One of those times.

Sometimes I think I'm emotionally unstable, other times I feel like I'm moody, but most of the time I'm just over analyzing things.  I'm having one of those times where I feel like everyone I hold dear to me is looking at me differently.  I haven't changed anything about myself or even done anything recently that I'm aware of.  Still, my perception of peoples' attitudes towards me is shifting into a negative light. 

Most weeks I am fully aware of where I stand with people, however these last two weeks have been different.  I feel like my best friends and family members are losing the joy they once found in my company.  I'm honestly hoping this is my mind playing tricks on me because if it isn't, I'll need to do some personal reassessment.  Simply put, I just got this borderline paranoid feeling that people are starting to hate me.

I guess there has been a slight change in my mood.  Something I can't put my finger on has been bothering me and has been making me a bit more serious and often times, for the lack of a better word, a pansy with my friends.  I see myself coming out of the slump, riding this upswing is all I can really do.  Hopefully with the New Year I'll come across some great things that'll really put me back where I was.

Something that's recently struck me...

A girl when I dated her and a woman when I hated her; now she's a soul I exalt.  This statement summarizes my feelings towards a person to whom I shall refer to as Tina.

I was merely thirteen when I met her and even then she disabled me.  She sliced into my psyche within moments of meeting her and each time we've seen each other again she's managed to repeat such a feat.

Tina is the kind of person whose philosophy on life is incongruent to how they realistically carry their own out.  Still, her lifestyle is poetic; though she is a free-spirited beacon of light in the lives of others, the people in which she surrounds herself with are tragic leeches.  To anyone with happiness or stability, she is a beautiful disaster.

Because I met her and fell for her at such a young age her impact resounds throughout my life til this day.  What is even worse? She's become even better since we had first met, making each encounter harder and harder to top with another woman.

She makes me unstable, every time we've met I've made a fool of myself.  Yet she understands her effect on me and she's never looked at me differently.

I broke her heart in the past when we were young.  It was hard to fathom and handle such a personality so young.  She moved on and took to another man who I not only hate out of eternal jealousy but I cannot forgive for how he treats her.

She was once a girl full of hope and passion; because of people like her significant other, she has given up on such things.

I admire her, revere her, adore her and will always care for and love her.  I once thought it was a childish obsession but after much introspection I can honestly say she is the greatest woman I've ever shared time with.

Just when I wrote of loneliness, I re-encounter such a person and revisit this loneliness with thrice the sensitivity.  Not only do I want a woman, I want someone who can emulate the beauty which Tina radiates inwardly and outwardly.

Women, am I right?

The beauty of this blog is in its organic content.  I can look at what I've written and see how much I've changed in retrospect.  Even if the posts were made only a few months ago, my perception of things has drastically changed; I've done a lot of thinking, mending, breaking and growing.  What I've written on this blog, though immortalized on the internet, is by no means engraved in my heart.  This has been a helpful outlet, letting me sort out thoughts and receive feedback from people who otherwise wouldn't have a clue as to who I am.


At first, I was surprised at the amount of people who liked this blog moreso than my comedy writing, but now I thoroughly understand why.  In fact, I'm putting a rest to inkubateblog because it's done nothing but lower the credibility of this blog and preemptively release jokes before going through the proper filtration process.  Now without further adieu, my Acoustic Thought.

I essentially spent the better part of my early childhood hanging out in my mother's hair salon, surrounded by gorgeous women smothering me in unconditional affection.  As they conversed over my head about relationships, life, wants, dreams, and other things of the sort I soaked it up like a sponge.  I listened to everything.  Because of this I've always held women in the highest regard, revered them for their complexity and have shared a certain empathetic bond with them.  I have achieved an understanding for women, though not all-encompassing, which has always provided a good base for communication.

However as of late, this connection to women has been fading.

Much like a carpet too big for the room it is being put in, my life is having troubles fitting into the space given.  Just when I've fitted three corners of my life into the room, the final corner kicks up against the wall.  In this case, I've gotten financial stability, my ambitions are on track and I like to believe that family and friend relations are fantastic as well.

But like anyone else, I'm one lonely bastard.  I crave the company of a woman in my life; such an unsatiable hunger has yet to be stymied by anything or anyone.  And the lonlier I get, the worse I get at handling myself around women.  I fumble with the preliminary cat and mouse banter, overcompliment women and reflect the low self-esteem that only grows with each failed chase.

I'm becoming flustered, worried that I might lose the most prime years of my life to meet women to the comfort and stability of my current situation.  When I was a mess, to say the least, I had no problems meeting women, courting women and even sharing meaningful connections with them.

Is this some sort of mental block I've put up?  Or is this nature telling me to sacrifice one thing for another?  Perhaps I'm just not opening my eyes enough to see the answer right before me.  Regardless of what the problems or the solutions are the fact remains:  I'm one lonely bastard.

Ska/Reggae Jam #2

Wish I had a good girl,
but a bad girl got my heart.
Shoulda loved a good girl,
but the bad got me from the start.

Good girls can't argue,
make me crazy or start a fight.
She ain't good for writin' a song,
and you know she can't screw me right.

Good girl,
when yah gunna go on home.
Good girl,
y'know I'd rather be alone.

'Til you start slappin' around,
put up yo' fists
and strike me down,
bad girl's gunna have my heart
like she done had right here from the start.
I needa bad girl.

Don'tcha cry for me good girl,
my love was always fake.
I'm a mean old man y'see,
and my tricks only cause heartache.

Bad girls got thick skin,
and they know how throw it back.
Not to mention the bad girls...
Well they're damn good in the sack.


Good girl,
when yah gunna go on home.
Good girl,
y'know I'd rather be alone.


'Til you start slappin' around,
put up yo' fists
and strike me down,
bad girl's gunna have my heart
like she done had right here from the start.
I needa bad girl.

You might think I'm horny,
maybe lost my sight.
But a girl who can hate me good,
you know she can love right.

Bus'ness

I had a tune in my head I just kinda made up around the office, wrote these lyrics to it.  It's pretty much a simple, light-hearted commentary on the workplace.

You get a nack...
for stabbin' back.
Steppin' on toes
and gettin' off track.

'Cause in the real world,
things get whack.
Puttin' all your money
in a paper sack.

But I know,
it's just bus'ness.
Workin' every day
at your rot-heart fitness.

If I gotta trample you
for a fifth floor view,
God knows I will
'cause you will too.

It's just bus'ness.

Paranoid,
for no damn reason.
Bein' good is out,
and mean's in season.

When I clock in,
consider it treason.
I pow-zam-zoom like
Jackie Gleason.

'Cause you know,
it's just bus'ness.
We ain't friends,
you're just a witness.

To when I trample you,
for a fifth floor view
take your raise,
and I say adieu.

It's just bus'ness.

A Rotten Apple

It's hard to imagine the greatest place in the world can double as the most unforgiving.  I've been walking her streets for months now, soaking in her mood and her poetry.  Yet I can't help but find myself imagining her mood, her poetry and her song are in fact her tears; I am merely soaking in those tears.

I've been glorifying my life in the city to all of my acquaintances whether it be the rugged working man's angle or the struggling comedian's angle.  Quite honestly, I'm just the subject of a burlesque story.

I live day-to-day, dollar-to-dollar no different from my compatriots of this concrete mess.  The solemn expressions drown out any gleam of hope that we wish to keep when we venture into a life here.

No, it's not the crime, terrorism, nor the expense of living.  It's simply a mass realization that our dreams are steadily floating past the pinnacle of the skyscrapers.  This city is blanketed in sadness; a statement none of us want to believe because such a belief is cancerous.

Tourists aren't the people of New York City, they are moving objects we people who live in denial walk around.  Their fantastic smiles remind us not of ourselves when we first laid eyes on the architectual grandeur, why? 

These people aren't in New York City, no.  These people are swimming through a dream in which our sorry, faceless hinds have created and maintained.  And we merely look past them like the H&M billboard we see every day on the commute in.

How easy it is release inspiration in this city and equally hard it is to unroot from her soil and harness such inspiration realistically.  Like anywhere else in the world, there is no success without sacrifice and New York is known for her expensive taste.  You'll live soulless, limbless, heartless, even without companions if you want to taste her sweet, inspiring nectar again.

And then the weekend comes for some of us.  With the flowing alcohol comes a flood of dreams in which we can drown ourselves.  I take back to the stage and live my dream Saturday on Friday's pay.

How much I love this city and how much it hates all of us, I will never truly understand.

A Blue Life

What is better than a blue life?
What trumps the endless flow?

Governed only by the wind,
watched only by the sky.

I envy a life of blue,
I envy from my concrete.

I'm fettered to the ground,
bound by road and property.

You cannot own the blue life,
no, a blue life is free of possession.

Not even my dreams can grasp it.

Acoustic Thought #3

Life is vast folks.  It's a flooded valley with a million ways to cross it.

I used to divide my life into chapters by year, then it changed to the locations I lived in.  But now?  Now I've tossed everything I've ever done up until this point in one big chapter.  My mark is so small thus far and it bothers me.  It's always touching to hear about the people I've affected, painful to revisit moments where I've done others wrong, but no matter what I've done it isn't enough.  Memories are grounded; I find comfort in the sense that they are a small collection of things I am assuredly capable of.  When I peer into the future frustration creeps up on me and a narrative of unsure thoughts ensue.  I have to constantly remind myself of what my mission is, I am the only source of my own inspiration now.  This is no longer school, no longer a place where positivity is spoon-fed to us.  Now, we're shrouded in the negative, constantly pushing against a violent wind as we leap across the valley of life.

I guess my point is simple; as I stand on the very cusp of the next chapter my hands are trembling, my eyes are shut, my lips are thinned, and all I hope is that this story will end exactly how I wished it.

Apologies for it being all over the place.

-Andrew

Unda Tripudio

Rolling zig-zaggedly,
stumbling quite rigidly,
and random undoubtedly.

The amorphous shapes,
the spherical drapes,
the warped image
of one bored face.

It's hard to believe,
from the sky conceived,
and the glass received,
my ending bereaved

before a blase audience.

I wish for no one the same,
a fate which only gravity is to blame,
that is one wrapped in hapless shame.

And here, the end of my dance
across the glass expanse,
a short finale to a long romance.

I ready for my life to cease,
everything to end in unsweet release,
it is the time I make my peace.

Unlike my menial life,
the downward fall
of obscure strife.

My end is splendid.
I join others to be amended.
And the sky from
which I was expended,
I shall return to be descended.

Free Verse Poetry #3

The Soldier

There is something eerie about this man,
something unsettling,
in the way he carries himself. 
As if all of the weight in the world 
were bestowed 
upon his encompassing shoulders, 
this man stalks around 
a blank gaze set into his stolid head. 
Such a gaze...
Composed of two blue eyes, 
eyes which we believe to show exceptional ability and hope. 

He betrays this hope. 

It is obvious he is no stranger to battle, 
hundreds if not a thousand scars decorate his muscular form 
as a mere testament to his experience. 


This massive man is only swift in battle, 
otherwise his heavy feet crash upon the earth,
like thunder to a drum,
leaving only the stale air of intimidation in his wake.

Old, he likely is. 
Or at least beyond the prime of a regular man, 
yet it seems he betters 
each passing moment. 
His methods of discipline,
a tragic life spent suppressing emotions,
have molded this once gifted scholar 
into a cold, supreme warrior. 

The evidence lies in his now expressionless face, 
deep lines of pain and anguish
are inscribed into his mug; 
this is but a lasting memory of what he used to be.

Settled in his blue eyes 
is a preternatural wisdom 
made exaggerated by his deep, resonating voice. 
This voice moves slowly through the air, 
letting each one of his words be heard. 
His logic is infallible,
and his tone..
It suggests a keen analysis of any situation proposed, 
whether it be past, 
present 
or future. 
This sharp, boundless knowledge 
is borrowed into life.


This is the soldier,
a man who sweats blood,
and cries bullets.

Acoustic Thought #2

I'm getting awful scared of the future.  My family has been spooking me out because I chose not to go to school.  But meh, you know what?  I can't do it.  I can't waste their money being institutionalized for another year, let alone four.

But that's not what I'm scared of.  I'm not terrified of lacking a college degree or anything of that sort, I know I'm intelligent enough to function in society and I possess the right social tools to survive in the big sea of life.  What I'm scared of is not being able to do what I've labeled as my passion... 

I love acting, it's my life.  Drama isn't a cornerstone, it's the keystone to my life and that makes it that much scarier if I don't get to pursue it.  Sometimes, I truly feel I'm good at what I do.  I've worked hard at my skills and surrounded myself with other very talented people; the competition was extremely healthy.  Honing my own talents has been a challenge, but it pays off.  I've yet to be called bad and I'm usually labeled the best or one of the best in each cast I work with.

The fact of the matter is: soon I'll be out out there with the people like me, I'll be on the next echelon of acting.  Soon, I'll be surrounded by other talented, hungry actors wishing to make a leap with the same part I'm going for.  I'm scared I'm only good for the level I'm at, maybe I'm not good enough for the real world.

On the other hand, I've been told by people in the business that I possess the right mindset for this.  I guess I'll just have to stay persistent and hold true to my calling.

- Andrew

Free Verse Poetry #2

Heavier than Heaven.

The first memory of you
is a dust-drenched window pane
lit up by the rising sun,
you, laying in a pool of light,
accented by the enveloping
white sheets and pillows.

Your feathers surround you,
hazy in the intense light,
but visible nonetheless.
It's hard to breathe,
hard to tell
whether or not
these feathers come from the angel
or the pillows which surround her.

Regardless, she's celestial
wings or not
a seraphim.

Finally you open your eyes,
I'm nearly blinded
by the shining azure.
Flames surround your head
as the sunlight shifts
away from the clouds.

How can I not love you?

When you finally speak,
your plump red lips,
your voice,
all of it speaks to me.
No words are worthy of your voice
and yet my ears are blessed by it.

Hark, angel.
I love you.

Acoustic Thought #1

This is long overdue, but only because it's taken me months to really let it settle into my stomach.  I'm tired of moving around.  I've lived in three different states for my High School career, moved around before that, had to make decisions between parents.  I'm just done.

The constant pulling and pushing done to every aspect of my life is starting to wear me thin.  I'm enveloping myself in bitterness because of it, bitterness I try hard to dress in sarcasm to soften the blows.  It bothers me that I can't get along with anyone here in Florida despite the fact that I've no one to blame but myself.  But this is my new home and I need to cope.  Cope like I did when I was the new guy in Virginia, cope like I did when I had to sever myself from Pennsylvania.

Coping is all I can do now.  It occupies most of my time and forces me to mature, forces me not to be bothered by the little things.  Or maybe that's where I have it wrong?  Maybe maturing is laying it all out on the table?  Peeling away the layers of an onion until tears are had.

Regardless of what it may be, I've developed a thick skin because of my unstable living arrangements. 

It really hurts me when I realize that my education and emotional stability has been sacrificed so my parents can pursue their own device on different fronts.  In doing so, they've spread their second son thin and caused a lot of damage.

I don't resent them though.  Their selfishness has rubbed off on me so it makes me the same; I even catch myself being selfish, but I don't stop.  It's a lot like watching yourself behind a one-way mirror, there's nothing you can do.

There has been a lot of negligence in my life, forcing me into the company of classmates, friends, and even enemies.  I strive for approval from my peers, strive to push buttons, get laughs, shed tears...  I just want to impact people.  I want people to remember who I am, rather than let me fall into a crowd of faceless memories. 

I have a name and I have mission.  God-given or not, my purpose is my own and I will carry it out in spite of my own problems.

I'm extremely good at getting people to talk to me, but I've always boarded myself up when it came my turn to do the same.

I love you, I hate you, I know you, I don't know you...  Whoever is reading this, consider it a collection of my thoughts as they cross my head.  Try to sort them out, try to profile me.  I need your help on this one, thanks. 

- Andrew

Free Verse Poetry #1

Scars.
Entertainment doesn't end until
the audience is bored.
Beauty exists only
in the presence of scars.

The question remains,
"Why must we learn it the hard way?"

Because we are special,
we exist in tragedy,
we shroud ourselves in depression,
forgetting the grass is greener
on the other side.

The question remains,
"Why must we learn it the hard way?"

Because life is like a skinned knee;
we won't ever let it heal.
We'll just keep picking at it until
the blood refuses to spill.

The question remains,
"Why must we learn it the hard way?"

Because we're human and
beauty only exists in the presence of scars.



Andrew Mousouris.

I can jot down my thoughts
in a vault of secrets.
Letting only those who can read my code,
read my mind.
But the truth is
I forget the key.
Letting myself sojourn in a place unknown
until memories shift back to remind me
of who I am.

But the vault is empty,
packing its self exponentially tighter
until it exploded.
I've left too many pieces of myself
scattered about,
left too many masks sitting around.

Now I can't even find
my original face.
I'm torn between different dreams.
I'm misunderstood by the masses,
but only because I misunderstand myself.

So dig with your silver spoon,
send your hounds after me,
please keep searching for
Andrew Mousouris.
For the truth is
I've yet to find myself.