To Los Angeles

It feels like forever, since the last time I posted anything on here, and I know I promised to be more consistent with my posts, but I've been so preoccupied lately. I beg the question- do I even have the time? To simply put it, yes I do have the time; it's just seems as if I don't because there are so many tasks at hand and time is perpetually used up- if I'm not going out to the next social, I'm slouched over my laptop, searching for lucrative funding toward international study.

For those of you who don't know, I've been accepted to study a year long acting program, at the New York Film Academy. I'm really excited and nervous at the time, but let's not venture off into talk of my emotions at this point. Right now, I've got to get funding for tuition, travel expenses, living costs, accommodation, and other related costs, etc, sorted out so that study can be possible. Sure, I've been accepted with a $2000 scholarship (roughly R18000), but I've got to come up with the rest of the money on my own. I'm reaching out to organizations, businesses, and people, who are willing to assist me in this endeavour. For a while, I didn't even know where to begin, but I've decided to just do so, instead of wonder where to. It's really crazy, but overwhelming mostly, to think that my audition was worthy enough, to grant me access to a school with such a high caliber and with so much prestige. (trust me, the list of alumni makes me feel like I'm definitely in line for an Oscar or something HA HA)

Anyway, if I secure funding, I'll be off to the States, in the last week of June, to settle in before my first class on July 10. Wish me all of the best luck, and do so in every language possible, because believe me I do rely on it. I've already begun praying to, "To Whom It May Concern", since one cannot be too sure this year, and I really beg of the relevant deity to guide me. Gosh just listen to me...busy praying here- ridiculous, I know; I'm not even religious.

Poem: House of Glass

It's okay to be my age
These days I don't tell myself
A lot of things about myself
Because I'm a bit afraid of the
Way I might react to the sound of my voice
The world makes a lot of noise
Sometimes I wish to be deaf
Sometimes I wish to be blind
I long not to feel
What it feels like to feel
Because I feel peculiar when I feel
The world traps me in sometimes
Hurls me toward the centre of my shadow
Face to face with my mind
Unsure what I will find
In my eyes
I don't know if I'd like the truth
I always hated being lied to
I don't know what I want from myself
I'm scared of my heart
That fragile thing that carries me
I'm scared of the thoughts
That consume the machines
By which I breathe and through
Which I think of you
My inner mirror
I don't want it to shatter
I dread the sound of glasses at war
Breaking like crystal raindrops slamming
Against each other in midair
I'm afraid of myself
Tamed by my shadow
Disciplined by my dreams
Like a wolf with an attitude


Copyright. 2012. Raeez Jacobs Poetry.

Gaga Wisdom

"Some women choose to follow men, and some women choose to follow their dreams. If you're wondering which way to go, remember that your career will never wake up and tell you that it doesn't love you anymore." - Lady Gaga

Extract from short story: A Darker Shade of Grey

A Darker Shade of Grey

by

Raeez Jacobs

I feel like a packet full of smoke, choked on the top by chubby hands.

My mind is adrift so many thoughts, as if my head is a boardwalk for these soughts of things. Yet my mind is like the packet full of smoke; weightless and questionable. Scientifically. Philosophically. I never question it, because I hate getting things wrong, and my mind is the last thing I wan’t a fist fight with. This feeling has been scarce, and I can’t say I’ve missed it. Only I know it’s really familiar; I can be comfortable with it when I want to be, and I can be real uncomfortable with it too. I keep feeling as if my room is a platform, and a train would soon stop here, but all that materialises in the dimness, is a soccer-ball-sized puff of steam. The train is one of the things in my head, meant to represent something bigger than my inadequate imagination; something by which I become a quintessential dumbass. A piece of shit, son of a gun...call it whatever, the fact remains a fact.

The rain is just starting to fall, and I drown in every drop, like a meak speck of atmosphere. My eyes meet the wet road; the gravel from which steam rises, like a lane in a horror movie, and they stay there for hours. The clouds roll and the air darkens, as if more blackberry essence is being poured into the air by a servant of God. I think I can feel the wetness, yet I am indoors. I hear the rain make war on my zinc roof, and I know I’m not going to bother breaking my posture, to hell at deaf allies making so much noise above me.

 ©RaeezJacobs.2012.

[Poem] Toffee Skinned Goddess

Six-legged, nine arms

a goddess stuffed through

a dazzlig cincture

one-eyed in your shrine

choking on the brine

swirling like the twist

of a ballerina with sharp points

in the metro of your throat

jerking like a wind-smacked

postal pole with all your scarlet

letters turning upward like a UFO

and then raining down on you

like festive confetti

returned to sender

the repeat offender

calpable bender

with a little bit of she

in your masculinity

your skin is made of toffee

shining like vanilla floors when the

sun hits the windowpane

there ain’t no virgil going down

up your alley in your temple

but you feel the flame

feel the burn

as the torrent makes folds

and bangles of your loose

skin

you can’t grow accustomed

to the feeling

and your ears deafen

as you eavesdrop on the

screeching conversation between

your bone and your pulled muscle

that tear each other to shreds

while you try catch the drops of

confetti but they slip through

your fingers and disappear in the

palm of your hand

 ©RaeezJacobs. Poetry. 2012

[Poem] Of You- R. Jacobs

everything reminds me of you
when i think back
in the tape of my mind
i see you turning in my stereo

and i hear your lungs
pressing out the music
coming from your sweet mouth
with your hands changing
the way the wind felt on my cheeks

i see your eyes as i see
two headlights in the night
with the same anxious heart
of a lonely traveller

taking my jeans and smirk
down some pretty dangerous roads
getting into an old Chevy
with some sweet thing

who listened to Pour Some Sugar on Me
at the loudest volume
and made me sweat like
a slave in hell

with shackles at my shaking knees
rattling like possessed sea shells

hot and bothered
directly exposed to the heat

that all reminds me of you

©RaeezJacobs. Poetry. 2012

A piece of

-lambency jumps from the verses

your description glistens

you are the torch of my poetry

when the mist takes me hostage

you beautify my sordid miasma