Smash Hit

All he needed was PR

A million box of business cards

Careful image consultation

Securing reputation

A clever market plan

He didn't understand

That's all it really takes

He could have played for higher stakes

Now

Somehow

We've gone wrong

This Jesus thing, it's a smash hit

It's packaged right

All stocks have split, it's a smash hit,

It's gone worldwide

Join His name to any cause

Drop His name to get applause

They never get enough

Nothing here to be ashamed of

Those ever loyal fans

They wanna get their hands

On His newest merchandising

Ignoring overpricing

Now

Oh Wow

We've gone wrong

It has no explanation

It smells like exploitation

all star united

A Bookworm's Review: Fiction to Film

After watching BBC's mini-series rendition of Jane Eyre, I was far more than surprised to see someone pull off the character of Mr. Rochester, let alone someone who did it better than Orson Welles.

What I found was a man who bore a striking resemblance to Laurence Olivier, in both his presence and acting style. With all the brutality of character that Olivier was able to execute the roles of Heathcliffe in Wuthering Heights, or Maxim De Winter in Hitchcock's Rebecca, Timothy Dalton flawlessly (flawlessly!) portrayed Mr. Rochester.

I was so pleasantly surprised, actually, that I stayed up watching the entire miniseries. It was quite a journey through Miss Eyre's life; a word for word journey, straight from Bronte's pen. Once again, I find BBC undefeated in the recreation of literature of the Romantic Era. First (in my own knowledge) with Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice, and then with the Sherlock Holmes Pastiche, "The Case of the Silk Stocking" and now with Jane Eyre. I can't wait to see what they will do next.

Burn the Maps

we have got a dream and since it started
they all did their best to stamp it out
now we're not certain, we're not certain
who is on our side, who's on our side
older generations made their decisions
but we don't wanna follow their formula
with all due respect, with all respect man
we don't wanna end up where your at
burn the maps, burn the maps
we won't stay behind that fence
and we're not walking on your footprints
we're breaking branches in the forest
so we don't forget where we came from
start from scratch baby start from scratch now
there's no better time to be reborn
glide across the path like no one's watching
and if you hit traffic, honey that's okay
you're the best at being you now
speed up or slow down choose your pace
burn the maps, burn the maps
we won't stay behind that fence
and we're not walking on your footprints
cause all we need is love
you're giving us a deadline
you're waiting for the punchline
we're waiting for our moment to arrive
so give a little trust
recieve us with an open mind
you're busy reading archives
we're busy making future headlines
burn the maps, burn the maps
we won't stay behind that fence
we're not walking on your footprints
in the middle of a big black trench
we're not walking on your footprints

castledoor

Metaphorically Speaking

Sip at my coffee in this grease ball café
Listening to the crowd maddening outside
In search for celebrity
In hopes of a spotlight
Rain drops pelt the darkness of this darkening world
Waitress sings a song about the daily specials
When all I really want is this coffee and some…
I look out the window to see a carbon copy
Of the latest fad from the no-longer-silver screen
And everyone else playing poor imitations of themselves
Bach echoes in my head, transposed into the trash playing on the radio
Crying out for individuality, but lacking all it takes
Much like the carbon copies and poor imitations outside
So I sit here in this grease ball café
Humming a tune from Bach,
Waiting for my order of change.