Is Santa Real??

This was an assignment last semester for my Interpretive journalism class, we had to write a response to a young girls letter to a newspaper back in 1897 asking if Santa was real. This was my response, and if you are interested here is a link to the actual response from the paper: mine is far superior. http://www.juntadeandalucia.es/averroes/vertie/motivadores/dearvir0.htm. Also this is the thing I wrote that had a classmate questioning my soul, which was one of my first blogs. So go read that again http://danielperrucci.blogspot.com/2011/04/soul.html

            Recently we received a letter from a young girl asking if Santa Claus was real. Well young Virginia it is time for you to know the truth.

            Each year on December 25^th children across the globe rush to their Christmas trees to view the packages that were left underneath for them. It is understood by most of these children that the gifts were left by a jolly, magical, obese, cookie fiend who lives at the snowy North Pole with an army of little people who spend the 364 days (365 in a leap year) other than Christmas eve building toys that when opened read “Mattel”, “Playstation”, and other name brands.

            On Christmas Eve, this man flies from roof top to roof top of all children who belong to certain sects of Christianity on a sleigh pulled by a team of flying rangifer tarandus, better known as reindeer. After landing the sleigh, all the reindeer, all the toys, and his not so light self onto the roof without it collapsing underneath the weight, which in itself may be more fantastic and magical than a team of caribou flying and pulling a sleigh around the globe in one evening, he enters the home. Now in most states this is considered breaking and entering a crime subject to fines and time in prison where Saint Nick would most likely not fare well.

            Now once inside the house he plants these mystery boxes strategically under the pine tree, or pipe cleaners sticking out of an aluminum pole to create the illusion of a pine tree. Parents constantly tell their children not to talk with, or take anything from strangers, yet here is a stranger who is leaving boxes full of unknown components, yet parents don’t stop these from being received. When the boxes are being unwrapped just pray Santa wasn’t having a bad day, and that ticking noise coming from the package is really just that new watch you had hoped for. The world better pray Mrs. Claus does not leave her husband or we are in for a red Christmas.

            After dropping off the hopefully not dangerous gifts he defies all laws of gravity and makes it back the roof top, where his reindeer wait for him, missing their opportunity to escape their life of slavery. He does this over and over until he visits the home of every child on his nice list. The list which was created by months of watching other people’s children sleep, also known as pedophilia, also a crime. How he watches the children of the world is not know, but before going to sleep children should check their teddy’s eye ball to make sure it isn’t a secret camera.

            So, Virginia, if you want to believe that this overweight child watcher is bringing you gifts each Christmas morning you are more than welcome, just remember that Saint Nicholas is the patron saint of prostitutes as well as children.

            You can tell your friends this: there is a Santa Claus, but he is not a person he is instead the embodiment of the holiday spirit.

Open Letter to Politicians

This is a poem in a form called a sestina I tried my best so enjoy!!


You never listen to our voice.
You stick to your agenda regardless
of how we think or how we feel.
We want justice. We want to know.
We want our voices heard
from sea to shining sea.

We are caught in the middle, don’t you see?
You do, but you mute our voice
so you can say what we said wasn’t heard.
No matter what you ignore us, regardless
of what we say. If we say yes, you say no.
You get your way, but never ask how we feel.

We feel betrayed, lied to cheated, we feel
you are all Crooked with a capital C.
You tell us what you want us to know,
over powering our thoughts with your voice.
We claim to want change, but regardless
we just remain a sheep; part of the herd.

But I won’t be a sheep, I want to be heard!
I want you to know my anger: how I feel.
You can try to silence me, but regardless
you will hear me. From sea to shining sea,
you will read my words and hear my voice.
When I’m done my name you will know.

When you say yes, I will scream NO!
You say sit, I will stand up and be heard
You say shut up I will raise my voice.
My words will make you feel
my frustration, and make you see
that I will not go away regardless

of how much you want me to. Regardless
of how tired I am. I need to know
that the injustice which I see.
can be changed by the herd.
You will know my pain and how I feel.
You will know my fucking voice.

Ah, yes you will know my voice
regardless of how that makes you feel.
From sea to shining sea, I will be heard.

Thanks

Thanksgiving is approaching faster than Usain Bolt and I couldn’t be more excited!

This late fall holiday marks my favorite holiday, not because it’s a celebration of a joint feast between the pilgrims and people who they soon killed off, forcing the survivors to live on “reservations”, or third world countries within our own boarders. . . that’s a different story. Mass genocide of native people aside, this is my favorite holiday because it brings together my family; the most important people in my life. The only ones who I know will be there for me regardless of what stupid shit I do.  

People use Thanksgiving to tell what they are thankful for; so I am going to use this post to do just that.

First off, obviously, I am thankful for my family. I love them; they have been with me throughout the ups and downs. When I was at my lowest they (plus Yesabel who is like a family member) were there for me. I was facing an existence which I may not have survived; I could have spent years of my life trapped in a box. I fought through that and became a better person, they never once shunned me or judged me. They supported me, though I did get the occasional ripping which is expected for my siblings. For that I love them, because without them I could have let the situation consume my every day, but I kept my head up, and for that I am thankful.

I am thankful for my friends. I only have maybe 5 true friends outside of my family, and you know who you are. You are awesome. You support my writing when I doubt myself. You keep me going. You keep me confident.  On a sad note, I recently stopped talking to my best friend. Shit is odd; we had been friends since 6^th grade. We stopped talking because his girlfriend is a selfish, dim-witted, unintelligent, unattractive and unappreciative individual and I told her so.  I spoke what everyone thinks about her and what he doesn’t see, and he took her side, I’m not mad, but I think he is blind. But for those who I still have, I hope our friendships keep growing and become stronger. If not, oh well, I always say that I could never be lonely when I have myself and that holds true. That does not make me any less thankful for you guys. I love you guys.  You help me continue to grow and change as a person and I look forward to continuing to grow with you.

I am thankful for my talent. I write: that’s what I do. Am I great? No, not even close. I will never be famous because of my words; I just don’t have that much talent. But what I have is a creative drive, and I am thankful for that. I want to be the best writer I can be, I want to read my own words and be proud that they came from my mind. I have a few people to thank for this talent: first my parents for boning and giving birth to me. Next, Professor Mary Thompson who helped me discover my passion again. I wish I could show her how much she actually helped me, I think it is because of her I decided to become an English major, she put the pen back in my hand after my shit brick of a English teacher, Garrett Boatman, all but destroyed my love for words. A BIG FUCK YOU TO GARRETT BOATMAN: I hope you have been fired so you can no longer kill people’s dreams.  Also Yesabel, you have been my most supportive fan and critic. You helped me focus and create, you rock. You support me when I hate my writing. I am thankful for all the other writers I have met during my time at MSU who keep me wanting to reach a new level; you guys keep me motivated by just writing. Keep going! I know we will all do something great with our words!  One last thanks on this subject goes to Professor Dale Burg. You are crazy, but you believe in me and you try to knock proper grammar rules in my head, I am slowly getting it. You could have given up, but you have recognized my talent and want me to be great. 

I am thankful for a lot of things, but these are the main ones.  I wish I could repay all of the people above with something outside of saying thanks, but that’s all I can do. I just hope this is enough to show how much I appreciate you all.

Haikuesday

I was recently inspired to attempt writing Haiku. This inspiration came from my extremely talented friend Alyssa, (you can click on her blog and enjoy someone far more talented than the person you are reading now), and my favorite writer Richard Wright. Today is haikuesday, apparently, so enjoy my first ever attempts at these little Japanese poems.


Falling

Red leaves fall to earth.
Raked into piles, bagged, and dumped:
Beauty Forgotten.

Library

Knowledge lines the shelves
untouched, unread—dust covered.
God damn you Google!

DWI

Lights flash in the night.
Stumbling in the darkness,
Steel bars end my day.

NBA

The ball once bounced high,
but the ball bounces no more;
Deflated by greed.

Bashful

The fox trots away
hiding deep in the high grass.
Fox, come out to play!

Awake

The cute grey kitten
bounds and bounces on the bed
Stop I'm sleeping!!

Bowel Trouble

Grey cat eats a shoe
laces, tongue, sole: ate it all.
Grey cat can't poo.

Grey Gas

That grey cat farted!
Said it wasn't from her behind;
she tried to blame me.

Omnipresent

A dove flies to the heavens

An angel is born,
flying high as a dove;
watching over the ones they love.
Nothing can replace what is lost.
Nothing can replace who you are,
the way you changed
everyone you touched,
everyday you met.

A dove flies past the heavens,
yet will never leave.

February 30th

My heartbeat and your name

were once the same,

now it’s just a thud like all the rest

Love once flowed in me,

Love for you and all you are;

Love for us.

Now loneliness takes love's place

My heart stands alone;

cold as the first snow hitting my cheek

frozen like a January lake,

to thaw again the thirtieth of February

Death in a Hotel

I wrote this as a companion poem with Death Hotel. This is from the woman's point of view, it is in a form that my professor taught in class, since i never write in, or know any, forms I gave it a shot. Enjoy

I am trapped and my heart is his.

His blue eyes drew me in

and with a smile I was his.

In his arms I feel utter bliss

showing his love is genuine,

I want to be trapped, my heart to be his.

Despite our many differences

of looks, of class; our love will never ruin

because with a smile I am his.

His hotel is an endless abyss

room to room, he whispers— Catharine.

Trapped because my heart remains his.

I enter a vault, and with a kiss on the lips

he leaves me. The door locks and I remain within.

Leaving me with a smile; I am his.

I scream, I yell, I whisper— only silent responses.

Doctor Holmes, what did I do to offend?

I am trapped. My heart is his

taken with a smile. I am forever his.