Brand New Creed

The Snow Drifter

2010-02-17T16:10:00.003-05:00

Empty lines dream
scheming for a different scene
leaping into foreign themes
lackluster and honest

I have to confess
that along the ride of this mess
I dropped off my dignity
at the exit ramp of distress

fleeing, digging deep into the grain of dirt

Sifting through the leftovers
sitting on someone's fantasy
losing self on the locomotive shore
staring, gaping, gawking

crying

emptiness fulfills my daily whims
like moths through my sweater

the horizon burns
directions revolve around my head
speeding, drifting, finding no one left
beating down this slope

haunting,
hunted without

- gypsy george.

2010-01-16T13:28:00.002-05:00

So, this is what happens late night riding the D-Train back to South Slope...

2010-01-12T13:18:00.002-05:00

contention to the wind
brisk, purple breeze
as it speak of this residue like bursting embers
hot, burgundy flames

rising, creeping afar
stealing crimson verse from an ancient poet
a fedora tilted to the right
a coffee-stained diner plate

a road-trip down horizon's pinhead
a peculiar mustiness
filled with number two pencils
cut into sections

made for scripting the intention of this mood.

- gypsy george.

2010-01-09T15:00:00.002-05:00

Ice capped mountain-tops
silver ropes of moonbeam glances
sweeps along the gushing madness
pelting against winter's wind

I believe the crossroads have already departed

strum, strum
this machine is my life's gun
I can see through destiny and fate

blue, blue
silly Hawaiian songs,
ukulele, Ha`o ana i kou nani ë

slow dancing under the howl of Louis Armstrong

staying firmly warned
warming to passion's myth
marching to the beat of ardor
along this distant shore

finds us torn between the fray of heart and soul

I won't be lonely
I won't forget the devotion
I'll smile

I'll remember May

- gypsy george.

a lover's lullaby.

2009-12-05T15:40:00.003-05:00

Whispers
long, soft, distracting
tap along
crossword puzzles and forgiveness.

Laughter
fades, haunts, remembers
by fire
exhausted mental breakdown foes.

Kisses
smile, deep, wondering
if by light
the turmoil can forever fade.

Loving
feels warm, bottomless
like lonely
weeping willows tilting in rain.

My mind
has fallen asleep.
My mind's eye
begins to cry gazing upon

a lover's lullaby.

- gypsy george.

2009-12-04T15:36:00.003-05:00

a flicker in these Brooklyn leaves
a light breeze of reminder
that you were here, that you are here
teases me
guides me into a dead end.

crash.

the perpetuity of love -
you know, that 'moment' -
plays on repeat on my mind's record player
same song
sung to me a cappella.

the needle skips,
the melody lingers
as a rambling memento

trapped in the verse of an old blues lyric.

- gypsy george.

Upon a Social Commentry of the Current State of Our Situation, i.e. the Unemployed 'Educated' Generation.

2009-10-22T12:11:00.002-04:00

I sit at my usual cafe table in Brooklyn. Autumn has arrived - crisp rain, a slight turn of leaves, the fragrance of looming holidays. Although everyone in this room comes from varied backgrounds, one thing connects us - we are unemployed.

Sure. We scrape together money - odd jobs, a phone call to our parents, busking in Central Park. College degree? Check. Laptops? Yup. On these laptops? Resumes and Craigslist job searches.

We're in our 20s-30s trying to fulfill the American Dream promised to us since childhood. However, all we see is a country operated by an older, 'hippie' generation - the one who declared peace and love. The result? Insane debt, AIDS, the Earth's slow death.

Beyond any political matter, this has become a survival issue. Yet, our generation is neglected, struggling to survive in a world built on credit and imaginary numbers.

Sure. The work ethic has changed. However, it is not as simple as tugging off to the local factory. The small-business man has no breathing room in today's 'global economy' (remind me: what do you need for a loan these days?).

Education has morphed into big business as well. Heck, college students worry more about how to pay and how high their debt will be than they do on learning (just a note to the reader: I will be in debt for my Northwestern University education until the year 2025 - at least! - and, oh yea...don't even get me started about establishing 'credit' and maintaining 'assets').

We've been defined as 'slackers,' 'apathetic,' 'dreamy.' Yet, everyone around me is practical, resourceful, knowledgeable, multi-talented, optimistic. We donate more, volunteer, and have the highest creative output the globe has ever seen. The Internet connects us to new cultures, new ideas, our own identity. We have established a community to aide in our suffering.

But, how do we - this generation - survive?

President Obama. We have translated our sense of community to Washington. But, my 'hippie' friends, this is only the beginning. One person cannot change the world, nor does he deserve the weight of the country's problems.

We're in this together.

Things won't change, revolutionize over night. Heck, our generation may never see benefits (I'm looking at you, Social Security). However, we don't care. We want future generations to look at us as a group that made the world better, not worse.

True. The 'hippies' were selfish. Their message was not. We understand the difference. Just one more thing...

Can I have a job?

Upon a Brooklyn Drizzle.

2009-05-04T15:39:00.006-04:00

It's a constant drizzle - the rain here in Brooklyn. My mind is fluttering across the Rolodex of the past year or so. Introspection. Sure. Self-reflective? Maybe.

I spent the past few hours going through and organizing - literally - thousands of emails in my Hotmail account...mostly stuff I've been meaning to read, or will never get to 'truly' uncover. Regardless. I think seeing the course of my 'email' life the past year was astonishing. For those of you who know me well enough understand that 'gypsy' is a lifestyle. It's the way I do things - on a whim, spontaneous - that I travel often, that I never remain still. For those of you who have just met me, or are starting to get to know me, you understand this as well - perhaps more than others.

Every now and again, I will stop, look back and listen to my past in hopes to see if I can catch a glimpse of where I am going, where I may potentially end up. (Un)fortunately, today as I sit at my current cafe enclave, I have no clue for tomorrow. Which is not necessarily a bad thing. It's just foggy. Unclear. Unsteady.

Life has crept up on me the past six months. Rather, it has pounced upon me. Like a leopard. Like a fox. I find myself a man who is headed somewhere, but doesn't know where; I find myself an individual filled with love, but no love to share; I find myself a person living out his dreams, but constantly stumbling across nightmares. In times like these, I rely on two things to get me through the night: the words, life and wisdom of my namesake, my late grandfather, and the song, "What a Wonderful World." In these brief, peaceful moments I take a deep breath and realize that life is a wonderful tragedy, a struggle towards perfection.

Ultimately, it is in our own strife that life begins to pulsate, vibrate. Achieving life's goals mean nothing without the climb to that goal. Hard work. Dedication. Continuation. Living everyday as if it were your last. Simple words. True. However, this is the foundation of how I intend to mark every moment, to live every sense to its fullest, to struggle with joy as much as I struggle with pain. To quote Nikos Kazantzakis:

"Δεν είμαι το φως, είμαι η νύχτα· μα μια φλόγα λοχίζει ανάμεσα στα σωθικά μου και με τρώει. Είμαι η νύχτα που την τρώει το φως."

which translates to:

"I am not the light, I am the night; yet, a flame lingers in my innards and eats me from within. I am the night which devours the light."

- gypsy george.

Stories for A.D.D. (and other tales...)

2009-05-01T11:27:00.002-04:00

A Back Door Heat Wave

Summer in March, somewhere in the Valley. New Age Jazz music suffers its way through the back door of a heat wave. A hot cup of coffee only terrifies the mood exponentially. Children’s paintings hang on the walls, while the sun attempts to pierce through this mediocrity. The shadows, however, appear to have the upper-hand today.

Afternoon pouting has glazed across this café highway emerging like fiberglass expelled from a car after a head-on collision. The mundane wit soothes like an ice pick stuck in the mud of one’s soul. The clanging ice cubes attempt to harmonize with the New Age Jazz, but...harmony hates New Age Jazz. The cars buzz by along the Boulevard, beyond mere destination. Millions of souls dot this surface with only a few spots reserved for fortune and fame. An annoying cell phone ring temporarily distracts from the New Age Jazz. Some milk and foam ambiance.

Now, we are back to normal. Well, at least, Summer in March, somewhere in the Valley.

- gypsy george.

2009-04-28T13:05:00.001-04:00

Huh? Huh.

pelting against my sternum, venom
concern for suppressed feelings
Emotions? Emotive
the plan was not supposed to

huh. the mental collapse led
Destruction? Destructive

potential lost at the whim of whiskey

I am the passion play anarchist
the capitalist’s communist preacher
Teacher? Teaching
I am a mass of pure mistake

it’s cold in my heart’s prison cell
I’m too old to try again – after this
Beyond? Gone
there is no other to her

no complimentary gift consolation
prize. a message to cupid –
Thank you? No thanks

I don’t understand what she’s
deciding,
who she’s letting go

Her lover?
Her friend

Her both.
Her self.

- gypsy george.

Stories for A.D.D. (and other tales...)

2009-04-03T19:29:00.003-04:00

A Laptop Maiden

An Internet café? No. Just a café. Mostly writers. ‘Script’ writers. The prose people are somewhere east of here, far east. Some students. But, mostly scripts.

The story? Product. Well, how to sell. How to be ‘it.’ How to be the one, who is ‘different.’ Depth? Maybe. But, mostly image. Well, image and a name. Well, at least, a name. Some students feel déjà vu.

A coffee, please? Large. No cream, no sugar. Black. Plain. Simple. A quarter profile emerges from behind the glow of a laptop. A PC, not a Mac. A lady hard at work. Frustrated. Intent on perfection. A flapping eye blink, a shift of her open-toed shoes, a stretch, some lip gloss, a turn over her left shoulder, staring, staring, wondering where her next thought will emerge.

She picks up her cell phone waiting, waiting, waiting. No one’s there. Pouting. Fixes her hair. She closes the laptop in latitude frustration, and opens a book. A book of “ZEN.” She talks to a stranger---another female---about her shirt (she has one just like it at home). She hunches back over her book, “ZEN,” taking on the position of prayer. Well, folding her hands on the table. She jots down a few notes---she’s left handed, by the way---holds, seductively strokes her pencil, and continues to read, intently read. The stroking has ceased as she has lifted her pencil near her forehead, then, another note. She drops the pencil, still focused on the written word, the prose, the book.

Her laptop remains closed.

- gypsy george.

My Last Gasp

2009-02-18T12:50:00.002-05:00

Concrete discrete blood
misunderstanding
the root

the truth in absence
the dream along Lake Michigan

yesterday
is
a day of sweet

tomorrow
is
a day of

airport road trip prairie dresses

left for a stare
left for death
a breath

my last gasp

- gypsy george.

Stories for A.D.D. (and other tales...)

2009-02-17T11:56:00.003-05:00

The Swill, the Theory

Explosive strangeness jolts its way into the atmosphere of a rainy Monday only to find a dirty dime next to the shoe of decadence. A scruff mark defines a story, a tale saved from some other time. The empty, lonely feelings try to drive away the comfort, the glory of grooving to an Al Green song. Something must impress impressions when nothing else is left to impress. But, turn the other mind to the side one prefers. Fickle and pander towards a new meaning of trust. Take this swill with this theory and dig it deep into dust.

- gypsy george.

Πώς να είσαι εδώ/How is it that you are here

2009-02-09T18:26:00.003-05:00

Πώς να είσαι εδώ
στο δωμάτιο του φεγγαριού;
καθρέφτης στο βουνό
κίτρινη Ζωή, η αγάπη

Πώς να πάμε μπροστά
χωρίς χορό;
η καρδιά πέφτει
σαν μια πεταλούδα
ανίσχυρη

κλαίω σαν ψίχουλο

η ψυχή ανοίγει την άνοιξη
η ανοχή δαγκώνει τής κόκκινες
γραμμές του δρόμου

Πώς να είσαι εδώ,
αγάπη...

translation

How is it that you are here
in the moon’s room?
A mirror on a mountain
yellow life, love

How do we move forward
without dancing?
The heart falls
like a butterfly
powerless

I cry like the soft part of bread

The soul opens Spring.
Patience bites the red
lines of the road

How is it that you are here,
love...

- gypsy george.

Stories for A.D.D. (and other tales...)

2009-01-29T16:06:00.004-05:00

Empty Beer Bottle Arm Tattoo

Annoying ‘girl’ voice.
A Cardinal’s fan.

Every floor pattern succumbs to the drunken loudness of an underground garage in Hollywood.

Crackling laugh at 9:44 pm.

Someone found me to be entering the scene, where I don’t belong.
The rally, the cry, the need, a creed, where we find the tunnel, is where we discover encouragement, lust, pity.

That high-pitched frame needs to come down to human planes, or some other casual, whimsical plea towards understanding mediocrity.

Some girls return from the Ides of Boredom only to find that boredom never left the place that they abandoned earlier, a dirty earlier, an okay earlier, a piercing fragment of a really, filthy evening, an upside down possibility of anywhere and everywhere. The shaky ground of not-knowing, uncovered, is how long a romance really should last.

And, remember that a tattoo lasts forever.

- gypsy george.

Life Is Unemployed

2009-01-28T10:50:00.004-05:00

Life Is Unemployed

Black
is the feeling, the stretching
inside the social coup,

that thing,

which finds a way to destroy
very well-natured beings.

My

seeing-eye-dog-presence-of-mind,
the gazelle that wishes to lash me
down into misery

has left to suffer

like moths
in a firefly haze of executions
in August.

the search words on Yahoo!
don’t seem to work this evening…

justice
slid underneath a bathroom door
to find that

life is unemployed.

- gypsy george.

Stories for A.D.D. (and other tales...)

2009-01-26T01:48:00.009-05:00

A Puzzled Princess

So. You can’t decide where to place your winter, white coat? The seat you chose was uncomfortable and numb. So. You stare at all the people, all the drunks and unemployed men, wondering who’s the one to buy you drinks tonight. So. The rise, the sit down, the question, the lust. It’s all about finding the game, which will let you win every time. So. You like the CD Juke Box, the Boss, “Dancing in the Dark.” It’s fitting. You kinda’ look like a, somewhat, ‘young’ version of Courtney Cox, minus the 80’s clothes. So. You found a resting place for your coat, but not yourself. Too much variety of the worse kind. It’s like an election year---vote for the one you hate the least, or, at least, vote against the one you hate, which ever may suffice the mood. The sound of clanging, cheap booze bottles. A hat would, however, help you appear less ‘puzzled.’ So?

- gypsy george.

2009-01-23T11:56:00.008-05:00

Last Exit in Missouri

Last exit in Missouri
no more time to know

the last exit,

where the sun begins
where the evening goes.

She’s frightened like an angel
flying with new wings

yet,
she knows the steps to heaven.

One by one,
she will dream.

- gypsy george.

Stories for A.D.D. (and other tales...)

2009-01-22T11:35:00.005-05:00

Skyward Lace

Godfather Enbestman torched a Camel Light underneath a fire escape off the corner of Lawrence and Broadway. He was contemplating the rust on the edges of the ladder. “Too many winters, not enough safety,” he thought. A white swirl emerged from the rooftop. The streetlights made it appear as aged lace. Godfather knew better; well, felt decent. One more drag. Time for another.

Echoes of the Green Mill waltzed throughout the neighborhood’s chambers. Al Capone’s ghost ricocheted from underneath a liquor store’s banister. A Vietnamese man, drenched in chicken grease, locked his storefront and headed for his 1992 Honda Civic. Another trace of skyward lace.

“Rumble. Rumble. Rumble.” A few blue sparks and a screech followed by, “Lawrence. This is Lawrence. Doors open on the right. Argyle is next.” Soon, some more rumbling fading to the north.

A shout. Wait. Shouting.

Some people tripped by Mr. Enbestman’s path. He nodded. They acknowledged him, and headed to the adjacent ATM. A powerful wind bursts onto the scene introducing himself as winter’s prophet. Godfather did not mind this. Wind’s introduction was short and, more importantly, humbled by the building’s whimsy. Besides, Godfather’s thoughts were elsewhere, somewhere not at the building’s edge.

No. He whispered a mouthful of meaningless words only to discover that non-sequiturs, in fact, can have meaning. At least, in the proper context. The cusp of youth tipped toward nowhere. Well, somewhere, if one was staring at the gutter. A puffy eyelid emerged from a shadow. She does not love him anymore. A remnant of skyward lace fell upon Godfather Enbestman like a shroud of Proust.

- gypsy george.

The Politics of Music

2008-09-26T16:17:00.001-04:00

Social commentary has been at the heart of music – whether directly or indirectly – since Thomas Edison invented the phonograph. Leadbelly sang “Jim Crow,” Billie Holiday “Strange Fruit,” Woody Guthrie “Dust Bowl Ballads,” Bob Dylan “Masters of War,” XTC “Generals and Majors,” U2 “Sunday Bloody Sunday,” Pearl Jam “World Wide Suicide.” The list goes on and on. However, I feel that the essence of commentary has waned the last decade or so. I remember being at South By Southwest last year, and marching in an anti-war protest through Austin – including the main strip of the Festival, 6th Street. Very few – if any – musicians joined the march.

Now, I am not saying that musicians should automatically join a protest without cause. Rather, I encourage musicians to reflect the society in which they live. In other words, do NOT be afraid of your opinions and social outlook just for the sake of not ‘offending’ your audience. After all, John Lennon was once famously (mis)quoted as stating that the Beatles were much “bigger than Jesus Christ.” After that, everyone predicted the end of the Beatles. However, they are just as relevant today. Basically, standing up for something – and taking a risk - is better than standing next to something, and hoping that the ‘revolution’ will fix it in the mix.

See ya' on the open road!

- gypsy george.

An Iowan Drive

2008-09-15T14:20:00.000-04:00

Between the Quad Cities (collectively Rock Island, Moline, Davenport, and Bettendorf) and Dubuque unfolds an exquisite stretch of highway. Actually, there are two highways, U.S. State Highways 67 and 52 respectively, serving the same purpose – to cradle and compliment the picturesque and historic shores of the Mighty Mississippi River. Painted with bucolic scenes of rolling prairies, unique homes and cottages, mom and pop diners and gas stations, this is one of the most peaceful and affordable trips one can take to simply “get away from it all.”

One of the most amazing attributes of this drive is the openness. That is to say, there are numerous hidden treasures that one can just pick and choose, at random, where to stop. This is definitely the type of drive the more adventurous, non-planning road tripper should venture in order to get the full experience.

For instance, as Highway 52 merges into 67 (essentially, Green Island to Clinton), there is plenty of scenic river front spots to take photos, stare at Illinois across the way, have a picnic, strum a guitar, or watch the train roll by – the tracks run right along the river’s edge. One can feel the history, the paths, the explorers, the slide guitars, harmonicas and whistles, which have, time and time again, traveled these roads.

Some quaint towns dot this drive. Places like Clinton, Le Claire and Camanche offer distinctive character to this region, especially when encountering some of the locals. However, my personal favorite is Bellevue. With a population of just under 2,500, this town is situated on a rolling cliff overlooking the Mississippi River. There are great bed and breakfasts, local inns, shops, and restaurants. One of the town’s most famous destinations is Potter’s Mill, which is a former flour mill built in 1845 converted into a restaurant and bed and breakfast. The people are very warm and friendly as well. In fact, one of my trips there, I came across a sign, which said: “Come see our new born baby.” There was an open house for anyone to come in, and, well...see their baby! Suffice to say, I elected not to go in (maybe my city roots got the best of me?).

Next time you are bored, want to get away, and happen to be pursing the heartland, travel along the Mississippi River between the Dubuque and the Quad Cities. Allow the freedom, sensibility, and uniqueness of this area to channel through your urban soul. It is quite an amazing experience to be able to stroll in the backyard of America...

One more note: If you find yourself enjoying the drive, try crossing the border at Dubuque into Wisconsin. There is a great, old ‘Cheesetown’ called Schullsburg along State Highway 11!

Below is a list of some recommended music to take along with this road trip:

Albums

Workingman’s Dead – Grateful Dead
Greatest Hits – Johnny Cash
Elvis Presley – Elvis Presley
Let It Bleed – Rolling Stones
The Great Twenty-Eight – Chuck Berry
Rumors – Fleetwood Mac
Led Zeppelin IV – Led Zeppelin
Harvest – Neil Young
Green River – Creedence Clearwater Revival
Pearl – Janis Joplin
John Wesley Harding – Bob Dylan
RCA Country Legends – Dolly Parton
Headhunters – Herbie Hancock
Born Under A Bad Sign – Albert King
The Real Folk Blues – Muddy Waters
The Band – The Band
Dust Bowl Ballads – Woody Guthrie

Songs

“Get Back” – Beatles
“Going Up The Country” – Canned Heat
“Midnight Rider” – Willie Nelson
“Roadhouse Blues” – Doors
“Green Onions” – Booker T. and the MG’s
“Melissa” – Allman Brothers
“Small Town” – John Mellencamp
“Black Water” – Doobie Brothers
“Can’t Find My Way Home” – Blind Faith
“Lola” – Kinks
“Your Own Sweet Way” – Notting Hillbillies
“End of the Line” – Traveling Wilburies
“Running Down A Dream” – Tom Petty
“Everybody’s Talking” – Harry Nilsson
“Ooh La La” – Faces
“Angel of Harlem” – U2
“Daughter” – Pearl Jam
“Alice’s Restaurant” – Arlo Guthrie
“Low Rider” – War
“Smoke on the Water” – Deep Purple
“Streamline Woman” – Muddy Waters
“Hear My Train A-Comin’” – Jimi Hendrix
“Sweet Jane” – Cowboy Junkies

Catch ya' on the open road!

- gypsy george.

It’s the End of Music As We Know It (And I Feel Fine)

2008-09-12T15:48:00.000-04:00

The general consensus is that music, as we know it, has died. The major record companies are telling their consumers (and, subsequently, their stock holders) that no one buys music anymore. Furthermore, consumers themselves are being accused of ‘illegally’ downloading music, file sharing, etc., which is - according to industry reports - affecting its overall profitability. Finally, the Internet has led to a revolution, whereby artists have endless possibilities to launch a career without the aide of a label.

New developments throughout the music industry have been implemented in order to boost sales and profitability. First, record labels have structured “360 deals” to sign new artists. In these deals, an artist signs with a label in exchange for percentage shares from touring, publishing, merchandise, etc. Second, touring has become more crucial then ever before in creating revenue streams for an artist. Third, licensing music for commercials, TV, film, and video games has evolved into a bona fide platform for both income and exposure. Finally, independently controlling one’s material has become a staple for both up and coming artists, as well as established acts such as Radiohead and White Stripes.

According to Rolling Stone Magazine (Issue 405, February 7, 2008) “[a]lbum sales are down 36 percent since their peak in 2000,” whereby album sales in 2000 were 785.1 million versus 500.5 million for 2007. However, touring excelled with revenues surging “eight percent, to $3.9 billion – thanks to massive reunion tours by the Police, Van Halen and Genesis.” Additionally, this issue features an article on how Radiohead has managed to top the charts without the help of a record label releasing In Rainbows as a download on their Web site. Fans were free to pay whatever they desired for the album. According to the article, there were 1.2 million visitors in October to the Web site (the month the album was released). An online survey group, comScore “claims only two out of five downloaders paid anything at all, [with] the payers [averaging] $6 per album – which, factoring in the freeloaders, works out to about $2.26 per album, more than Radiohead would have made in a traditional record deal.” When the CD version was released on January 1st, it debuted at Number One in both the U.S. and Britain.

These changes to the music industry, however, do not quite explain the reasons for overall sales being down. I propose an alternate explanation as to why music sales, particularly CDs, have declined since the year 2000: Quality. Music, in the mainstream, has evolved into a turnover commodity based upon corporate structures, quarterly reports, and overall numbers. Shows like “American Idol” and “Nashville Star” have replaced A&R scouts. Furthermore, record labels became greedy after the pop music boom of the year 2000, featuring such artists such as N’ Sync, Backstreet Boys, Britney Spears, and Christina Aguilera, without much planning for the future.

When one glances over pop history to see who conquered the charts, one finds Elvis Presley, the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, U2, Michael Jackson, Prince, and Madonna. The irony with all these artists is that they are still relevant. In fact, each artist’s respective back catalog sells extremely well. With the exception of Christina Aguilera (who actually can sing), none of the pop artists from 2000 are significant in today’s music world (my apologies to Britney; however, tabloid news does not make one’s music career relevant). Furthermore, tour revenue has succeeded primarily on the strength from older, established acts (Police, Van Halen), rather than up-and-coming artists. Even in the case of Radiohead, their success is based upon a pre-existing fan base, whereby publicity is not an issue.

If the music industry becomes patient again, and supports quality over quantity, then sales may increase, stabilize, and inspire consumers to purchase new music. Technology will continue to evolve and enhance how we listen and obtain music. However, it should not be the culprit – or excuse – as to why music isn’t selling.

Catch ya' on the open road!

- gypsy george.

Money, America & Hyphenated Americans

2008-09-12T15:44:00.000-04:00

The world of a Hyphenated American is one filled with definitions, anecdotes, stereotypes, identity, race, religion, politics, psychology, philosophy, myth, and creed. The experience is unique to that culture, whether it is African, Latino, Jewish, or Greek. However, at the end of it all, these people are, at best, a secondary category to the status quo. They are the ‘Other’ to American.

Fundamentally, I believe most Americans could care less about another person’s cultural origin or background. The American edict is about where one is headed, how he or she got there, and how much money one made along the way. Obviously, there is racism and sexism in this country. However, it is a minority viewpoint, which government and the media exploit for power and gain. There is only one ideology, which dominates the American psyche: Money.

The guise, which has been at the forefront for many generations, is to define the foreign faces of America. This is a useful tool in suppressing lower income groups. Tapping into fears and anxieties, Americans are able to keep Hyphenated Americans downtrodden. Sure, a few have squeezed through the system. However, everyone is playing with the House’s Money. And, as everyone who has ever gambled knows, the House always wins.

The irony is that our nation was built on the hands and intellect of Hyphenated Americans. Simply travel the country. Every town, state and county name is borrowed by another culture: New York, Ypsilanti, Illinois, Los Angeles, Chicago, Lafayette, Utah, New Ulm. Henry Ford, the inventor of the assembly line, had roots in Ireland (his father) and Belgium (his mother). Television shows such as Three’s Company and The Office have their creative origin rooted in England. Hamburger has its origins in Germany, while Apple Pie claims its roots from England and the Dutch.

Of course, America and its citizens have taken from all aspects of the globe to create the utmost, post-modern existence. In fact, this cultural variety is what makes America unique, fruitful and hopeful. However, the Hyphenated American is one, who should be embraced, not victimized. During an election year, where race, sex and religion have become hot topic issues, one needs to be reminded about America – her meaning, intent, and purpose – rather than oppression, which has served to destroy her from within.

Catch ya' on the open road!

- gypsy george.

Blogging Launch Party!

2008-09-12T03:31:00.000-04:00

It's 12:33 am on the left coast. I'm attempting to finish some work before heading into quasi-sleep. U2's "Rattle and Hum" airs in the background on VH1 Classic. Now that I have set up this 'slice-of-life' pathetic moment, I will venture into a brief existential overview as to why I have decided to officially enter the world of blogging.

Fortunately, technology allows for such a communicative platform to reflect, debate and discuss. Unfortunately for most, you may be a victim of my rants. However, there is a greater point. Recently, I have felt like there is something larger than myself brewing in the universe - as if the ether of the cosmos is reflecting its massive mirror to get our attention.

I've been wandering. I've been wondering. I've attempted to seek and understand. In the end, though, I find myself questioning, criticizing, partying, questioning, then somewhere in the middle, I'm back to nowhere. So...I hope that this experiment of blogging will not only find answers to some of my inquiries, but...I may find some deeper purpose, contribute in a selfless way, and, well, also find an occasional good party...for that, I officially launch my blogging career!

Catch ya' on the open road!

- gypsy george.