Truimphant, he walks confidently down the hall.
Basking in the glory he has bestowed upon himself in a fit of condescending stupor,
his strut draws disbelieving stares from the men and blushing smiles from the ladies.
Woe is the little man who disagrees with the giant,
for in doing so he brings about his own destruction.
The giant, the king: he sits on his throne of false facts and propaganda.
His logic is impeccable when close scrutiny is ignored.
His truths turn out to be nothing more than rumors, his beliefs nothing more than fantasy.
But the world is caught up in the spell of the pied piper,
spun in a web of melodious words,
bound so tightly that they don't even know they're caught.
But they are.
Who will show them where they err?
The giant holds his confidence at bay with his ego.
He makes anyone who challenges him look a fool,
twisting them around his fingers until they snap, unable to resist further.
They call him a hero, they call him the uniter,
but his fa�ade of genius masks the true truth.
Who will topple the champion? Who will slay Goliath?
Or are we doomed to perpetual bliss in the ignorance of the truth?
-2/19/01
Frustrated
-2/24/01
The First Spring Storm
-2/25/01
Interested in Me
-2/27/01
Frustrated every day, every time I think I'm right.
I get the notion that everyone's out to get me.
Sometimes I feel cornered like a rat in a trap
where the only way out is to gnaw off my tail.
Frustration leads to anger, and anger to fury.
I let loose my rage to vent my pent-up madness,
but then I just appear to be a psychopath.
Frustrated, I have to learn to swallow my pride.
Things can't always be the way I want them to be,
so I just have to take each ordeal in stride
and realize the world doesn't revolve around me.
Smell the humid air before the storm.
Doesn't it smell wonderful?
When rainfall is rare, a thunderstorm is a welcome event.
The drizzles from earlier have left
a film of dew on everything.
It reminds me of a Florida night,
conjuring memories of the Polynesian Resort
and the Luau and King Kamehameha.
Yes, this coming storm is a welcome gift.
Hey you, sitting there alone,
why don't you talk to anybody?
Why do you always eat by yourself?
Do you think no one else exists?
Hey kid, what's your name?
What do you like to do?
What do you do for fun
when you lock yourself in your room?
What's in your head?
What makes you tick?
What do you think about
when you're all alone?
Are you this way by choice,
or are you ostracized?
Don't you like people?
Don't you care?
I see you eating cereal every morning.
Why do your hands shake?
I see you eating lunch in the corner,
just you and your newspaper.
Why is it that when you confront people,
you only do so if you have to?
Why won't you look me in the eye?
If you'd see me, maybe I'd care.
So you can stay alone,
crying at night and working too hard,
but I will never talk to you
because you are just too scary.
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