Jordan Antonacci's Blog, page 44
March 21, 2019
Red was the Night #Poetry
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She cut me
cut me like diamonds
She strung me
strung me through a gold chain
And around her neck
she wore me night and day
All night and day
Night to day
My heart shattered
and sent thunder through the night
Every tear that I cried
rained into the sky
Every drop of my blood
from every scratch, from every cut
ran into a flood
and fell up above
The skies roared with pain
as the red swallowed up the stars
Lightning shot through my veins
and drowned the man in the moon
Just like that
there was no more light
Suddenly
red was the night
In this sky of red
the sun won’t ever rise again
Thanks for reading!
-Jordan
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Schedule
Monday: Poetry
Wednesday: Word of the Week
Friday: Fiction Friday
March 20, 2019
Word of the Week Wednesday: Wabi-Sabi
The word for this week is…
Wabi-Sabi (n.) Japanese:
At its heart, wabi-sabi is a way of viewing the world which encourages the acceptance of finding beauty in imperfections and making the most out of life.
Wabi-sabi is “a way of life that appreciates and accepts complexity while at the same time values simplicity,” writes Richard Powell in his book, Wabi Sabi Simple. “Nothing lasts, nothing is finished, and nothing is perfect.”
Separated, on its own, “Wabi” can be defined as “rustic simplicity” with a focus on minimalism, and a less-is-more mentality.
“Sabi” can be described as “taking pleasure in the imperfect.”
We all have aspects of ourselves that we don’t like. Maybe you prefer being alone but you often find yourself lonely (hi, that would be me). Or maybe you think too much (hi again). But these things we don’t like about ourselves–these so-called “imperfections”–could very well be the best parts of us if we can see them in the right light.
Ask yourself, ‘What can I find beautiful about what I’m now calling a flaw?'” suggests Arielle Ford, author of Wabi Sabi Love. “And could you embrace that?”
Should I angle my head and look at my “imperfections” in a different light, I see that if it weren’t for these flaws, I wouldn’t spend so much time alone thinking a hole in the wall. Sounds bad, I know, but if I weren’t the way I am, I may not have started this blog; I may not have written several books, self-published 2, and have 2 more in the works; I may not have gotten a short story published, or be so obsessed with this passion.
People (especially Americans) are constantly looking at themselves through society’s lenses, endlessly striving for the perfect body or the most followers…
In today’s culture, where everyone’s chasing the sleekest, most expensive and technologically advanced lifestyle, wabi-sabi is everything the world isn’t.
[image error]Photo by Sagui Andrea on Pexels.com
People are always reaching for materialism, convinced it’s what they need to fill their emptiness and be happy. For me, I always chased it because I believed that that was what I needed to be seen as successful. But at the end of the day, all I have is an expensive receipt. At the end of the day, I’m only left feeling emptier because my expensive new toys aren’t changing a thing in my life.
It took me awhile to realize the fulfillment I sought wasn’t on shelves, but inside, hiding in the last place I thought to look: behind my imperfections.
“Word of the Week Wednesday” is quickly becoming one of my favorite installments I’ve done with this blog. It’s introduced me to so many unique and beautiful words that explain parts of myself I never even knew existed. Can’t wait to share them all with you.
Let me know what you thought of today’s word in the comments below!
Stop back by Friday for “Fiction Friday.”
Talk soon,
Jordan Antonacci
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Schedule:
Monday: Poetry
Wednesday: Word of the Week Wednesday
Friday: Fiction Friday
March 18, 2019
Poem: Murder Me
Murder me
Murder me dead
so I may finally know
what it’s like to live
“Live life for the moment, because everything else is uncertain.”
-Louis Tomlinson
Swallow my voice
Eat it whole
so that I can’t make noise
or speak with a soul
Maybe then I’ll know
the definition of alone
of bearing the weight of my secrets
all on my own
Burn out my lights
and wrap a fold over my eyes
Leave me blind so I know
what it’s like to have sight
I said take my sight
so I may cherish the views
What I see is all
I abuse
Rob me
of every dime, of every cent
every fabrication
everything materialistic
That Mercedes in the drive
bottles of wine that just sit
Take all I have to give
so I know what it’s like to live
A crack and a splash
Maroon pooling at our feet
The attack of shattered glass
Speckled with blood that we bleed
Destroy what I love
cause what I have isn’t enough
Thanks for stopping by and checking out today’s poem. Feel free to let me know what you thought in the comments below. If you liked it, please do leave a like and don’t forget to follow along MrHushHush Entries.
Come back Wednesday for Word of the Week Wednesday!
Talk soon,
Jordan Antonacci
Instagram: jordanantonacci
SnapChat: jtantonacci
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Schedule:
Monday: Poetry
Wednesday: Word of the Week Wednesday
Friday: Fiction Friday
March 15, 2019
Fiction Friday: “Patient 313” Pt. 1
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“Patient 313,” a nurse with curly blond locks calls out from behind the counter. She’s holding a small paper cup of oblong and round pill tablets. “Patient 313!”
A skinny man with oily hair and a crooked grin hurries out of his room with a notebook in his hands. A plastic band around his wrist says, Patient 313. His name, however, is Spencer Goodwin. “S—sorry, Nurse Hannah. I was…” he giggles and then shushes himself. “I was just doodling in my thought journal.”
“That’s okay, Hun. It’s time for your bedtime medicine. Here, take these for me.” She hands Spencer the paper cup of pills with a plastic cup of water.
Spencer knocks back the pills all at once, downs it with a sip of water, then holds his tongue out for the nurse to see.
“Okay, you’re good to go. Have a good night, Spencer. Jerome will come by in thirty minutes to make sure you’re in bed.”
“M’kay, Nurse Hannah. Thank you, goodnight.”
Spencer walks back to his room, his flip flops silently smacking the soles of his feet with every step. Once in his room, he sits cross-legged on his bed, pulling his feet close.
“You do what I tell you?” a voice asks.
Spencer’s smile fades as his head turns up. A man stands against the brick wall in the corner of Spencer’s room. He wears a lengthy black robe with a droopy hood that hangs over his eyes and drenches his face in a shadow. Spencer reaches into his cheek and pulls out several partially dissolved pills. He holds them out in his open palm to The Shadow. From beneath the shadow of the hood, the sheen of teeth is all you can see as the man smiles.
“Good,” The Shadow says. “You’ve been feeling better recently, hm? Clearer.”
Spencer nods, hesitant.
“Hey now,” the The Shadow says, his voice soothing. “This is good, remember? Those medicines, all they do is limit you. They rob you of your real powers. And you don’t want that, do you? You want to be great, right?”
“Yes.”
“Attaboy. Now, what’s your name?”
“Sp—Spencer the Great.”
“What’s your name?”
“Spencer the Great,” Spencer says, more firmly this time.
The Shadow nods with satisfaction. He holds his hand up and slowly drags it down through the air. He places his hands together, twists his palms, and when he takes one off the other, there’s a pencil in his hand. “Do you know what this is?”
Spencer takes a moment to examine the yellow-painted stick of wood. “Um. It’s a pencil.”
The Shadow chuckles. “You’re not wrong. But this here, it’s not like other pencils. This one I’m holding is a magical pencil. It has the ability to make whatever you draw on paper come to life. But you can’t just draw it; you have to believe it.” The Shadow holds the pencil out to Spencer and he takes it. “You understand?”
“Believe it.”
“Exactly. And should you ever decide you’d no longer enjoy the presence of your creations, you can either erase them, or simply crumple your paper. Let your imagination run wild, Spencer. Create.”
Before Spencer can say anything else, he looks up and The Shadow is gone.
“Magical,” Spencer says. Lightly gripping the pencil in his fingertips, Spencer puts the pointed lead to paper. A jolt of electrical current puts a black smudge on the paper and sends a shock through Spencer’s hand.
He flinches. “Ow!”
Spencer adjusts the pencil in his fingers and steadily sets it back onto the papers with a deep breath. He drags the lead across the blank page until he’s drawn a square. Spencer then holds still as his eyes move over the room, watching, waiting. A moment passes and nothing happens.
Maybe it has to be 3-D.
Spencer then draws a cube onto the page. Again, nothing happens. He lifts the yellow hexagonal barrel close to his eyes and examines every side from every angle. There has to be something he’s missing. A button? A phrase? What?
Then he remembers what The Shadow had told him: “You can’t just draw it; you have to believe it.”
Spencer flips to a new page; with The Shadow’s voice still clear in his head, he puts the pencil back to the paper and begins to draw, believing in what he draws more than anything. When he’s done, he doesn’t look, he just waits. Believe. Believe.
Nothing.
“I… I don’t understand. What am I doing wrong?”
As Spencer sits, the sight of something small enters into his peripheral. He hears a soft flutter, then stares with eyes wide as an orange-winged butterfly floats past him. His jaw drops as he lets out a maniacal bray laugh.
To be continued…
Copyright © 2019 Jordan Antonacci
Thank you for reading. Let me know what you thought in the comments below, and if you enjoyed this post, don’t forget to follow along!
Talk soon,
Jordan Antonacci
Instagram: jordanantonacci
SnapChat: jtantonacci
Schedule
Monday – Poetry
Wednesday – “Word of the Week Wednesday”
Friday – “Fiction Friday”
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March 13, 2019
Word of the Week Wednesday: Meraki (v.)
Meraki (v.)
To do something with soul, creativity, or love; when you leave a piece of yourself in your work.
After a brief moment of consideration, I decided it was time to bring something new to the blog. MrHushHush Entries has been a tad dry here recently, I’ll admit, and I apologize. So, without further ado, I bring to you “Word of the Week Wednesday (WWW)!” And for my first post in this new little installment, I couldn’t be happier with this Greek gem I stumbled across just last night.
As artists, whether it be painters, writers, actors, or even chefs, we’re constantly doing one thing above all others: creating.
Art is expression. When we create, we’re taking pieces of ourselves and weaving them together to create something new. When we, the artist, stare into a piece of our own work, it’s like staring into a mirror. Similarly, when an observer comes across a piece of an artist’s work, it’s as if they’re staring through a window that looks straight into us. Or, in some beautiful instances, it’s as if the observer is looking into a mirror, not a window. As artists, that level of identification and connection is what we strive for.
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It seems we all have an inherent desire to leave a piece of us wherever we go. To leave our footprint in the sands of time–either to simply be remembered by those we care for, or to leave some kind of impact in the lives of those around us or even in the world.
I’m pulled back to a quote I’m sure many fellow artists–especially writers–have read before. It says,
“We all die. The goal isn’t to live forever, the goal is to create something that will.”-Chuck Palahniuk
We all live and we all die. It’s the simple cycle of life that just is. While we can’t physically remain on this earth forever, we can leave behind pieces of us that will. Through our expression in our art, our blood, sweat, and tears in our work; through our hearts, we can leave behind pieces of ourselves that can inspire, impact, and change the lives of people for years to come.
So, the next time you create, I hope you’ll remember to do so with soul, creativity, and love. I hope you’ll remember to put yourself into whatever it is you create.
I hope you’ll remember this weeks word.
Thank you for reading. Please, feel free to let me know what you thought about WWW in the comments below, and if you enjoyed the post, don’t forget to follow along!
Till next time,
-Jordan Antonacci
Instagram: jordanantonacci
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March 12, 2019
Poem: Off in the Meadow
In a rain-kissed meadow
dew on green blades
glisten
like stars in the day
Smoke-like clouds
open wide
like pages of a book
Pedals
of rose and yellow
like lips of mother nature
bloom for the sun
and dance
for the wind
He flows
over the earth
gentle
like a singing stream
In one hand
a bouquet
of freshly-picked daisies
In the other
a knife
of freshly drawn red
A whip of his arm
sends the daisies
free into the breeze
as a smile
paints its way
across his face
Like crumbling pillars
his legs break
and he settles into
the tall grass
calling it home
as tears wipe
his smile away
and his eyes turn
to stone
Off in the meadow
Thanks for reading! Check out some of my previous posts in the sidebar to the right, and if you liked the poem, don’t forget to follow along MrHushHush Entries 
March 11, 2019
Poem: What Doesn’t Kill You…
“If what doesn’t kill us really made us stronger, then why am I broken?”
-Luckman Khan
What doesn’t Kill us…
Makes us stronger
Makes us wiser
Teaches us to go farther
Makes us fighters
What doesn’t kill us…
Makes us stranger
Makes us something unique
Turns us into strangers
…a torn masterpiece…
Leaves us with a hunger
an emptiness inside
roaring like thunder
A starless sky
Makes us trust less
Leaves us scarred galore
Makes us numb, and
shatters who we are
Like glass mirrors
What doesn’t kill us…
Leaves us alone and cold
without a road to roam
no place to call home
like a silent phone
Leaves us numb
like an icy touch
forever in search
of how to love
Leaves us wishing we’d died
Faces up at the sky
begging the question,
“Why?”
What doesn’t kill us…
Makes us stronger
like standing in Hell
But what doesn’t kill us
turns us in
to somebody else
“Well, you look like yourself
but you’re somebody else, only it ain’t on the surface
Well, you talk like yourself
No, I hear someone else, now you’re making me nervous”
-Flora Cash, You’re Somebody Else
Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought in the comments below.
Till next time,
-Jordan Antonacci
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I hope everyone will take a moment to listen to the song below, and hear its meaning. Take care
March 10, 2019
Poem: What Doesn’t Kill Us…
“If what doesn’t kill us really made us stronger, then why am I broken?”
-Luckman Khan
What doesn’t Kill us…
Makes us stronger
Makes us wiser
Teaches us to go farther
Makes us fighters
What doesn’t kill us…
Makes us stranger
Makes us something unique
Turns us into strangers
…a torn masterpiece…
Leaves us with a hunger
an emptiness inside
roaring like thunder
A starless sky
Makes us trust less
Leaves us scarred galore
Makes us numb, and
shatters who we are
Like glass mirrors
What doesn’t kill us…
Leaves us alone and cold
without a road to roam
no place to call home
like a silent phone
Leaves us numb
like an icy touch
forever in search
of how to love
Leaves us wishing we’d died
Faces up at the sky
begging the question,
“Why?”
What doesn’t kill us…
Makes us stronger
like standing in Hell
But what doesn’t kill us
turns us in
to somebody else
“Well, you look like yourself
but you’re somebody else, only it ain’t on the surface
Well, you talk like yourself
No, I hear someone else, now you’re making me nervous”
-Flora Cash, You’re Somebody Else
Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought in the comments below.
Till next time,
-Jordan Antonacci
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I hope everyone will take a moment to listen to the song below, and hear its meaning. Take care
February 26, 2019
Poem: Highs and Lows
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Highs & Lows
One second I say Hi
the next I wanna go
Then I go from Goodbye
to Don’t ever let me go
I listen to my angel
I always hear the devil
so I can know what’s right
every time I do wrong
One season I love you
but seasons change
Maybe I just wanna fuck you
Fuck you and have a nice day
With you, I’m fulfilled
like a glass half empty
Like my heart just spilled
With you I’m just empty
It’s a constant tug o’ war
Heaven and Hell in my mind
but I’m deaf from the battle horns
Longing to hear wind chimes
I love living on the edge
but right now I’m on the edge
6 stories up
6 feet till I’m dead
Sometimes I want to die
Then I feel so alive
But I only see life
when I’m staring at the other side
But I’m doing all right
Yeah I’m doing just fine
Like a flicker in a light
I break but still shine
Thanks for reading.
-Jordan Antonacci
February 2, 2019
Poem : The Blacksheep
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Your blood, it doesn’t
run in my veins
My face, it doesn’t
fit into your frame
And I just don’t
belong in your name
You and I
lived lives
unequal
I was raised
Alcoholics
and needles
All I’ve known
Broken, like my homes
broke, like my wallet
broke, like my soul
Never truly
felt like
I belong
Like I’m the lyrics
singing along
to the wrong song
Misplaced
even in the place I stay
In a family of smiles
I’m a smear of pain
In a herd of white
I’m a shade of black
A devilish grin
A wolf in sheep skin
Your blood, it doesn’t
run in my veins
My face, it doesn’t
fit into your frame
And I just don’t
belong in your name
Anybody else the black sheep of their family? Let me know in the comments.
#blacksheepunite
Thanks for reading!
Talk soon,
Jordan Antonacci
Instagram: jordanantonacci
SnapChat: jtantonacci
