Monday, February 22, 2016

On to the next thing

I started something new...a venture of sorts—an experiment.

Hopefully you'll find it interesting, at least. Perhaps, you'll like it even more than you liked this.

This is maxcommajake signing off one last time from SPO.

Want to see what I'm working on next?

Happy National Margarita Day!

Wednesday, February 17, 2016

Not Safe For Work

Another guest entry, this time from Dylan O'Brien:

While working at pwc, I read that student parking only would have its last post.
I'm sorry pwc, but my work has to stop as we must raise our glasses for a toast.
Student parking only isn't good nor bad, It's a chance for the boys to sit around and laugh cause it's all too sad.
I've only been a follower for a year or so, But a year without spo, is a year full of woe.
I respect all the blogs and poetry that came from jake max. But I should really get back to work, Cause some accountant has to count these stacks.
I bid a farewell to my favorite blog, And pay my respects to jake max, kids a homie, and a dawg.

One More, From Mom

In the middle of the night
I woke in despair
To read the post I’ve long awaited
On the site where you’ve laid your soul bare
I have to admit
Your latest posts have left me questioning
Is my kid ok, or are his wounds really festering?
Your writing is bold and witty and funny
Sometimes it’s angry and pithy and punny
As your mom I understand that words are your outlet
Who knew how far you’d take this blog from the outset?
It’s the end of an era
One that had its highs and lows
The drama played out online
And at times you came to blows
But you put yourself out there
And for that you should be proud
You always stand by your convictions
Never aim to please the crowd
The people who know you
Understand who you are
We all love you for your passion
Your loyalty and  your eagerness to spar
I know you’re wondering where the road will lead next
Sometimes that’s scary and leaves you perplexed
No matter where life takes you
I know you’ll be fine
In the meantime we’re all grateful

It’s the end of the Jake Max whine

The Final Lesson: An Ode To Jake Max

A final guest post by: Alexi Msays

I’m writing this for all those who never grasped, 
what this blog really meant to the kid named Jake Max .

It wasn’t a hobby, it was a way of life,
he spoke his mind, not always polite.
He said some things that others wouldn’t have dared,
He even picked up poetry so he could add to it some flare.

I remember back when he wrote “for the boys”,
Damn, I never thought a blog post could make so much noise.
So I asked Jake why would he put himself through that?
Did he not see that people were talking smack?
He looked me in the eyes and said “Of course I know that,
But what you do not understand, is where my mind’s at."
So I asked him where it was, and what were its desires,
He told me with a big grin "to set the internet on fire".

He told me I would never understand him, that none really could.
But I think people should try to understand, they really should.
Life’s about being you, and nobody else.
And for better or for worse, that’s what the kid felt.
He never took on a persona that was not strictly him,
He placed less focus on the losses, but more focus on the wins.
He would do anything for anyone, no matter the personal burdens they brought,
Because Jake Max is that kind of guy, like him or not.

And while this blog was his vent, he did it for others,
Even when he raps on the track thinking he’s a brother.
So I’ll be damned if this blog doesn’t hit one hundred thousand views,

Because if anyone deserves it bro, 

It’s you.

A tribute

One final guest post by: Michael Ginsburg

Years we’ve waited
For this day-
But now its come
And gone away.

Great stories turned to poems,
Our lives have changed
But isn’t it strange-
That we still feel the same?

Can’t be beat is still the motto
It’s here to stay-
But I’ll be the first to admit,
I’ll miss this blog each day.

Writing is an outlet,
You can’t deny-
How could you throw shade,
To such a nice guy?

See his intentions are always good-
I’ll stand behind that,
Whether you like it or not,
It’s what I’m trying to get at.

Where we come from,
Was just the start-
Always remember that,
We grew up eight houses apart.

Mistakes are normal,
That’s a given,
Forgiveness is for those-
Who are truly livin’.

I’ve got your back
Through thick and thin,
Even when-
The layups don’t go in.

Swing the bat,
Play the game,
Real life is callin’-
I must proclaim.

If you’re reading this now,
It’s never too late-
To start something new,
And make something great.

You’ve done all you can,
I think it’s a good time,
To end this blog-
And start the climb.

I don’t write poetry,
This is just one time,
A tribute to:

The oldest friend of mine.

The End

don't understand.
No, they...
don't think I have plan?

Yes, they treat me...
like a child.
So, I'm spicy—
they're all mild.

What, a blog?
To them...
that's wild.
Poems...fill their mouths...
with bile.

Poison posts?
No, they're just rivals.
Not to me...
to survival.

Tryna push back...
my arrival.
I've arrived—
there's no denial.

When every post...
becomes a trial.
When no one answers...
On speed dial.

96k hits?
Never dreamed...
I'd do a damned thing.
Now, I'm so close.
I've stopped counting.
Stop the Facebook spam—
I'm ranting...

They don't get me—
they don't try to.
Just another strange, opaque...
Doesn't matter—
Soon, we'll leave school.
It won't matter—
If I look cool.
There's more to life than looks.
Just ask Zoolander—
Read books.

Read books good,
Ugly, too.
To learn...
A thing,
Or perhaps two.
To see...
A different point—
Of view.
Step into...
Someone else—
Their shoes.

Sometimes, they win.
Sometimes, I lose.
This time—
This, it comes as news.
Few months, now,
I've just hit snooze.
I’ve still got to choose.
A path, a move.
Usually it heals—
A bruise.
This one’s festering—
A wound.
The end is nigh—
The winter’s come.
Jon Snow’s not here—
Manning the wall.

I love to talk—
it’s my downfall.
But, writing—
That’s my song…my call.

I owe it all.
To Marky Mark,
I owe the blog.

To Mike,
My thanks, for those guest posts.
By the end, all mine stunk—
Burnt toast.

Thanks for being real.
For being roommates,
That’s the deal.

Last of all,
I owe a thanks.
A thanks that they think has no place.

Thank you…yes, you
Yes, you again.
The one…I published—
No consent.
That act alone,
I must relent,
was grounds to…
never speak again?

That’s what they’d say.
But you’re different—
Yes, you’re okay.
Not scared to speak up,
You won’t shy away.
You know you have feelings.
You know what they say.
Do your best to listen—
they won’t go away.

At last,
comes a moment.
One we’ve all been awaiting.
One whose imminent nature…
Is hardly worth debating.

SPO was made for students,
And soon I’ll be one no more.
So, it’s time for one last swing.
Throw a left hook—rock their core.
I’ve said my piece—settled the score.
The consensus has spoken.
They don’t want anymore.
Now, I retire—
Retire from this.
Move on to do better—
Write poems.
Find bliss.
But, don’t think for a second, that you all won’t be missed.
I owe everything to you.
My outlet—

Your gift.