By guest writer “Sophia Deery”
Sue Ellen, Athena, and Margaret Meade
Iron testaments to longevity
delivered safely to their berths,
Sunned and steeped in the harbor’s murky tea
we climbed on them with scarred knees
tracing the painted curves
of women we
could not yet be
Our hands like crabs instead
scuttled the banks beneath their hulls
picking up pieces of roughened glass,
dulled
gifts from men who drank like fish
And eating cocoila sandwiches
atop a given wench’s winch
would brag their beauty to the sky
accents portuguese or irish
we knew the truth came from their lips
for all men go down with their ships
so to be a ship and sail the sea
was to be loved eternally

The true cowboy is a simple man, he follows a stubborn yet flexible code. He is reliable, he is there in the clutch. He loves nature, he understands its true beauty. A playful pup makes him smile. A beautiful sunset connects him with his creator. A tree provides him with wisdom no man is capable of. He is selfless, he will give his life for those he loves without a second thought. He is tough not strong, he can get the job done, one way or another. He is unknown by the world, he doesn’t talk to social skippers. He is unappreciated, he never sees acknowledgement from the world at large which lacks remorse and perspective. He honors tradition, he knows the future rides on history’s lessons. He knows what it takes, he stays true to reality. He is a survivor, he never gives up no matter the odds. He takes chances, he puts it all on the line. He fails, it’s never story book. He feels pain. He has romantic honor, he will never hurt his woman. He’ll make her feel like the queen of the world. He is a lover. He is happy. He is at peace. He wouldn’t have it any other way. He built America.

A nice song and picture of my horse out in wyoming to complement the piece.

By Guest Writer “Alexa”

“Toni,” you say to me, “can you come over?”

I notice the distraction in your voice, my stomach coiling within itself at the notion that you are not okay. I assure you I will be over in moments and promptly hang up the phone. Pushing myself out of bed, I pull on slippers before grabbing my jacket and car keys. For some reason, driving to your house at 2 o’clock in the morning seems easier than it should, as though the edge in your voice has woken me up fully.

You are sitting on the front steps of your house in your plaid pajama pants and huge, white t-shirt when I pull up in front of your house. I notice your short red hair is standing on end and your light eyes are staring ahead as though you are in a trance. Your thin lips create a straight line across your face.

“Brian, what happened?”

“I broke up with her,” you say matter-of-factly.

At first, I don’t say anything, unsure of what I could say. You seem so disoriented that I cannot tell how you feel about your decision. When I feel as though I cannot draw any conclusions, I ask, “Are you all right?”

You shrug. “Yeah…I guess it needed to happen.” Sighing, you get up and ask, “Wanna talk about this inside? I’m freezing.” You stand up, eying my puzzled expression before adding, “My mom’s at an overnight conference tonight so don’t worry about waking her up.”

Nodding, I follow you down the dark first floor of your house to the end of the hallway. Your bedroom door stands before us, and you do not hesitate to open it as if I normally make late-night visits to your house. Absentmindedly I follow you into your room.

I pull off my coat and drop it onto your desk chair revealing my oversized sweatshirt and boxer shorts. My hair, long and tousled from my restless sleep until the phone call, rests messily along my shoulders. You sit down on your bed as I kick off my slippers.

“I just…she told me she cheated on me, Toni. She cheated.”

My lips are pursed now at the mention of the rumor I heard in school earlier that day. People talked about it in homeroom: how she had gone to a party and wasn’t even drunk when she took some guy by the arm and led him to a couch where she granted his tongue entrance into her mouth before escorting him upstairs. I had hoped my classmates were just causing trouble, but she had confessed.

“You okay with it?” I ask as I sit down next to you on your bed, my legs crossed.

You shrug and simply reply, “It just sucks, I guess.”

“You wanted company, I take it.”

A smile starts to form along your thin lips. “Yeah, sort of. Thanks for coming.”

Nodding, I place my hands in my lap and look up at you. With a smile, I pull you into a hug which you quickly reciprocate. When we pull apart and I look you in the eye and say, “You are amazing, okay? Just because she decided to fuck up your relationship doesn’t mean you did something wrong. She chose to do this to you.”

As I tell you this, your expression seems to transform into that of a small child who scraped his knee on the jungle gym. It breaks my heart to see the latest chink in your armor, the latest disappointment. I wish for some way to fix this as you silently relax into me, resting your head on my shoulder. I wrap my arm around you and rest my head against yours. You place your hand over mine. I feel your thumb stroke my fingers and shivers go down my spine.

You sit up and return my arm to my lap, still holding my hand and continuing the rhythmic motion of your thumb against my fingers: up and down, up and down. I continue to watch this, afraid to look at you and understand your intention.

“So,” you start to say, “I realized something…and it was kind of this really weird, like, epiphany.”

“What?” I manage to ask with what little breath has managed to navigate to my lungs.

“I think…and don’t freak out or anything…but I think I kind of, well, need you.”

“Need me?” I ask.

You sit up and continue to hold my hand, your body facing me. “Yeah, I was thinking about it…actually right after I broke up with her like a half-hour ago…and I realize that, well, this is really corny but…” He sighs and says, “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Toni.”

I have no idea what to say. I feel…overwhelmed, not necessarily in a bad way. I realize in that moment that no one has ever told me that they needed me or couldn’t picture their life without me. Without thinking, I allow something I didn’t even know until that moment to slide out of my mouth.

“I think I need you, too.”

“Yeah?” you ask, and I nod.

We lock eyes and exchange looks of relief, relief at the reality of being requited in such a manner. It’s not everyday you find out that the person you need needs you back. For a moment the relief of such a moment takes hold of us. I feel the heat radiating from the tips of your fingers as they lightly slide up my arm until they have made contact with the base of my neck. I look down at my lap, then back at you as your lips press against mine.

The heat of your lips surprises me. What surprises me more is that I do not push you away or think of this as an odd occurrence. Instinct puts my body on auto pilot and I find my hands pulling you closer than you already are. The heat from your lips spreads throughout my entire body now plagued with high body temperature, rising simply from contact with yours. Suddenly my sweatshirt is too warm. I begin to pull it off but you finish that for me, and I am suddenly sitting on your bed in a white tank top and boxer shorts.

I feel you guiding me farther back onto your bed, only stopping to slowly press my back against your comforter. Your heat presses into my chest and I find my hands tugging at the hem of your shirt before pulling it off of you. You give me a smile, expressing your entertainment at my sudden aggressiveness. You decide to return the favor, and suddenly the fervor of your body makes the idea of any clothing unbearable, something I realize you agree with.

Your heat consumes me in a matter of moments as it reaches ever part of me, every cell in my body on fire. My head feels dizzy and I cannot even think. Our lips stop touching as you bury your head into my hair and I throw my head back, all control about to be lost.

And just like that, it is over. You pull yourself up enough to look at me, your breathing audible. My heart is pounding in my chest. I feel the heat slowly flow out from my toes and fingers with each breath I take. You press your lips to mine then to my forehead before getting up to turn off the overhead light.

I slip beneath the covers, watching you walk over to the light switch, fully exposed, before rushing over to the bed. Your body inches closer to mine as you lie down next to me and prop your head in your hand, and lie on your side facing me.

“So,” you say.

I laugh at you and say, “Were you looking for awkward conversation starters? ‘Cause if you were, you found one.”

“No…I guess I just wanted to break the silence.”

I give another nervous laugh. “What’s on your mind?”

“Honestly?”

“No, I want you to lie to me,” I reply sarcastically, with another giggle.

I hear your nervous chuckle and turn to see you staring at me with a half-smile. “I guess I never realized how pretty you are.”

I find myself replying, “You’re not too bad yourself.” I sigh a little and say, “I’m kind of tired, so I think I’ll get going.”

I start to get out of bed when you place your hand on top of mine. In a voice that sounds as though I am being ridiculous, you say, “Don’t.”

There is no need for further explanation or coaxing on your part. I smile and lie back down in bed next to you. You put your arm around me and I place my head on your bare chest, falling asleep to the sound of your heart slowly beating. I drape my arm across your chest, nestling in to the surprising comfort of having a moment like this with you. The last thing I feel before I fall asleep is your lips pressing lightly against my forehead.

Aaron Lewis further continues my exploration of the true cowboy mentality and real American men from history for the purpose of create real men for in future. The lyrics are simple, not fancy, and directly truthful. This is a nice change up, I am not saying all music should be this way only in this particular song his directness greatly complements the style. America needs to listen to people like this. Why? Because this is what America came from and is still comprised of; simple imperfect men whom want to live the way they were born to live. The ‘new’ America is being constructed on ideals of communism but not even the brave and tough communism used successfully be Russia till its inevitable failure. This is a kind of meek socialism. However I have I full faith this country will now take a stand as Obama has awoken a monster of Change. Only this is not the Change he envisioned. We are going to change it back. Not to the early 21st century but rather to the attitude and aura of the late 18th century and all subsequent occasions when American stood tall with pride as the founding fathers intended.

Wondering how to express a person’s ability in the clutch or there rationality? I am working on provide a numerical equation for life in general. The flaws are many and work to be done great but hey what the hell right? Below are sketches I have worked upon epiphanies or this could possibly be simply an alternative to boredom. Equations de Vivre ©

Well I am sure you are wondering what “Entering the blue” could possibly mean and entail. The phrase “out of the blue” explains the phrase “entering the blue”. This is rather simple something can’t come “out of the blue” if you are not first in the blue. Why is it important to have things come out of the blue? Superstition and factual evidence emphasizes life’s great mysterious being solved out of the blue. Examples include; finding your true specific calling, eureka moments, supernatural experiences, and of course meeting one’s true love. For some they will always be in the blue and enjoy these surprises without hardship. However some of us, myself included, become so passionate about finding the solution to these problems, which are the very essence of life, that we lack the ability to renter the clueless blue. We soon learn we must renter the blue but how? Awareness of the blue’s necessity in long term serves as yet another impedance to actual re-entry. When one is anticipating the “out of the blue” miracle, the said person stops pursuing their passions as they are waiting on the great surprise. The surprise doesn’t come and life is wasted. There is no easy way to find the blue once one desires it so desperately. Simplicity is the key. By this I mean  getting back to the basics, waking up ready to roll, taking care of one’s hygiene, enjoying the constants you have always had (football, Tv show, Books, etc.,), finding good music, remaining in good touch with friends, and most importantly pursuing one’s passion. Focus on the little things and that which comes naturally. Then out of nowhere boom. I will write an article serving as an example, once my battle and the quest for the blue ends. Here is a nice beat called “out of the blue” by Ferry Corsten.

The eyes. The eyes are the gateway to the soul. When you meet the one. You’re not looking at her legs. You’re not looking at her hair. You’re not looking at her body. You’re not looking at her accomplishments. You’re not looking at her previous mate. You’re not looking at her beautiful face. You’re not looking at her friends. You are gazing into her mysterious and inviting eyes. Tension instantly surfaces as an invisible rope is woven, a rope strong enough to stand the test of time. Reason is left in the dust. Cerebral decisions become ineffective. It makes no sense. It is right. It is unexplainable and incoherent. It is flip flopping. The brain may strangle your feelings for her as a protective instinct. It doesn’t matter the second you look into the eyes again the brain’s effects become obsolete. It is destiny. It is in conquerable. It is perfection. It is love.

With the elections just hours away, I have recently been pondering the question: What does it mean to be a liberal? I have been surrounded by conservatism all of my life so I have never really been immersed in the actual liberal ideology. So I decided to do some research (I even watched some Michael Moore movies) and I found some common answers: big government/spending, increased taxes, a strong welfare system, tolerance of all people and their rights, pro choice, anti gun, etc. This explains why so many low income people are democratic; they are trying to level the playing field between them and the rich. This is an entirely separate topic as to what I am going to examine today because something that really attracted my eye during research was the idea of a “limousine liberal.” What does this mean? It’s basically a hypocritical liberal; one who advocates benefits for the poor but they themselves are rich. Take Michael Moore for example. His most recent documentary was entitled Capitalism: A Love Story. In this documentary, he makes outrageous claims that corporations have taken over America and people are being robbed of their houses and money in the economic downturn. He also advocates socialism. The people depicted are being evicted because they can’t pay their bills (which is their fault but I will avoid going off on this tangent as well) and Michael Moore sits their and cries with them. He criticizes capitalism for justifying greed. Yet one must pay 9.50 to go see his movie in the theatre and 20 bucks or so to buy it on DVD. This is capitalism, and it is a system that has made him rich. If he really wanted socialism, he ought to show the movie for free.
I live in Alabama and I go to a private school. It is mostly made up of traditional conservatives but here and there, there are a couple of leftists. I have to wonder: If they go to private school and drive nice cars and have nice houses, why do they attack the system that gave them this. I will bet my last dollar that they will not allow a cent of their wealth to be redistributed like Obama wants. They would not give up any part of their life to pay for socialized medicine or any of that bullshit. Yet they say they would. Every liberal politician in Washington is going to act just like that: a politician. They are going to get every cent that they can and raise more money for themselves and their campaigns because if they lose, they don’t have a job. They cry and sob for their constituents who live in boxes on the sidewalk yet they cruise around washington talking to their stock broker and living the good life. And lets not forget about the rest of Hollywood. George Clooney, Michael Douglas, Tim Robbins, Danny DeVito, and many, many others have more money than they know what to do with, but they attack the system that they profited from and the organization that advocates it. So then you ask, but aren’t capitalists just as guilty? I would like to answer that with a quote from the movie Wall Street: “Greed, for lack of a better word, is good.” Nawwww I’m just kidding. Capitalism is not greed, it is free enterprise. In other words, I make money at my job and I use that to advance my interests. If my interests include keeping all of my money and buying a big ass house, then that’s that. You don’t get any, I earned it. If poor people really want money, get your ass off welfare and get a job, there’s plenty of them. In summary, liberalism is a system of contradictions and hypocrisy. You couldn’t get me to join that corrupt system no matter what