Catching Up for My Invisible Readers...

My father's birthday was my last blog entry. My father's birthday was the last birthday my dad would have.
Yes, readers, on June 29th, 2011, I witnessed and tried to save my dad from an inevitable batle from God. The adrenaline pumping through my blood overshadowed seeing my dad die in front of my eyes. It really hit me when the two nurses came in to tell me what I already knew.
It fucking sucked.
I had my two neighbors and my godmom with me when the bearer of bad news opened the door. All I wanted was my dad. Not a, "My deepest condolences for your loss. I'm sorry." Not a, "We tried everything. We shocked him, gave him medicine, but nothing worked."

A few other people came to meet with me in terms of my father's death and what will happen from there. I didn't care. I just wanted my dad.
After I had a couple of meetings with them, I was given permission to see my dad on his death bed, farewarned that he wouldn't look like his normal self with a tube down his throat. It was still his physical self, whether or not he looked abnormal or sickly.
I went in first, overlooking my dad. His early-morning PTs still on his deceased body and his shoes on the floor. I said my peace and waited until everyone said their own to leave. It was a moment I still savor and wish it never ended.

We left around one-thirty (we got that around 11:30), after seeing my best friend and a good friend of mine, and then went back to the house. People had to investigate to see if it was natural or if it was a homocide, suicide, manslaughter, etc.. I was not allowed in the house for two days, so I took a few things and went down to my neighbor's house. She let me stay there for about a week (later my sister came and stayed there a couple of nights), bought me necessities, and helped me with everything until my sister got there.

She got there the 2nd of July; it was refreshing to say the least. A face of family was what I needed. Thank God I was close with at least one of my sisters, or else I would definitely need counseling for my father's passing. We left the seventh to come back to Michigan to attend the viewing and the funeral.

After shopping for things to wear, it was the day of the viewing. I hadn't cried since the day it happened; right as they opened the doors, my heart dropped. The tears did as well. All the emotion I tried to bottle up exploded. I tried with all my might not to cry, but it didn't work. With just my sister (different than the one that stayed for a few days), my niece and nephew, I cried. No.

I sobbed. I sobbed until I could cry no more. Even then, I cried. People came in eventually and I cried even more, my sobs slowly calmoing down. The emotions that I released physically drained me to the point of exhaustion.

The next day was the funeral. My eulogy was the thing I was nervous about: I had both emotional drainage and stage fright. What an amazing combination.
There were full military honors given at the funeral, and I was forced to choke down my tears to sustain my voice enough so I could speak. The first sentence was the hardest. But once I started speaking, it was natural. That might sound bad, but it was the only time I wasn't scared to speak. From the heart it flowed, but now I still regret now knowing what else to say. I always think of new things I could've said during the short two minutes I was standing at the pedestal.


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August 22, 2011 - Present Day.

Homesickness is my main emotion. Whether I'm talking and laughing or sitting and relaxing, I still have that homeless thought running through my mind. I know I am not homeless, and I am set to never be homeless, but home is somewhere to run and cry to your mom or dad... somewhere to wake up at 6 am to open Christmas presents that Santa got you, but it is really your dad's handwriting; your mother and father both act surprised to make their child smile.

I'm not saying I don't want to stay with my sister, brother-in-law, nephew and niece, but damn, I just want my parents back. I'm not first in anyone's life. Hell, I'm not even second. Third maybe, but that's a blessing.

I am now going into my senior year of high school, both of my parents being deceased and I am now nobody's child. I am a brother. I am a friend, a nephew, an uncle, a friendly face, an in-law. I am longer called son, and though I graduate at the same school my father did, he will physically not be there.
Maybe in mind and spirit, but no mind can create a physical person for me to hug and kiss, and tell them I miss and love them without it being a one-way conversation. I don't want my parents to just listen, I want them to talk.

Maybe not when I'm trying to sleep, scare the shit out of me and I never want to sleep alone again... but in my dreams is enough, I hope.

That's all for now, bloggers.

Joey.

Rest In Peace, mother and father.

Deborah Jean Morganelli : December 11, 1950 - September 8, 2008.

Antonio Joseph Palazzo Morganelli : June 14, 1966 - June 29, 2011.

"If love would've kept you (guys) living, you (guys) would've lived forever."
    ~Author Unknown

This is going to be a long one.

I'm writing this to express my deepest feelings of the 2010-2011 school year: my true feelings and the experiences I will miss and the people I hate, the people I love and the endless people I've met and will never forget.
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I had no desire to move from the small base of Fort Knox. From 410 students to at least double that amount changed my perspective on student life. Hell, I think this year I've met the truest people, the best teachers, and the people I hate the most. :)

I remember the first day. I recognized two faces out of all the strangers walking from class to class. One of them was an amazing friend of mine. Physics, the class with all guys and no girls, the thing I hate the most. I was never myself throughout the year there unless Morgan was there. That's my baby girlll. <3 Mr. Baker was pretty beast, but the guys were just boring. Maybe because I didn't know most of them, but it was one of my least favorite classes.

Gym was the class I bonded with Bemis, A.K.A. Jocelyn. That's my Nicki girl! I didn't mind that class, nor the locker rooms. Hell, I was surprised I could resist seeing all this hot testosterone in nothing but underwear. Some of them I could care less to see.

Third period was Web Design, with the coolest teacher I have ever met in my entire school career. Mr. B was extremely funny, intelligent, and a very kind person whose flexibility of the rules and attitudes made the class so much easier, though some of my classmates were straight up dicks. Oh well. I'll miss that dude.

Fourth period: English. One of my favorite classes, not only for Mrs. G, but because of my wonderful classmates. I could be myself there and not have to worry about anything. That's the reason I actually joined advanced English: I didn't want narrow-minded people in my class; to be in advanced, you can't have a narrow mind on anything.

Fifth Period was Creative Writing/Sociology. Creative Writing is where I met my truest and best friend of my lifetime: Brittany. Her and I are exactly alike, its so strange and amazing at the same exact time. She's the first person I've ever cared about with such love that I would go to extraordinary extents to protect and make her smile... all homo. I hate to cry, and she's the first person I've ever cried --well, teared up-- in front of. We were best friends from day one!

Sociology was with Mrs. Valll. I love that girl! The way she explains things and tells stories makes me laugh uncontrollably, and Mrs. Smith made my day laugh with her very frail persona, yet she was so smart and always brought a smile to our faces. Some of the classmates, however, were fucking bitches. I didn't like about four people in that class because they just loved to judge and talk shit. Psh, talk shit, get hit, girl!

Sixth period: Lunch. Ahhh. I don't like eating in front of people. So, the first two days I went to lunch, and then started going to the library; however, that changed within November-ish when Mr. B let me come to his room. I made even more friends in there; the class was so silly, and sometimes annoying, but I would never take it back. No super close friends in there, but Mr. B was too cool to pass up!

Seventh period was trigonometry. Mrs. L was the most interestingly strange teacher I've ever had. And, a freshman that could beat me at math? No. Not right, but true. His ego got to him a lot though, and I didn't exactly care for him... Anywho, that's where I got really close to an amazing friend of mine, Shannon. Her and I always loved to talk and are such best friends. She's an amazing, real person that I never regretted meeting. And then of course Bemis was in there. She just made it THAT much better!

Eighth Period: Integrated Algebra/Study Hall.
Mr. M for Integrated Algebra. He's pretty much the only one I liked in that class. Pretty sad, isn't it? He was so chill and hilarious; his sense of humor and the easy-going personality of his always kept me at ease and my smile never faded in that class. I'll always miss that teacher.

Study Hall was shit. Lol. Mrs. R was pretty cool; she didn't let you talk, but oh well, I really didn't care: most of the people in that class were annoying as fuck, so I was happy to either sleep or do my trigonometry homework (or both!). Then I started going to Mr. B's where I got a little closer to Anthony and Faith. Loved that fucking class.

Mr. F to finish it off with ninth period: History. When I first saw Katy, I thought she was just this stuck-up person that was smart. Is she smart? Holy fuck yes. She's hella intelligent. Stuck-up? No. She became a best friend of mine in a matter of days. She's so ghetto and funny; her short hair makes me cringe with orgasmic feelings that went perfectly with her cute outfits. Needless to say, Shannon and I got close there too. And Becca! We got close(r) at the end, but I always thought she was so gorgeous.

The hallways were always my favorite part of the year. In the beginning, I walked with nobody, but I smized down the hallway like a fucking model. And damn, I did it the best in the school, no matter who tried to take my crown. I walked down the hallway like I owned it, staring down the haters and air-kissing the people I loved, holding hands with my girls and looking at the hot guys. <3. I loved carrying Alyssa and Brittany down hallways. <3. Hahahaha.

There was really only one person (two, but I didn't hate him as much) that I hated with a passion. My readers know who I'm talking about. Lol. Was it out of jealousy? Only because he can get anyone he wants and he's about a thousand times better looking than me. Other than that, my personality, runway walk, modeling capabilities, and status was soo much better than his. He started shit with girls, but at the end of the day, he was a Grade A pussy that I will always look down upon. Him and I had a lot in common, and when I first saw him, I thought he was cute, until I found out how the hell he acted.
Needless to say I never got to fight him or ghetto-ly argue with him, but I crave the day that I do. I'll win like always.

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My school year has been the best so far. I've met the TRUEST people here. In Knox, I had my sisters and close ass friends, but here... here, I can see myself making life-long friends that are never worth losing. Going to lunch with them in twenty years and still being able to talk for hours is what I think of when I think of one person, but she knows who she is. She likes to be punched in the face when she has allergies.

So, this is Joey signing out, now completing junior year. Its been fun, and the roller-coaster ride was well worth the money. I'd take it back for nothing in the world.
Brittany, Alyssa, Val, Savannah, both Sierras, Kim A., Katy, Shannon, Mari, Anthony (not the one I hate!), Morgan, Santana, Lexie, Angela, Allison, Jocelyn, and Kyleigh: I will always love you and will never forget you. Remember be when you feel down and don't ever feel weird to text me or call me with your deepest feelings.
You made this year the best fucking year in the world.

Joey.

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“Life’s not about people who act true to your face. It’s about people who remain true behind your back.”
 -Unknown.

A friend not left behind, but an early goodbye.

We all want something, and we want it now.
To bare the pain at a later date for the current pleasurable feelings withheld inside our minds.
Our lips whisper secrets to an ear,
To move your thumbs, texting an unimaginable feeling you're too scared to talk to someone about.
Goodbye, now.
Goodbye...

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A spark shocks two people when chemistry is jolted within their emotions. Their common likes, the irresistible dislikes you cannot ignore to rant about. Some sort of mitosis begins, and the friendship sets sail like a speedboat racing to the finish line you wish to never reach. Sadly, finish lines are always set up at the end of a race. Your muscles are not your heart: they cannot run forever. Your discomforts and issues with a person will soon refuse to be jailed up in your lungs, and you burst. Another jolt within their emotions sparks, and the energy heights. Temperatures rise, and soon you're sweating from disbelief and hatred. Some times a pit stop solves the overheating tension, but sometimes not. Your crew cannot fix the bolts that have come loose; no screwdriver can tighten the bonds once holding that friendship. A once-royal winning competitor is now out of the race. The race that finally drew the finish line eleven months in. All the work fell apart; the bolts came loose seven months in, and the pit crew did all it could. Bolts were tightened, but not enough. The clanking noise of jumbled parts now shut down by an over-working engine show through as the crowd sees the cracks. The friendship falls and cannot get up.

All your work was for nothing. You broke down right at the finish line; you forced and forced yourself to stay up, to be the part that worked. No loose screws, nothing. You were fine. Soon, though another favorite comes in. Your parts rust and you are left in the dust. The end has come and you are waiting to be cleaned up and moved on to another race, hoping the finish line will never come. You and your best friend will race until the end of time.

Yet, you will always be Pristine, Christine.

-----

I will miss you, Christine.
I don't care who reads this.

Love, Joey.

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We need old friends to help us grow old and new friends to help us stay young.

- Letty Cottin Pogrebin

needle and thread.

no dentist has drilled my teeth
no awkward positions for my
legs to fall asleep.

my fingers dont feel ten times as big
charred
scarred
those parts of my body no longer feel sewn

the lies have threaded your needle
you call a voice
caring,
soothing voice withheld in the seamstress's hand
bringing together thread
by thread.

patch by patch the outfit completes
no outfit on the market can compete
a delicate hand brushes over the perfect hems
made by the fabrication of the tongue
that seamstress tied

then a new outfit
fabricated by madness and lust
a dreamer's dream visually tangible
but only hours away will another toy
another outfit
marketed by others
then will i lose you once again.


five months later
that feeling comes back,
a new seamstress that no longer ties the tongue
you distribute your lies with
the thread has changed  color
of a vibrant blue;
the chills run down my spine as i
talk to you.

the new design is an old one
reconstructed
into a consumer's desire
to digest the truth now portrayed in the actions
given by the designer

the seamstress did not fail this time;
a tongue not tied is a
dream not dead
but which words have left to be unsaid?


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I hate this poem. Hate it. But it sort-of describes my relationship.

A mask.

mask:

a covering for all or part of the face, worn to conceal one's identity.

 

-----------------------------------------

 

To conceal. To hide. A superficial emotion to further push back what you wish to conceal. To hide. The funny people's mask is that of laughter and smiles, but have the emotions packed away into an imaginary chest; the lock keeping it shut may be steel, but the power of the human feelings can break anything. Recreating one's self into a new image may take a lot of paint. To rework yourself, to change; people are too lazy to change. We are scared of change. The mask has been made. We put it over the sacred flesh to keep us safe; a wall to keep all bad out. My mask, however, is a mask to keep the bad in. To keep the superfluous feelings of myself to myself and not leaking through the cracks of my pale skin. The sheltered thoughts of my only-human brain are sheltered for no reason but to explode upon someone with verbal diarrhea, waiting to apologize to them later for being absurd and ridiculous. 

This mask has grown exponentially; things that have happened, events that have occurred... they're still masked by the artificial smile and the 'funny' person I claim to be. For I am a daisy; I am white on the outside: innocence is portrayed from every hole of my mask. But, the yellow is as bright as a summer's day sun; the corruption is soon to cause self-destruction. I will no longer be a daisy, but a sunflower. The yellow corruption will be the new color of my skin, and the brown-black guilt and death waiting to be called upon is now my new inside. The never-ending cycle of pity and guilt will get to my close friends and family, leaving me alone. The only guest I'll have at my funeral is the priest.

I don't want to die alone..

----

"Now and then it's good to pause in our pursuit of happiness and just be happy."

 ~ Guillame Apollinaire. 

 

Rainbow.

This blogger isn't a poet, but dammit, a poem you will get.

----

not named.

colors of the rainbow so brightly defined,
bottling up a rainbow is not only possible
but torture
to show colors, one must live
be free and have room to move,
their body and mind

i
am the bottled up rainbow,
the rainbow that has been shaken into a color of magenta;
a little bit of blue, yellow,
red, green, not knowing what color i am
so many things cramped into that small bottle
no room to breathe; live
for life itself.

broaden the crossing of colors
to find the definition of you;
rainbows have no end,
be your own.
untwist the cap and drink;
taste the blue sorrow on your taste buds;
the green envy your esophagus now contracts down
red that matches your blood
mixing and boiling with the anger you just swallowed,
yet cant yell because of the sorrow on your taste buds,
cant calm yourself for the esophagus pushes down more envy.

an endless cycle of magenta until digestion can burn away those feelings
one
by
one,
to come out one way or another and into the air,
defining yourself as a new color:
rainbow.


------

Not good at all. It was on my mind so I had to just write it.
I'm not a poet!
--

"If you don't love yourself, how in the hell are you going to love somebody else?" -RuPaul.

My favorite topic: Sexuality.

Ah, yes, you readers from Knox and Indian River. Did you know I'm homo? If you didn't, now you know. And now you don't have to be so nervous when I peep on you in the shower.
Totally kidding! Be worried, I'm not the only one there. (:

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Sexuality is a very controversial topic in today's world. The narrow minds of the present-day society is directly relevant to the ignorance gay people face all around the world. It's 2011, people. Change should have happened years ago, but it didn't. We as a human race are too lazy to change; we are impatient and a very high-maintenance species. We have butlers, children to do our work (which sucks!), maids, shoufers (I have NO clue how to spell that), waiters, and assistants. We cannot and will not do everything by ourselves simply for the fact that we love to sit on our asses and relax most of the day. 2011 is a year for new beginnings, new ideas: 'peace' is such an overused term, people ignore it like a tumbleweed bouncing in the breeze. Our laziness has taken over our world; economies are turning over, more crimes are being committed, and more hate is forming. Gays do nothing wrong. We are not abominations, and we are certainly not second-class citizens. Gay marriage is a right. Period.
Marriage, intended for the narrow-minded heterosexual homophobes, was between a man and a woman. A white dress, a nice tux, all white with roses. Ha! Such a cookie cutter wedding. But when someone gets a... penis-shaped cookie, TWO OF THEM, all hell breaks loose. Why? Because, nobody can't handle the fact that gay people might actually be important to today's society.

Think of it like this:
The world, as stated by so called 'experts', cannot handle over one-billion people. We are over six-billion. Millions are homeless and starving, nervously waiting for death to come by, or simply praying for a miracle everyday they live. If every woman and man were heterosexual, there would be more children. The world would most definitely overpopulate; the rich people would survive and the not-so-rich would be that same tumbleweed.

Hell, Martin Luther King Jr. got us out of the segregation era; Abraham Lincoln won the Civil War, preserving the Union and ending slavery with the Emancipation Proclamation. Aside from slaves being abused and hung (though a lot gay people are), what is the difference? Yes, there is slowly-forming tolerance for sexuality out there, but its moving too slowly.

Homosexuals are not any less of a person that a guy that likes vagina, or a girl that likes penis. We may be saving the world, and to this day, gay people are committing suicide because they do not like themselves.
The government overlooks this a little too much because they're gay. WHO THE HELL CARES? We pay taxes, we keep their jobs. They need to listen, or else they aren't a politician.

(eh, this blog sucked!)

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"Men are born equal but they are also born different."
~Eric Fromm