud, "You're sweet like splenda"
A slap in the face is a rude response and in haste I try to justify, "Wait, no I mean you're better for me, healthier, 600 times sweeter than sugar and ..." then it occurs to me. This was no Freudian slip, no this was a Freudian gown and everything I meant to say has been said.

She is sweet like splenda. She's a substitute for something I love, over-processed, and soon to be rejected by my body. She's encouraged by doctors as good for my health, and corporations get wealthy off of her popularity. She's everywhere I go- my coffee shop, bookstore café, and even on the table of upscale restaurants, she follows me. Cheerful yellow packets announce their presence and I can't help but think, this is just not right. When did I get so concerned with impressions that I let myself accept the substitute for joy because it appeared better? I don't know the answer, but as she accepts my apology I absentmindedly reach for the sugar and receive another slap in the face.

People with a Voice

All you people out there with a voice
You have a choice
Speak up
Or sit down!

In this world of instant communication we can connect with the nation,
but rather than connecting we’re deflecting for the tough calls,
burning bridges and building walls.
Polarized across the divide,
we cried out with supporters without listening to reporters.
They sensationalize the news,
and we remain glued to the TV.
Not me,
I’m not to blame.
When words take aim we speak through question marks
and ignore homeless in parks
because they’re responsible for their misery, not me.
I’m just doing my thing,
I’ll wing it and obfuscate the debate.
But at the end of class I’ll get off my ass, only to sit down again.
Why is it so hard to pen a letter but easy to claim we want better?
Americans idle and vote for idols while ignoring the other side
I’ll stop and look but you’re pounding on the book and not reading the rest.
Save the best conviction for the least guided opinion,
you’re a minion to anyone who inspires.
And there’s a reason your mind is on fire,
a destructive mess that you let get the best of you

And all you people out there with a voice,
You have a choice
Speak up
Or sit down
Stop clowning around!
Your mind’s been lost, go get found.
Find a sense of pride in yourself.
Reason with your mind,
or play treason to the kind of dreams you used to embrace.
Stand up, face yourself.
Cuz if you speak with conviction and diction you might be heard,
and for once use your words in a way that’s not absurd.
Allow clarity to seep in,
don’t glare at me or weep when you don’t get your way.
Be productive, constructive and use criticism as a guide.
Don’t hide in assumption.
Use your gumption as a road map and a way to get back to the heart of the matter.
Food for thought might make you fatter,
but feast on it and then read some literature and see what you find,
you just might toe the line

And all you people out there with a voice
You have a choice:
Speak up
Or Sit Down

And if you reach again for the chair, don’t be surprised when others stare.
Now is the time you need to care,
Lay out your opinions and bare the burden
Get a word in edgewise and even if you despise the man speaking back
LISTEN
Now’s the time to debate, not attack.
Don’t shoot your mouth off.
Just clear your throat, cough, get the audience’s attention and mention this

You are person with a voice
who made a choice
and it’s too late to sit down

Stand tall and approach the mic
Like it or not, it’s time to speak up.

My education is mental regurgitation

Trapped in text book
I can’t look at myself in the eyes
I would despise the sight seen.
My mind is hiding.
Reason has been neglected.
This mental regurgitation has a bitter aftertaste.
So make haste
Shut yourself up at home
Study Carthage, study Rome
Spit the dates out
Fruity flavors rot in stale words
My education is mental regurgitation
And I’ll spit it out when this paper is done
Cuz I’m sick of the taste
Sick of the haste between deadlines
Sick of memorizing lines
I’m hungry for knowledge,
But this is college, and it’s finals week.

A series of abbreviations

KIT
HAGS
TTYL
and other trite abbreviations are scrawled across junior high yearbooks.
LOL
BRB
OMG
and other trite abbreviations are typed into high school conversations
BA/BS
MCATs
LSATs
MBA
and other trite abbreviations are scatted in college conversations
HMOs
IRS
W2
and other trite abbreviations are scattered through professional conversations

...We live through a series of abbreviations

RIP

Google Wisdom

Love is greater than all.
Art is second best.
Ask questions later.
Reason will follow.
Stanford is above the meaning of life.
Stupid web searches are more common than sitting at your laptop with nothing to do.
There are more reasonable bananas than mohawked monkeys.
Even “toliet paper” is noteworthy.
And I’m the most insignificant thing I’ve thought about today.

(for the math behind this see here)