A man who is trusted, has nothing to fear.
He can lie and betray all without threat of punishment.
This man’s friend belongs to a different tribe.
That tribe made sure of his brothers’ downfall.
The trusted man began a plot.
The trusting man was lured into the desert embrace.
Talking and speaking began between the trusted and trusting man.
Then it happened.
A shout, a bang, and one hit.
The trusting man was dead , the trusted left the gruesome scene.
The trusting had fallen.
It wasn’t always been this way, or at least so I hear.
It has become semi-normal to see the red, white, and blue flag the represents freedom to be halfway down the pole.
September seems like there has been an unusual amount of days to have the flag be lowered.
We started the month of with 9/11.
That was the only day that made sense for the flag to be at half-mast. Not to say that 9/11 should have happened, but it’s been 12 years, the wounds have healed, but to see it down two other days this month, that was unexpected.
First we start off with the Navy shooting.
I don’t even really know what happened, but that’s the issue.
I don’t read into these things, it’s just like oh, there’s another shooting, and I move on.
I see 12 people dead and while yes I get sad, at the same time we have been trained to go, “oh 12. That’s a lot less than that other one.”
Excuse me, but for the children, teens, and even adults to just expect that is really f****d up.
It is common talk to just be like, “hey, did you hear about that shooting?…Oh yeah some guy went crazy and just shot some people.”
Usually the response to that would be tears and cries and millions of questions why.
I literally had that exact conversation on the way to football practice the other day. I talked about 12 people dying for no reason, and then just strapped on my helmet and went on with my day.
And then again a few days later I look up, and there the flag is, just hanging halfway down the pole. I was like somebody must’ve gotten lazy and forgotten to put it up, but nope, another shooting.
I just saw that on the TV the other day and I was like you’ve got to be kidding me, another one.
IT IS JUST SO NORMAL!!!! Why is it normal for 3 year olds to be shot in a park having a good time? IT’S NOT!!
A 3-year-old was shot in the head while having a fun day in the park, and the world just moves on. #wtf
I was sitting at breakfast with my grandparents and I brought up the latest shooting. This time it wasn’t in the U.S., but still, any shooting is crazy.
My grandma said, “I feel so bad that you guys have to grow up in this time, it wasn’t like this when I was young.”
That got me thinking. Is it just going to keep getting worse? By the time I have kids I’m going to have to put them in bullet proof vests to walk out of the house.
Now, this isn’t a lobby for gun control. This is a lobby for the crazy people in this country.
If you are crazy and reading this…. please don’t shoot people.
For everyone else. I don’t care if you have a gun. Shoot targets, go hunting, but not for people.
But, do you really need an AR-15 hanging around your house. Are you really gonna go shoot a dove with a gun used to kill enemy forces overseas. If so, more power to you, but I think there are some more sensible gun options for you.
There’s not really much that I can do to control the crazy effed up people in this world, but I’m just a little sick of that flag not flying at the top is all I’m saying. I want to see good ol’ red, white, and blue, flying at the top of the pole, majestically flapping in the wind.
The nation that rides the East and the West is a serpent to all.
It is large, powerful, and not easily defeated.
Not even the western tiger can hope to quell its fang.
Kindness, grace, or even hope for the future does not calm the serpent’s fury.
It must bite and poison all of mankind to be satisfied.
No law is strong enough, no punishment is harsh enough.
The western tiger claws at its elongated body, the serpent squeezes tighter.
The western tiger loses breath, and begins to fall.
The tiger pleads for compromise, the serpent’s squeezing stops.
They return to their lands and the cycle begins again.
During this summer, I met a subway musician at the Times Square Station, NYC.
It was a really, really hot afternoon and the air was just sticky and burning beneath the ground, especially in the subway.
His name was Peter Joseph Paul, a one-man-band, who played in the subway station with his music despite of the heat.
As a New york born musician, Peter formed his high-tech one-man-band and began performing in the Times Square subway station in 2007. And since then, he began to play at the station every Sunday evening from 6 p.m. to 10 p.m.
Using the latest technology and electronics, Peter plays complex drum beats with his two feet, sings and plays guitar, all at the same time.
Sponsored by MUNY(Music Under New York), Peter is also an accomplished audio engineer, arranger, producer and songwriter. And his musical career started when he was 12.
(Picture from starnow.com)
“I write approximately 1-5 songs daily,” Peter said. “I have been writing for over 30 years.”
So far Peter has published two CDs with his own songs – “Energy” and “Sum Night.” And the next CD will be a masterpiece composed of many new styles of songs and more instrumentation, according to Peter.
“I don’t push my CDs on people,” Peter said. “If people like you, they will come up and ask you.”
During my visit, I met lots of underground musicians from all over the world and played various instruments. All of performances were exciting and enjoyable.
They are just the spirits of music who fill the subway stations with joy.
(Over the summer, I visited a small art studio called “Mascot” at the East Village in New York City. Within a small room, the artist was creating great art.)
The compelling window display is only an intro of this remarkable studio.
The real beauty is revealed behind the door, inside a small room of 250 square ft. with colorful portraits of animals and natural landscapes hanging on the walls.
Since 1982, Mascot Studio has been a landmark in the East Village, which was originally a painting space, and is now established at its present storefront location at 328 East Ninth Street.
For the past 25 years, the studio has continued to offer the variety of artworks from different artists and also personal service to the custom framing.
Peter McCaffrey, the owner of the studio, made the ambience of the room even more like home. The works speak out that McCaffrey was born to be an artist.
He demonstrates the insight of art through his own life experience.
Born in Dublin, Ireland, in 1956, Peter McCaffrey studied at the State Universities of New York at Buffalo and Farmingdale, and received his Bachelor of Fine Arts Degree from the School of Visual Arts in New York City in 1979.
Unlike other galleries or studios, Mascot is particularly known for its eye-catching window displays which invite the passerby to enter the store’s charming ambience.
The studio not only exhibits and sells paintings, but also provides an unusual selection of custom moldings, vintage frames and mirrors, prints and photography.
The theme of nature and the animal world becomes one of the attractive highlights of the studio, which embodies original drawings and paintings by McCaffrey and other artists, mostly from the neighborhood.
The spiritual works of animals, however, became one of the most essential parts of the studio.
Something special about Mascot is its unique “Annual Dog Show.”
Starting in 1999, Peter McCaffrey has curated the “Annual Dog Show” in honor of our canine friends, and opens during the week of the Westminster Kennel Club Show here in New York in February.
The idea was inspired by Anne Watkins, a watercolor painter whose works were posted in the magazine “The Bark – Dog is My Co-Pilot.”
Watkins’ works focus on animals, especially dogs’ portraits. She works from life, using watercolor to capture and represent animals’ daily moments.
Within such a small space, people come in and visit the works including paintings, photographs and sometimes sculptures, a full collection of artists’ visions on dogs.
The last Dog Show was held at Madison Square Garden on Valentine’s Day. The show was opened to everyone and there were also works for sale.
Mascot Studio has remained unique as an artist-run business settled in the Big Apple.
Summer days are quiet for the studio, but it never slows down for McCaffrey.
“It is not easy being an artist in NY these days,” McCaffrey said. “The cost of living is high here, so many artists have moved to the outer boroughs.”
The East Village is still a very diverse neighborhood with rare and expensive studio spaces.
“Commercial rents like my studio/store are not regulated so I feel my days are numbered,” said McCaffrey. “Making a living only on one’s work is difficult.”
However, this artistic heart would will be knocked down from of the tough conditions.
“It is part of my nature to want to keep making art,” McCaffrey said. “And it is very satisfying when I am in that ‘zone’ of creativity, It is like meditation which takes practice and discipline.”
“One-two-three, turn; One-two-three turn.”
Following the beat, I watched myself in the mirror as someone else.
She turned slowly with caution and every movement she did seemed so fragile. She stepped forwards and then backwards so skillfully, as if nobody could trace her pace. Her face, however, was a little nervous. Everything was perfect except one thing – confidence.
Then the music ceased.
I walked closer to the mirror and tried to touch the person in it. But I couldn’t see her anymore. She faded away with my curiosity and hope. At that moment, I assured myself that one day I would find her back. And since then, she became my dream.
I was six.
A year later I went back to that dance studio with a group of kids who were much older than me.
I gripped my mother’s hands and I could clearly feel myself shaking with fear.
The first dancing class of my life was vividly impressed in my mind. I was the youngest dancer in my class, but the most talented, my teacher Ms. Li told me. I hurt so bad when the teacher stood on my both knees in order to stretch my legs. I hated Li.
Since then, my spare time was filled with dancing and Saturday’s schedules changed into a regular pattern with two hours dancing class in the afternoon.
I cried every single time before I stepped into the classroom to see Ms. Li. I was frightened by her serious face and the intolerable pain she gave me. But I would always dry my eyes completely and then turned to the studio happily like nothing had happened.
I endured all the pain and after class, I would always spent some extra hours practicing at home.
God, I wish I could be a dancer in the future. I did love dancing.
Two years later, I was surprised to see my great improvement.
“Thank you all for these unforgettable three years. You are all wonderful dancers. Now it’s time for you to put on these ballet shoes and be a beautiful swan. Don’t forget to think about yourself when you dance. Use your heart to dance, not your body. ”
Ms. Li sobbed a little when she left and gave me a smile and I swear that was the warmest smile I had ever seen. I didn’t hate her anymore.
I put on my pink ballet shoes. It took me half an hour to tie them well before I could actually stand up with them.
I was shocked. The person in the mirror was incredibly gorgeous. It hurt a little bit when I stood with my toes but all the pain vanished as I started to dance.
The music pushed me into a fantasy in which I was able to touch my dream. I spun around like an innocent swan.
I danced and danced, for a long time.
That was the most beautiful eight years in my life.
After attending high school, I could not dance as much as I did before. But the joy of dancing has never disappeared.
I am not going to be a professional dancer anyways, but dancing is still my dream.
Dancing was the only way I can communicate with my soul and whenever I feel upset, dancing would comfort me and helped me to forget the pain.
I learned a lot from my experience of dancing. I challenged myself and struggled to present perfection.
Dancing taught me about life. Dancing provided me confidence and leads me to realize that dream was not always unreachable.
Putting on my pink ballet shoes, I took a deep breath and said to myself,
“One-two-three, turn; One-two-three turn.”
Following the beat, I am trying to find myself in the mirror and suddenly a confident smile emerged.
Now I see you.
It seemed as though the bears had multiplied over the winter. The summer before had been filled with distress calls to wildlife control, news reports of bears all over the county, and the not so rare sighting. This year, however, officials reported a record number of calls for help, my own grandmother accounting for many of them, because a bear had broken into someone’s house and they had been woken up in the middle of the night by the sound of the refrigerator being raided for a midnight snack. Bears were no longer afraid to meander into town and did so at their leisure. I remember working at the bakery one day and a customer came running in, shouting that a baby bear was stuck in a tree a couple blocks over. It made the headlines the next day.
My friends told their stories of running into a bear, whether it be hiking in the middle of the day or walking home at night. I would refuse to walk the short distance from work to my house after getting let out at midnight. I would beg friends for rides if my dad had already fallen asleep, but even so, I often ended up walking. I did my best to avoid any situation where I would run into a bear, but I wasn’t completely successful.
I had been babysitting a boy who lived up the road from me. Because it was such a short distance from my house to theirs, the dad walked me home instead of driving. We were walking, talking about his kid, when we passed under a tree. The night before us was made pitch black from the shadow of the moon, and we heard a twig snap. Immediately our attention was drawn upwards from focusing on the road in front of us. Not even five feet away I could barely see the silhouette of a bear. He was huge, bigger than I expected. I am certain he was taller than me, even when standing on all fours. He didn’t even look at us.
Surprised out of our minds the dad and I jumped to the other side of the road. As soon as we were out from under the shadow of the tree we could no longer see him. He had the perfect camouflage. We continued the short way to my house, where I practically ran inside.
What struck me was that had it not been for that twig, an insignificant object we pass by on a daily basis without second thought, we would never have seen the bear. We would have walked right into him. Even though we were scared out of our minds, and stood on the other side of the road scarcely daring to breathe, the bear never even looked at us. We were as insignificant to him as a rabbit.
After that, I would absolutely refuse to walk home. If my friends hadn’t driven, I would call my house repeatedly until my dad woke up and drove the seven blocks to come get me. Seeing the bear, taller than me even when he wasn’t standing up, absolutely undetectable had it not been for that one twig, made me realize just how powerful those animals are. It is a beautiful sort of power though. Being so dark one can blend into the night, so silent that one can go unnoticed until someone has walked into you, and so huge that even the bravest person would follow their instinct of flight. To me there is nothing more majestic.
It was hot and muggy, just another day in Missouri. The peacocks were calling, the insects were buzzing, and complaints could be heard all around. I remember walking quietly to my next course when several horrified children run past me.
They were screaming “DEMON GEESE!!”
No, not really.
We did have three fairly aggressive geese roaming the camp though. Whenever someone would walk just a tad too close to them those darned birds would start honking and pecking at their feet, occasionally giving actual chase. Sometimes they would ignore the accidental provoker and attack an innocent bystander instead.
Honestly those three geese were sort of cowards. They pretend to be all scary but really they just bluff and honk, I’ve never heard of them actually inflicting damage on any camper.
One of my best friends during camp liked to holler and chase them back to the lake, while I personally liked to slowly wander closer to them until I got them mad. Then I let them chase me around a little until I have to get to my classes.
The honest question here is why are geese always so angry?
Maybe because we don’t take them seriously enough.
Kookaburra sits in the old gum tree
Merry, merry king of the bush is he
Laugh, Kookaburra! Laugh, Kookaburra!
What a life you lead
Many in this world do not know what a kookaburra is, even more have not seen or touched one.
Many would not know that the kookaburra’s call doesn’t sound like a laugh – it’s more of a demonic monkey yelling at the unfairness of the world.
Kookaburra sits in the old gum tree
Merry, merry, merry little bird is he
Sing, Kookaburra! Sing, Kookabura!
Sing your song for me.
Many would not know how large and cuddly these birds are, how soft and downy their chest feathers are.
Many would not know the gleam of light cyan in their wings, how minuscule the feathers are and how they catch the light so easily.
Kookaburra sits in the old gum tree
Eating all the gum drops he can see
Stop, Kookaburra! Stop, Kookaburra!
Leave some there for me
Many would not know how picky a kookaburra will be with a frozen mouse.
Many would not know that kookaburras would even eat frozen mice.
Kookaburra sits in the old gum tree
Counting all the monkeys he can see
Stop, Kookaburra! Stop, Kookaburra!
That’s not a monkey that is me.
Many would not know how hard it is to perfect the kookaburra call, as well as getting them to call back to you.
Many would not know that if you stroke his belly and then push on his legs, you could get Stevie to sit on your hand while you pet his head.
All over the internet, a new trend has been circulating.
Creepy sloths. Creepy sloths everywhere. Do people really know what they’re like? My guess is that not many people have seen sloths in real life.
Over the summer I spent six weeks at Cub Creek Science Camp and got to take care of a very wide variety of animals. Among my favorite were two two-toed sloths, Sarah and William.
Sarah was the more active one, slowly and carefully wandering around and around her pen. “Don’t touch her face!” warned many, many counselors. “Don’t let her grab you! Don’t let her bite you! Don’t feed her! Sit down on the stool and don’t move!”
“You can feed her and pet her if you’re very careful,” said Billy, a very mellow counselor that taught the “Jungle” class, which is where the sloths are located.
William was the one always sleeping in the corner of the enclosure and only awakened when I brought him a little lettuce. Only lettuce though, since William will take one bite of an apple and then drop it to the ground.
Sarah though, eats both apples and lettuce. Neither of them seem to like the sweet potatoes very much and I often wonder why they even have sweet potatoes anyways since none of the animals seem to like sweet potatoes.
After feeding Sarah her apples she would stare at me with her deep brown eyes and slowly reached her odd clawed hands towards me. Any other person would be told to duck and cover but I reach out and stroke her claw, playing a strange little game of keep-away. It’s true that if they grab on they won’t let go until they bite it, but I’m careful enough to not get grabbed.
When camp ended and I returned to OVS I felt myself pining for my summercamp and its animals. No, not for the dwarf miniature horse (my gods he’s small), not for the towering camel, but for the strangely charming sloths that have plagued the internet.
Not that I’m complaining about them.
OVS Journalism Blog 
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