Shia LaBeouf Still Refusing To Have Public Meltdown

After Weeks Of Media Pressure, Shia LaBeouf Still Refusing To Have Public Meltdown

My family

Just a few of us but these are the people who support me in everything I do and will always be there for me, I love my family. I am one lucky boy! Special shout out to the best mother in the world Maria Teresa Llopiz, happy birthday beautiful!

To Actors, from John Malkovich

“May your work be com­pel­ling and ori­ginal. May it be pro­found, touch­ing, con­tem­plat­ive, and unique. May it help us to reflect on the ques­tion of what it means to be human, and may that reflec­tion be blessed with heart, sin­cer­ity, candor, and grace. May you over­come adversity, cen­sor­ship, poverty and nihil­ism, as many of you will most cer­tainly be obliged to do. “May you be blessed with the tal­ent and rigor to teach us about the beat­ing of the human heart in all its com­plex­ity, and the humil­ity and curi­os­ity to make it your life’s work. And may the best of you — for it will only be the best of you, and even then only in the rarest and briefest moments — suc­ceed in fram­ing that most basic of ques­tions, ‘how do we live?’ Godspeed.” John Malkovich

I have updated the site, there is now a distinct SHORT PLAY and STORY section up top, poetry is coming soon!

A triad of lost poetry from the depths of a lost mind.

 Three of my many original poems (Page for poetry under construction)

“If I could take you 

home with me”

If I could take you home with me,
the world would cease to be,
the skies would shake the seas of rye,
amongst the killer bee.
 
If I could take you home with me,
the strings of Hendrix won’t relate,
even Apollo would be late,
if i could take you home with me​ 

But now you lay here next to me,
in my home so tenderly,
and Hendrix plays,
the seas have waves,
and how they buzz... those killer bee.
 
“The War Had Just Begun”
 
The wheels go round and round and round.
The motor makes a grumpy sound.
The breeze engulfs my smiling cheek,
as I go to the country that I seek.
 
“Hurry up!” It must be found,
my home of childhood mastiff hounds.
They old men hunting,
their horses grunting,
up tree soaked soil mounds.
 
The wheels go round and round and round.
They take me home from the world around
to see my children and my wife
and continue my happy-go-lucky life.
 
“Hurry up!” as I run out the bus.
In anguished screams they surrounded us.
I wasn’t home, I had my gun.
The war had only just begun.

“The Lion At My Door”
 
Alacrity from insanity,
I gaze at death in the face,
but I still have my culture,
I still have my race.
 The music in my heart,
an ancient lion outside roars,
Just outside my door.
But my drums still beat
and I still move my feet.
 As I dance,
He prowls outside,
And my drums beat more!
I no longer need to hide,
My rhythm holds the door.
 My spirit soars
as the lion roars,
outside my door.