C.R.E.A.M

We are overruled by a corporate world. People in business suits throwing lawsuits. They plead injustice and are served with a big fat pay cheque as a reward; countless lies, countless victims, numerous accusations held with restrictions.

Music is art, art is creative freedom of expression; Yet these laws cause repression. Stamped with countless rules and jurisdictions. Music is a mosaic of familiar sounds and inspirations. These people are the Picassos, the Van Goghs, the Michael Angelos of our time painting the pictures of what our eyes do not see!

They pick and choose songs to sample from like how many make collages or scrapbooks. It's a representation of who they are, what they are about. A place where no rights should be involved, no boundaries, no business-tied accomplices should step foot in, and no judgement should take place.

Music should equal passion, not money. The mathematical equation does not add up at this point. The ability to influence someone so much that they would want to add you to their collage, their artwork, turn it around, and make it their own should be taken upon as flattery and not taken upon with legal action. It's a disappointing factor but the reality is, with the kind of society we now live in, even...
Cash...
Rules...
Everything...
Around...
MUSIC.

J. Lacsamana 11.19.2009

it is sweet and most fitting...

Wilfred Owen
Dulce Et Decorum Est
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of disappointed shells that dropped behind.

GAS! Gas! Quick, boys!-- An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And floundering like a man in fire or lime.--
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,--
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.

Pleasant and Beautiful Existence....before a Country's Morality...a lie. Came across this poem in an old histoire book of mine. It's very powerful isn't it? It signifies the realization that traditional values about war were altered by the first 'modern war.' In a world where countries are constantly at war with one another the rotten truth of human selfishness is inevitable. Why do we struggle to have so much control? So much power? and Why must we do the extreme to gain that power; knowing that there are detrimental consequences? I never could understand it. Yet there are times I want that self-control and power for myself...

political retrospect

I wrote this poem a couple months after my friend passed away. I've been on a writer's block since then. Until I find my inspiration...Enjoy!

October 19, 2007

The subliminal aspiration for world unification is just imagination, a magical organization. And everyone's attention is drawn to mass destruction, TO WAR to racial abomination, TO WAR and deadly arbitrations. So where's the emancipation in this country that we call liberation. Is it right to kill a population who's trying to build a nation? Yet we hang our heads up high with pride and gratification when it's our very own pretension that causes our lack of contribution to a place of resolution, a heavenly disposition. It's the destitution of communication that leads to confusion and discrimination, then thoughts of infuriation, the final blow is an assassination...another of God's creations lost to an unfortunate situation, another victim for examination. It's a tragic ideation that our lives are up for instinction because of our separation of appreciation to other cultures and traditions. So tell me, is it worth all the contemplation? To draw to the same conclusion of the same underlying question...

Where's the vision in division?

Realization. The end of a war we call "The System."


J.Lacsamana