I’d love to sound smart
But I instead
Write that way.
So that means I
Think smart.
Which leads to me
Acting
Like a reckless intelligent.
I’d love to say some earth shattering
Ground breaking
Stuff
But
What I write doesn’t even break the tip of a pencil
And trust me
I sound a whole lot better on paper.
Nonetheless,
I forgot what I wanted to say.
Did I say I think smart?
I failed to mention that I’m a comic genius.
Oh, and I only write in pen.

Little child running wild
In a field of May
Flowers
And
April
Showers
I’d give you all my hours
And take you to Mars
As the drops from cotton candy clouds decorate
Your innocent freckle-less skin.
Your smile
Shines
Glows
Brighter than the Milky Way itself
Which is why you are my
Star Child.

Let me start off by saying this: everybody should go to one of their shows. Everyone. Regardless of your racial or ethnic backgrounds, your music taste, your upbringing, your prejudices, or your mindset of the world, your life will be changed. Someway, somehow.
I don’t even know where to start. The beginning sounds logical enough.
So, after we (Keonna and I) sat in our seats, I had this sense of overwhelming excitement.
“Wow, I am about to see a legend. In person. I am going to hear how Afrobeat evolved from one generation to another.” I had no words to express what I truly felt. The anticipation was almost magical. The only grounding thought I had was “My dad would love this…” and I missed him more than usual. I really owe this to him, he put me on to Fela Kuti. He introduced me to a universal language.
And it spoke to me.

*Disclaimer: if my mom didn’t see the poster with this show’s information, I would have missed out on a beautiful experience.

Before I knew it, the band was introduced, and from the very first note from the brass section, from the very first rapping on the drums, I was floored. Amazed. Entranced. All I could do was listen. Because in that music, there was something there, intertwined, surrounding, hiding in every note, every voice, every dance move. There, in this universal language, was the spirit of Africa.
And let me tell you, it had people moving!
It was so incredible to see, even though a lot of people were drunk.
But that’s neither here nor there.
Seeing a whole crowd of people unite under the influence of music mainly, along with some alcohol, is a pretty memorable and comical sight.
Continuing on…
Every song seemed to connect to another in such an intricate way, there is something truly other-worldly about it. The audience even started to sing along, but I doubt they knew what they were repeating. All too quickly, the music ended, and Seun Kuti gave the audience very off-kilter, inspirational, and truthful information. I wish I remembered more of it now that I think back, but I wasn’t aware that we were going to get a lecture about African politics and its issues. That was disclaimer number two. Don’t judge. Besides, after the show, there was a young woman who did nothing but badger Kuti about controversial issues that dealt with Africa. Why she did I don’t know, post-performance is usually not the best time to try to initiate a system-changing discussion. But I’ll get back to that in a little bit. I think I deserve to rant about the untimely discussion that took the conversation we (Keonna, Kuti, and myself) were engaged in. I digressed. My apologies.
When the last song rolled around, I felt this sense of dread laden sadness. This journey was about to come to an end. With the final note reverberating in my ears, I could do nothing. For a few moments, I didn’t even notice the loud clapping, the energetic drunken cheering, and the sporadic whistles. I didn’t process the sounds the seats made as every single person occupying a chair stood up; the dull slap against the backs of the chairs slowly helped me come out of this dream-like state. In a split-second, I was on my feet, cheering and clapping, expressing my thanks that could not be spoken. Something that amazed me was that, after twenty seconds, forty seconds, a minute, the clapping, hollering, and whistling did not stop. It became the white noise, it became the norm. It was the force that pulled Seun Kuti and Egypt 80 back out on the stage. That was such a treat. I learned that if you clap and clap for long enough, the performers just might reward the audience. What an encore that was.

Just when I though the festivities of the evening were coming to a close, one of the two dancers came up to Keonna and I and she asked if we wanted to meet “her brother”. I of course said yes without hesitation! Maybe that wasn’t the smartest thinking but I didn’t even care. How many chances do you get in one lifetime to meet a legend? I grabbed Keonna’s hand and we were led backstage. As soon as the door opened, I got so nervous. Not the regular nervous, either. This nervousness was felt in my soul. But there we were, face to face with Seun Kuti. I forget the initial pleasantries and the formalities for the most part… He asked us what we like to do besides study, and I said I like to write poems and short stories. And then Keonna said something like “yeah, her poems are really good”, which then led to Seun Kuti saying I basically have to share a poem with him. So I did. Even though I was interrupted twice, he said that I am very talented. I’m never forgetting that night. So, after that whole ordeal, in comes this young woman with fire-red hair. She seems nice, Im not knocking her at all. Yet. This is the same person I mentioned earlier fyi. I hope nobody like sues me for this, which is highly unlikely, but she comes in right after I finish reciting my poem and out of nowhere asks the deepest questions at the most untimely hour. I don’t knock her for getting her two cents worth in I guess, but she was just so pushy, so out there. And I don’t understand why. She starts a conversation only to try to interrupt Kuti. That’s like asking a teacher a question and then answering it yourself. There’s no point. It seemed like she was trying to tell Kuti what was going on in Africa, but who is the one who lives there? Not her, that’s for sure. But, she took at least half an hour up of everybody’s time. Keonna and I both had 9am classes the next day and here she is, blabbing away just to hear herself talk. And right when I think that interruption is finally over, a bunch of other people come in, which of course irritates me because I wanted to just enjoy the moment and then take the bus back to campus in a timely manner. But that doesn’t happen. Keonna and I get home around 1:30am thanks to all of this tomfoolery. Digression part two. Pushing forward, after the peanut gallery leaves, we walk outside and we just start chill in’ for lack of better words. There was such a cool, laid-back vibe. We wound up just talking and joking around. Let me rephrase: when I say “joking around”, I mean everyone was joking on me. But I’m fine with it. It was enjoyable. We did the shmurda dance together. We chatted, laughed, and just enjoyed the moment. It was really an experience to write home about. But instead of writing home, I’m ranting to a computer screen. What else is new.

I wish I could have a repeat of this moment. But not an exact copy or a replica. Going to see them in concert somewhere else. That’d be one heck of a sequel. And maybe it’ll help me keep my scholarship.

“Okay, wait. Was Olivia even wearing shoes? No!”
Boy oh boy.
I just have the urge to write something and that phrase was stuck in my head for around five minutes. The same five minutes it takes me to get to Chambers. I just wanted an excuse to share that irrelevant interjection.
I find so much comic value in that random sentence.
“Oh my God, she wasn’t even wearing shoes!”
“No waaay honey, no way!”
I had to bite my lip to prevent myself from jumping in.
Not my place, nor my discussion.
Let’s just say I could smell the need for Starbucks in that group of females.
Females are so testy, which is actually extremely ironic because they in fact lack the anatomical features that would literally make them…
Nevermind.
That was slightly inappropriate.
Highly funny, but still, inappropriate.
I love the fact that this has no direction,
But Harry Styles has one.
Okay sorry, that was just bad. Let’s continue.
I enjoy the consistent, constant whirring of the blades of the fan.
Must be boring… being a fan blade.
You help people keep their cool when things get heated and what do they get in return?
A layer of dust to show people’s appreciation.
What a prize.
Why am I typing about fan blades?
I cannot wait for Happy Valley weather to get its act together.
I have no idea what to wear before I leave my dorm for the first time every morning.
Should I bring an umbrella or my waterproof zip up jacket or both or neither or…
Yesterday I wore a sweater and all I did the entire day was sweat. It was cold early on, but of course, every minute that went by prompted the temperature to raise itself, one degree at a time. Thanks, State College!
But I love this place. I really do.
It’s just like a city in the comfort of a campus.
That could be an infomercial slogan.
If anyone ever uses it, let me know.
What to talk about next…
Ellipses and tittles.
Both dots.
One at the end and the other on top.
That was a little intentional rhyming action for ya.
You’re welcome.
But an ellipse is literally…
And a tittle is the dot to my “eye”.
Didn’t see that one coming, huh?
Okay really stop now.
Not you, me.
I really enjoy the fact that I am conversing with my computer screen via fingers.
How hi-tech of me.
Too mainstream for friends.
This is a nice little exercise to help me focus on things.
Okay, this is all I will write.
Thanks for reading all about my shenanigans on Fraiser Street!

A List of Questions from the Mind of an Inquisitive 18 Year-Old Along with a Poem of Some Sort

“Finding yourself” is basically a faux concept because everything we do, think, and feel is based off of our ideas so how would we find ourselves in a world of thought, action, and feeling that was never ours? A world where we cannot find ourselves in the truest sense of the phrase. So is the only option we have finding our “self” in terms of how other influence, affect, and see us? Is the preconceived notion of “learning upsets you, knowledge expands your mind but you will feel like a prisoner” true? Are people unhappy because they truly feel that way regardless of any preset thought or do people unconsciously mold their feelings to fit this subtle, underlying paradigm? It’s as if one’s train of thought has one destination- mental imprisonment. If there was a shared mindset of “knowledge is bliss” instead of “ignorance is bliss”, would people be more apt to evaluate themselves, their lives, and their purpose differently and more positively? Would people in turn, then, be less restricted by these ideologies? I ask because college has always been the place of “finding” and “discovering” yourself.

I’ve always been confused by the term “spacing out”

Because the way I see it, I tend to “space in”…

My gaze turns to a misty haze because

My universe

Has just created

An entire galaxy.

Eons of work

Done in milliseconds.

Every particle of thought

Swirling

Spinning

Forming

Stars of

New Ideas.

Every dendrite

Is an electrical storm

Sparking

Carrying

Innovation

As it travels

Over the synapses of

Gray matter.

And it sucks.

Terribly.

There is no way for me to

Capture

Relay

The awe inspiring beauty of this unseen

Phenomenon that is

My Mind.

Because

You start to realize how alone you are…

Who else would courageously, blindly, accidentally

Go against the sides of society’s constraints…

You don’t know what is on the other side

What lies ahead of you…

But in these moments of solitude

I am free.

Free from the very same constraints

Many are too afraid to break down.

It is one of the scariest sensations I have ever felt.

The best part is

Is that

This formation is an almost insignificant occurrence.

Do you know how many galaxies there are in the universe?

When you find out, let me know.

I will start our first chat with the cliche phrase…

“Welcome to my world”…

I am John Jones.

Caught in a web

A sea

of being.

For

You are only you when you are not.

There’s really nothing like eating hamburgers, curly fries, and a fruit salad for dinner.
Every night.
Seven days a week.
In a row.
I have started to trick myself into imagining that I am not eating a suspect burger, but rather, the burger my daddy grills to flavorful perfection.
I have started to fabricate steam rising up from lukewarm food. The same steam that spells out my name in elaborate script as it rises from from mommy’s arroz y chuletas.
All this talk of food makes me hungry, but not for the food here.
I would really love a home-cooked meal.
Or two.
Or three.
Or… you get the idea.

I know my room.
My room knows me.
My room is where I want to be.

I read books.
Books read me.
In my hands is where I want them to be.

I run down stairs.
Stairs run down me.
On these I want to rush down heavily.

I like leaves.
Leaves like me.
In front of my feet is where they should be.

I hear music.
Music hears me.
The ocean carpeted room is where we should meet.

Here is great, but it isn’t anything like home.
Because even though the stars are out, they just don’t shine the same.
Even the crickets sing a different song. The ones at home knew me by name.
There are no trees with purple leaves that sway in front of my window with ease.
The clouds don’t swim over the sun here like they do at home.
The wind doesn’t tickle the leaves here like it does at home. The trees’ secrets would travel from the sap to my ears, floating on the current of the breeze, and I would be happy.
Here, the trees are quiet.
Maybe they are shy.

I guess you can call me homesick.