Crescent Beach

Thursday, July 25, 2013

Letter to My House Representative

Rep. Illeana Ros-Lehtinen

My name is Christopher Fleites.  While in high school I interned at your Miami office, and since reaching voting age I have voted for you in every single election.  You have also been very generous supporting my family through tough times, and for that, I am grateful.

On July 24, 2013 there was an important vote in the House (Amash’s Amendment # 100 to H.R. 2397) that would have helped prevent the blanket and irresponsible collection of data by the NSA on hundreds of millions of innocent law abiding Americans citizens without a warrant or proper judicial oversight.  By voting against this amendment you are directly responsible for placing my private and personal information at risk.  The NSA's program can easily be construed as criminal, and its breadth goes above and beyond what is necessary to protect America from danger. 

The program's very existence- in addition to being an embarrassment for the U.S. in the national and global community- compromises the integrity of this country, and places our private information, and our constitutional right to privacy at risk. Yourself having been born in Cuba, and having witnessed the negative consequences of the government eroding the privacy rights of Cuban nationals, I am disappointed that you would facilitate the American government’s intrusion into its citizens’ personal lives. 

Even if we are to take the word of James Clapper (who unreservedly committed perjury in a Congressional Intelligence Committee hearing) as true, and believe that there are safeguards in place that prevent the NSA from peering into the content of our private communications, the infrastructure is in place that would make it possible for the government to radically expand the scope of its intrusiveness should it decide to.  And given the current trend, we are more of an inch than an ell away from living in a country whose government cannot guarantee any expectation of privacy to its citizens, and treats its statesmen and allies the same way it treats its enemies.      

I cannot in good conscience continue to support a candidate who allows my tax dollars to fund a program that spies on me and other law abiding Americans.  You will not have my vote when you are up for re-election.

-Christopher Fleites



“War is peace. 
Freedom is slavery.
 
Ignorance is strength.”
 
 George Orwell

Sunday, January 07, 2007

Good Times











Sunday, December 10, 2006


Beneath the Crescent Moon

-to Princess Alessandra


I just want to look at you
your golden glowing spectre
reflecting itself like jewlery
Your candy coated complacency
lulling me to dream
Your sexy aroma royale
luring me towards fantasy

Lock me up in that sensual blurr
with its sensual stingy bite
sensually sizzling electricity spinning
round our lusty lucid breaths
grinning mad like playful cats

Angels grow beneath the Crescent Moon
they flap their wings to the same soft tunes
I heard ya sing when I first saw you.

Angels groove beneath the Crescent moon
like swans they swim through the same
warm springs
you were bathing in -
that swell afternoon

Thursday, November 02, 2006




Logan Walters:
Send me poems!


Jesse Strassler: I can't. I will when I like any. I enjoyed yours. They are very spoken word. Have you performed them?

Logan Walters:
To myself a couple of times... To another, twice. Once to my friend AnnieLee, the other to my roomate Allen as he was strumming his guitar.


Jesse Strassler:
That's crazy, you're ballsy.


Logan Walters:
It was actually AnnieLee who inspired the first one. I didn't tell her that though.


Jesse Strassler:
AnnieLee?


Logan Walters:
A gem I met out on interspace.


Jesse Strassler:
Oh Dear.


Logan Walters:
Haha! I have since deleted my account.


Jesse Strassler:
Did you date her?


Logan Walters:
Not really. I met her on vacation. We were both listening to the same music at the same time. I've only seen her twice. She's actually good friends with a friend of mine's cousin. This summer we'll be getting together on the Jeweled Coast near the jungle at sunset.


Jesse Strassler:
That's crazy.


Logan Walters:
We do engage in consistent phone conversation too about an assortment of topics.


Jesse Strassler:
Lover?


Logan Walters: ... spiritual companion ... or kinsmate ... It's funny how we met.

Jesse Strassler:
That's crazy.


Logan Walters: She's a fan of Jack Swift. That's what has me. Besides the fact that she's beautiful.

Jesse Strassler:
Maybe you'll get married.


Logan Walters: Only if my wedding is like Sophia and Blips in Just a Couple of Days. But that dare not be called a wedding. That was theatre. I'm kind of in a phase where the institution of marriage ain't really doing it for me. Not now at least.

Jesse Strassler:
Well you've got a while to go.


Logan Walters:
I'm positive there's a way to entertain an interplay of companionship without the excess baggage of shallow cultural presumptions.


Jesse Strassler: Good Luck.

Logan Walters:
If there is it's mine, and I'll share it with my truest as she shares it with me. Either that or consider settling in a bushy rag of real estate in some cave so high up not even the birds can sing.


Jesse Strassler:
You're so poetic.


Logan Walters: It's osmosis baby. I can single handedly attribute the source of my poetics to sitting next to you in Ms. Amanda's class.

Jesse Strassler:
I doubt that highly.


Logan Walters: Careful now, doubt is the Devil's first line of artillery.

Jesse Strassler:
I happen to fancy the Devil.


Logan Walters:
I forget, you are his dark apprentice. To me the Devil is nothing more than a knot in my navel that I must ease before reaching the halo around my head.


Jesse Strassler:
You should write these down.


Logan Walters:
Hehe... I just did. Though they are only appropriate within the context of our chat; and by "only" that's by no means an exclusive assertion.


Jesse Strassler:
Put them in a blog or something. Share them with the Universe.


Logan Walters:
Did I tell you I am studying copyright? I actually had an active blog once, but lately me pens be fancying the tenderness of my journal over the promiscuity of online intercourse.


Jesse Strassler
: Hahaha. You and all the good writers.


Logan Walters:
[http://jitterbugperfume.blogspot.com] It's great fun though. Or, it was. I haven't been on there in a while.


Jesse Strassler:
How technologically advanced.


Logan Walters:
Explore, though you might find it a bit dated. Actually, I'm entertaining the thought of posting this conversation, too share it with the Universe (with alias' of course). You can be Jesse Strassler and I'll be Logan Walters.


Jesse Strassler:
Lovely, I've always fancied myself a Jesse.


Logan Walters:
Excellent. It was actually a name I crafted for your character in my fictional college memoirs. That plan has since evolved into more challenging endeavors.


Jesse Strassler:
Like?


Logan Walters: Like the things only my journal knows about. Say' I'll be up for disclosure as soon as you find a poem you like.

Jesse Strassler:
I will definitely keep writing in hopes of it.


Logan Walters: You need not look further than yourself.

Jesse Strassler: Spoken like Yoda.

Logan Walters: More like Yogurt.

Jesse Strassler:
I'm afraid you lost me there Chief.


Logan Walters:
Yogurt, from Spaceballs. Yoda would be more like this: "Any further than yourself, you need not look."


Jesse Strassler:
Hahaha.


Logan Walters: Anyways Father of M-Effing Darkness, I'm off to polish these words, put the periods where they belong and all. Check the blog in an hour or two and you shall see them shine in glorious luster.

Jesse Strassler:
Good luck! Peace holmes.


Logan Walters:
Bukasha!

Wednesday, September 27, 2006

My Three Guides


... peace


serenity ...


=x








Wednesday, September 06, 2006

Can't Fight the Lazers


The show finally started and all bloody Hell broke loose. Fruta Bomba was trapped in a repetitive time loop of madness. Bob too. Strange sound were slipping into our mindsight. Were we too loud? Maybe, but we weren't even talking. Or were we talking? It was too difficult to ascertain.

Music blasted out the loudspeakers and lazers blasted into our eyes. The music was funky. Not feverish, but funky. Earlier the cashier laughed at us when Fruta raved that he wanted two tickets for disco fever. It was actually disco funk but boy had we concocted a fever of our own. A hallucinogenic fever with no hopes of letting loose.

Sights bent, the mind revolving around its eclectic center, the star machine was in complete control. Where we being too loud? Again, it was difficult to tell. Were people mad at us? Possibly, but for what god forsaken reasons? Did they know we had the Fever? Were they just as sick as us? Screaming and chanting obscenities at the euphoric sky? Fruta Bomba was curious...

"Seth, are all these people going through this? Do they see things like we do?"

"Fruta, I think they would be in a better position to know than me."

"No. But do they work here? Huh? Do they work here?"

It was all nonsense. But not really. I understood what he meant yet his words had no meaning. Everything looked strange. People were dancing wildly up front. They looked like spaghetti in swimsuits Some women in their fifties, or sixties, or maybe even late forties were seated in our line of sightless site, seated in a time capsule of nostalgia. One quickly overcame her self doubt and latent insecurities. She stood up, stuck that timeless finger in the air and danced like an animate fossil of her times.

The music was her savior. This was flipping us out. The sound and her were indistinguishable. Fruta was flipping, Bob was laughing uncontrollably trying to express the illusory humor manifesting itself in the invisible walls around him. He was worried that he had peed himself. The thought was too funny to contain. He did pee himself. No! It was a dream. No, he did. Yes, he really did pee himself. No. He was unsure and needed answers, quickly.

"Seth, did I pee myself?"

"Yes of course!"

Bob looks down and sees it. Sees nothing dripping down his dry pants. Fruta Bomba thought this was funny. For the rest of the show we tried hard to convince Bob he had peed himself, which he did, but had not.

"Seth, tell Bob he peed himself," Fruta would rave mad like a lost hyena.

"Bob, you peed yourself."

"Really?"

"No."

"Yes."

"Oh my Gawd it's true. There's piss everywhere."

The show continued in this manner until it was almost over. The music was different but it sounded all the same. One song caught my ear though, Its just an illusion. And that it was my friends. The grandest illusion of it all, the eternal trick let loose from the Mad hatters sleeve. We needed Alejandro to make sense of it all. Somehow Alejandro knew all the answers. Either Alejandro or the car. Either would do, but the phone systems were in operable and we didnt have to call the car. I tried opening my phone just in case and was blinded by phosphorescent Chinese letters telling me to do unspeakable things to myself.

The show was intriguing with or without the glasses. It was difficult to tell whether or not I was wearing them. The glasses just put themselves on whenever they wanted to be put on. I had no say in the matter. Even when I closed my eyes I could not escape the lazers. They were everywhere, even and especially behind my eyelids.

The show, of course, ended with Saturday Night Fever. Everyone erupted into a spontaneous conga line around the Planet Arium. We didnt participate. Why put ourselves in the feeding path of a giant venomous flesh feasting serpent when there was already one flicking its lucid tongue in our eyes?

Thursday, August 24, 2006



It was difficult to get up this morning considering the all transcendent high level of exhaustion that has been characteristic of my return. Luckily it is slowly being purged by means of midday naps and petitions for my willpower to get out of bed. Nevertheless the routine has not emerged in full swing. There have been delays and necessary temporary modifications.

Class today started at 11:30. I took the opportunity to sleep in a bit and work on Legal Ethics homework. Doesn’t that sound like a contradiction? Legal Ethics. I then did my yoga thang in the placid heat of my room, once again aligned with Kali and her wild deadly arms. The wonder, the excitement, the sweat, the peace. Yes…. the peace. It was serene and my entire body was free to breathe except for the taboos sheathed by my underwear.

My first class was Constitutional Law. Professor M was a blast. An old yet lively man from Missouri, he propelled the class with witty statements ranging from:

“I love Butter. Oh, yeah … I luuuuv Butter! Mmmmm, Butter, yeah!”

to

“The news makes me want to toss my big screen out the balcony.”

and, while referring to the dietary value of skim milk

“No one says to themselves: I want to be a little nutrient deficient in my diet”

His anecdotes included a tale about how at night he drools all over his pillow. “I admit it,” he said, “I’m a drooler,” leaving us to wonder whether we were in fact in law school or comedy hour at the improve. “One of my goals for this semester,” he’d rant “is to give up casual profanity. Hell, I’ll just do it next semester.”

Needless to say the class was amusing, but it was also educational and challenging. It is, in fact, one of the classes I have been looking forward to taking since even before my enrollment in law school as I am wholeheartedly convinced that the solution to this country’s dipshit prohibition problem and the resulting drug war lies somewhere in the Constituion itself. Could it be that the drafters of the document inked it out on Hemp paper? Who knows?

Actually, there was a case explicating the substantive interest test of the 14th Amendment’s Due Process Clause that almost justified weed being legal until, of course, the following case. By simply adding the words “legitimate concerns” to the test Congress has been empowered the machinery to promote its blind ideologies through arbitrary and practically unregulated lawmaking.

Nothing much else happened in that class except that I sat next to some old friends: Lizz and Ana. Lizz is a mormon who got married last Thursday upon her return from a trip to China. She has also been to my mecca, India. When I expressed my interest in visiting both countries she said, “You should probably visit India first, being that you’re a hippy and all.”

“I’m not a hippy”

“Sure you’re not.”

“Don’t classify,” was the best I could come up with, but that was probably a mistake being that “don’t classify” is probably one of the most hippyish things you could say next to “man” or “trees are people too.”

Devil’s advocate notwithstanding, she was probably right. I do share many characteristics with the stereotypical hippy, namely my affinity for manipulating and exploring the boundless macrocosm of consciousness and my undying respect for the natural world. But I identify myself more with the Beats than the hippies. It’s just a stylistic preference. I dig the Beat lifestyle and their free spirited bohemian methods of self expression. And who can deny that the beats in essence gave birth to the hippies, to the Heads, to the Flower Children who peacefully fought for our right to BE by simply being. That is arguable but it sounds tantalizing.

I also sat next to Ana, her highness, the queen of Malibu and my Spanish telenovela loving Russian whose fleet of oak carved ships are probably playing reruns of “Que Pasa USA” in the mess hall.

“Legal Ethics” was next and then the nap to end all naps, followed by Entrepreneurship. Entrepreneurship: what a class, man. Not only is Professor C educated and engaging, but he is a gangster as well. Probably the same gangster who wacked Joe Pesci in Casino. I felt an instant connection and he has a way of reaching out and reaching to his students in a way unsurpassed by any law professor I’ve encountered thus far. The class got me actively thinking about several business ideas that have been lingering in unmanifest world of this material reality. For the class we are literally going to finance and start a brand new business, proceeds of which will go towards funding inner city kids’ educational endeavors. Though business aint my thang, I do have several fun ideas to take over the world and the class serves as the perfect tool to actualize my thoughts. As such I am going to treat it with curiosity and respect.

SO far my courseload has been infinitely more interesting than the first year. I also feel more confortable around my peers and roommates, which is great considering that my anxiety and stress last year , combined with the feeling of wanting to accomplish more than I could chew, that feeling of being overwhelmed, was responsible for my inefficient performance. We’ll see how I do this year.

Friday, August 18, 2006

Playing With Myself in Vegas














Monday, August 14, 2006


I have a great feeling about these pens. Got them last night, along with a bottle of electric blue Gatorade for Roy. The pens supposedly have twice as much ink as regular gels. Who knows how I ended up with ten for the price of one? Maybe they are lemmons, pseudo gels, a dilapidated mimic, the version abandoned and unauthorized by the PENTECH corporation. Maybe. But regardless of what they are and what they claim to be, one thing is for certain: these pens write up a storm. Sure, I can see some potential problems that may affect penmanship and writing mechanics, but those problems have yet to manifest in this short paragraph. That small smudging you see is expected. It comes with the territory, with the swift speed in which I write. At least there are no gaps in the script. Gaps in the script piss me off. They are like roadblocks, detours in the stream of consciousness that so defines the style to which these pens are applied. But enough about these pens. Their gentle gel ink speaks for themselves.

Monday, July 10, 2006

watch out here we come


t-minus 4 days

Friday, July 07, 2006

sCholarly adviCe
"Nothing cures a hangover like a goood bowl to the face!"
- the dragon

Monday, July 03, 2006




dissecting the sun

when we make fire
we burn
like angels hotwired in ecstasy
like runes of emerald ebony
like a steamy mattress of clouds
reflecting diamonds from an inner sun

you can see light ignite
a star reaching its bright fingers
deeper into a silent space
like rapture in the evening
... rapture in the evening

the waves lull
like a hot massage
crashing into the lavender shores
of royalty
it's rapture in the evening
rapture in the evening ...

Saturday, July 01, 2006

nadie