If life is an infinite collection of moments,
Then the vase of memory has shattered in to pieces.
Every one of my breathes, became a vortex across my oceans.
Started a tide, a wave, perhaps a tsunami.

How could one, be similar to another,
If we do not even know if we see the same colors?
 
We use words, we use labels,

​For our destinations and our fables,

But do you even know,

​What created you?

In this world, seconds stretch for eternity,
Minutes inspire revolutions,
Images scar our armor.
We are a canvas of fire, struck by the match of moments.

How could we ever be one word,
if we are a book of life?

​How could we ever be an image, a star,

if we are a galaxy, at heart?


The sun sets in a planet of mind,
my eyes are blue with ambition.
The moon falls in the damage of my sky,
my eyes are red with aggression.
I do not know who I am,
but my soul is alive with the essence.

Comfort in chaos, a grasp that we are gruesome,
Endless ascension.

Think without words, you are as limitless as the skies you wonder about,
Demented Dimensions.

I am a vortex of pain,
The God of trauma,
The entity, of nightmares.
My mind attempts murder,
And it is dimensional assassination.
Troubling demons of hatred,
Curb stop my own soul.
I chase love, inspiration, passion,
But it is rivaled,
By the army constructed through the power of reality.
 
I plead, for safety escape,
But I am rattling the bars of my cage,
Roaring at the universe.
 
The truth, lies in the lava of agony,
In which is the only meadow for my soul to rest in,
As it melts my serenity.
 
Without freedom, I will die.
Fuck this world, I chase the sky,
But it is,
Control, Denied

​If the world was in my grasp,
It would be a fist full of power,
Because my veins are pumping ash,
Of the knowledge I’ve devoured.
 
Strength in elevation,
I find a dimension in expansion,
One where there is no hatred,
Just a direction in madness.
 
If the world was in my grasp,
My brothers and sisters would be struck by lightning,
Of the love for themselves, they crash,
In to the magic of enlightenment.
 
Disperses between my knuckles,
In to all that is beyond,
And to all that are buckled,
To darkness’s bomb.
 
If the world was in my grasp,
It would detonate in revolution.
If the world was in my grasp, it would be nothing but knowledge,
Revenge, sex, & music.

Dear Action Track USA,

I have something to say.

I am not here to complain about payout, track conditions, other drivers, politics or anything like that. I don't care about any of that.

I care about winning.

You made me fall in love as a younger kid. I was given my first ride in an S&S Speedways Slingshot for my  12th birthday, and I had never been so proud of myself at that time. You teased me. You saw the saucers illuminate my eyes with excitement, opportunity, and passion as I won two consecutive Slingshot championships. You gave me mentors of immense racing knowledge, an excuse to not study for my Thursday morning tests, and an escape from the life I live. You made me love myself.

I can't lie, I am a man and I am not ashamed of what I feel or what I have felt... I fell in love.

I fell in love with the competition. The way you challenged me to be a better racecar driver, and most of all a better man. I could not help but smile as I felt like I was proving myself every week as one of the best up and coming younger drivers. You gave me feelings for myself and for the world around me I had not known was possible to feel. 
Then, I started driving 600s. As a troubled child, I used to plead to the racing heavens and ask why I am not good enough to even make a race at Kutztown, let alone why I flipped every other week battling for 24th when I did make the race. You broke my heart, nearly every Wednesday. 

It is different now. I am 17 years old at this time, and I feel like my life is on a pretty decent path in correlation with all that I am doing with art, writing, music, racing, and more. 

However, there is something that rests in the depth of my mind every day. 

A win, in a 600 micro sprint, at Action Track USA. From right now until the end, every Wednesday is my revenge against you.

This division has shattered me so many times. I have basically lost two fingers to these cars, and championships to go along with that injury. I have suffered concussions, extreme aggravation beyond belief, long car rides home of zero speaking with my father, blown motors, and most of all, loss. I have tasted that checkered flag so many times, only to deny myself of it, or to be denied by things out of my control. I will never let it happen again.

After last night, after leading the first half of one of the most prestigious races of the season and truly feeling like we could have at the very least competed for that crown on my oversized head in victory lane, and to lose that long awaited opportunity to a damn tire, I just wanted to say something.

This is a battle you will not win, and I am not scared of you.

I have never lost a fight. I have never let anything defeat me. And you, Action Track USA, are no different.

I study you every day. I watch dozens of in car videos hundreds of times over. I criticize and hate myself as much as I possibly can over the most minor mistakes. I talk to as many drivers, former and current, as I possibly can leading up to every Wednesday. I read about the geometrics, the engineering, the set-up, the mechanics, and all in between about 600 micro sprints every day. I read philosophies of famous athletes, about redemption, fearlessness, and what it takes to not be good, but to be great. I am psychotically, completely, and totally obsessed with victory.

You may ask why, Danny Buccafusca, the Slingshot dominator and micro sprint disappointment in the ugly #3 is even talking about winning at Action Track USA. I have only made a handful of races, and have flipped more than top 10s I've earned. I have yet to truly prove myself in the way I hope to anywhere in a 600, let alone at the most competitive small car track on the East Coast.

Well, it's because I know myself. I know what I have been through. I know what I feel.

And I know I can do this.

I can be great. I can be the greatest. I can win.

That isn't me just telling myself that so maybe I'll have a reason to believe it one day. Not at all. I truly believe in myself, my father, my team, and my racecar. And I truly believe in my passion for victory lane at Action Track USA. Maybe you should too.

So, dear Action Track USA, and every 600 driver I know and don't know,

I respect all of you so much. Some of you are my friends, some of you are my idols, but I'm coming after you.

I speak from all of the thoughts that have crossed my mind from this racetrack. The wonders of what I had been doing wrong, the worries about the reality that I just may not be good enough. I speak from my heart filled with ferocity, passion, and fearlessness. I am focused now. I have grown up, past the partying and past the valleys I have traveled through in this life. And I know one thing,

I want to win more at Action Track USA more than anyone wants anything on the face of this planet.

And I will do it.

I'm determined. I'm locked in. I'm angry, and above all,

I am doubted, by Action Track USA.

And if you know me, if there is one thing I absolutely despise, it's others looking down upon me.

Action Track USA, I am looking you dead in the eyes with my fists clenched and screaming when I say this.

I will conquer you.

This is no longer a battle I will let you win.

It's my turn.

Love,
Daniel David Buccafusca, #3

Star Wars means the universe to me. The war from a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away filled my childhood with belief, hope, and spirit that has stuck to me and inspires me every day. Most of all, it taught me something about life I thought was worth sharing.

Life is magical. And if you don't believe me, I feel sympathy for you. Because believing life is full of magic, spiritual connection, and an energy that binds us together as well as leads us down every dream we attempt to fulfill, is a whole lot better than thinking this is all just meaningless science.

I think the Force is real. No, I cannot choke you from a mile away. No, I cannot throw you across rooms at will. No, I cannot take on an entire army with a light sword that can cut through any object known demand.

But, I can love.

Star Wars, superheroes, all impact me and feed my mind, heart, and soul with the same knowledge. The knowledge, that there is more to the world than what meets the eye. The energy nature, humans, moments, and objects emulate resonate in the entirety of the reality we live in. It is inspiration for every decision we choose to make, and the monger of fear for every decision we choose not to make. Love, is simply proof that this world isn't just a world. The world, is us, inside of us. 
It transcends any harshness of reality. From unbeatable distance, to the evil of time, love conquers anything, and diminishes the idea that this world can be something understood, something we are meant to control.  It has revolutionized the most deteriorated person alive, and annihilated the most sane people of humanity. Love, is so powerful. Love, is you.

We are meant to love. It is the first thing you do as you stare in to the eyes of your mother. It is what we are inherently created in the image of, as it is the purest form of passion, the closest thing to a dream coming true. It is what we can give, without losing. It is what we can do, when we can't do anything. It is what we are, even when we feel like nothing.

“It's an energy field created by all living things. It surrounds us and penetrates us; it binds the galaxy together."- Jedi Master Yoda

Love, is the Force. It is the closest thing we will ever have to a super power, and the pinnacle of all that we are, and all that we are meant to be. It is truly an energy, connecting you to the life that you live, as it surrounds us no matter where we turn. It penetrates any wall that we could ever hope to build, and binds our spirit, our mind, and our heart to our physical selves. 

Love, is life. Love, is you.

May love and serenity be with you, and most of all;

​May the Force be with You, Always.

Rhythm & Poetry. The art of hip-hop is of the most unique arts of them all. Speaking from poverty, starvation, violence, hip-hop artists have made impacts in communities through their expression and display of the art they design. From the 80’s hip hop of the rise of DJ’s and straight up funkiness, to the fiery messages of contemporary rap music has proved that the evolution of the genre only continues to speak to the souls of those struggling and those willing to fight back. It is a monger of rebellion, and is a showcase of the value of being original and unique. It’s not that hip-hop is dying, it’s that hip-hop is immortal, it can never die.
I don’t believe in bad art. The mind, heart, and soul are blizzards of snowflakes of emotions and situations and feelings that could never be compared to the next. Music is art’s language, and it’s diversity within hip-hop is of the most extreme. Rap speaks against what is accepted in society, and promotes what is not. The drug and violence infused lyrics to the full blown attacks against the government, racism, and gangs expresses a side of life that everyone seems to be so fearful of facing. It is insight, knowledge of the world humanity has chosen to make itself blind to. Hip-hop is the voice of true struggle, true dedication, and true expression of what it is like to make it from the roughest areas in the United States to obtain the ability to influence millions. It is the story of rage, sadness, and prosperity. The poster child of what life is truly all about, climbing more walls than you build. Hip-hop is not dead, hip-hop has grown.
I can’t honestly say Lil Uzi, 21 Savage, or Young Thug are positively influential people that all of the kids should listen to. They glorify the very concept that hip-hop was created to teach about and revolutionize. However, the new age of popular rap music empowers the body. The ravaging, dark beats in combination with the simplistic rhymes and unique sound equate to much more than the lyrics. It is the art of nightmare, of finding a way to fit in, to grow in the peak within the valleys of the world.  Kendrick Lamar, Joey Bada$$, ASAP Rocky, and J Cole hold down the fortress of hip hop’s strongest form, poetry and strength. These contemporary rappers carry on the ways of hip-hop’s pioneers, like Nas, Tupac, Scarface, while others carry on the message of NWA, Public Enemy, and Eminem. The art of what rap music has become, in correlation with the legacy created by its originators, is to at least be appreciated.
Rap music is rebellion, anger, a middle finger to what the world tells you to be. Because you can be anything you create for yourself, anything you truly choose to be. Whether that be the gangster that has survived the trials and tribulations of insanity and has made it as the character they always grew and strived to be, or the soldier that has evolved and risen from the slums and hood of America to offer the epitome of knowledge and stories to directly impact the youth and civilization itself.  Hip-hop will never die, because it is creation. It is in the hands of its own history, it is grasped by the everlasting struggle of life, and will always thrive to be the poetry one needs to hear whether it be to not feel alone, or to know that there is a way out, a light ahead. Hip-hop is immortal, as all music is, because art is something that can never decease in to the wind of time, but only grow in the spirit of expression, and creation. Hip-hop is not dead, hip-hop is as alive as your own heart, mind, & soul.
​

Life is hard, man.
There are so many bullshit people in this world that will tell you that it's all going to be alright, it's never as bad as it seems, and that you're just young.

But, listen to me for a second. Life is abundant, chaotic, like the world. Mountains of obstacles grow as volcanoes of tragedy burst while the trees of love and happy moments fade in to the fall ground. Oceans of sorrow rest in your heart as tsunamis of insecurity pound your poverty stricken civilization of confidence. Jobs, tests, college, love, money, power. Life is so hard that I can't even list all of the things that are hard about it.

It is a world inside of you that is just as ferocious as the one within you. There is wars between spirit and reality as you search for escape, your niche of peace that teleport you from this devious world to a lonely island. We create art, poetry, music. We go on walks, go to the dopest local sight seeing place, drink some beer, smoke some weed. Anything, just for the slightest moment of serenity. It is because life is so god damn hard.

Where there is destruction, there is prosperity. The structures we build of our concepts, our routines, our rituals, all make for cities of mentality. We build these cities and skyscrapers as we grow up, with experience, knowledge, and wisdom of the world's ways. They are walls that we build, instead of climb. We build defense mechanisms, instead of squaring the fuck up with whatever demon may be lurking in our souls today.

The world wants to know what you consider your greatest strength, so it can undermine you.
The world wants to know your greatest fear, as it challenges you to face it.
The world desires to know what you cherish most, so it can rip it from your heart.
The world wants to know how badly you want peace, so it can deny it from you.
And that, is where you find the answer.

Poetry does not derive from peaceful gardens. The pinnacle peak of your soul's power is birthed by the most striking pain you have ever felt. Your greatest strength is simply what you practice most, what you love most, and if you love it, who gives a fuck if it undermines you? Your greatest fear is the higher power breaking your ankles and then blatantly stepping over you on live television. And I know you're not soft, so fight back. The world will rip what you cherish from your heart, so you can prove to it that you will do whatever it takes to get it back. And the world wants to know how badly you want peace, so it can teach you that it does not exist.
Embrace the chaos.
You are burning alive with fiery passion, intelligence beyond measure.
And that is why your greatest fear isn't that you are inadequate, it is that you have a power beyond this dimension, and you will never be able to reach it.

Life is hard. Life is fucking awesome.
Express all that you feel in to everything you do. Spread the most intense love because of the massive pain you have felt. And reach it. "Waste your time" on doing everything you want to do.
It's okay if you don't make enough money. It's okay if that dude cheated on you. But it's not okay for you to let your value go to waste, to let your pain go to waste, to let the difficulty of life go to waste.
Read. Write. Travel. Change someone's life.
It really is, that easy.

Life is hard. People tell you all of the time, "come on man, it's not rocket science, just do it."

The difference with this is, life is rocket science.
So give it the biggest middle finger today, and build a UFO. Fly that shit to planets of spiritual prosperity, literally chase those shooting stars, and pursue the cosmic dream with your fuel, of the struggle of life. 
Daniel Buccafusca believes in you, even if nobody else does.

Let's build some UFO's today people. Because life is hard, and I fucking love it.

A lot of people ask me why I drive race cars, and believe me, I question it myself sometimes, but this time I think I finally have an answer.

This world is so suppressed, man. Look around. You see kids aspiring to be garbage men. You see teenagers wasting thousands of dollars to go to a college they heard was "lit" to pursue something they do not even want to do to maybe get a career doing exactly that for the rest of their life. Adults sitting in offices, being told what to do by some "boss" with a wild superiority complex because he/she gets paid an extra 50 cents than them an hour as they wish, dream, wonder what their life could be like if they just simply did what they love. Schools throwing around standardized testing and SAT bootcamps so ambitious kids can realize they don't have a future unless they fill in a couple of multiple choice questions correctly. People literally staring down from skyscrapers at dying homeless people in freezing weather. People buying things with money they don't have to impress people that probably won't even be in their lives by the end of the year. A society of sheep, claiming their wolves. A society, tangled in strings of greed, power, and fear. The greed stems from the desire of money, as the rich get richer, while the poor continue to be walked on while business men in suits tweet about how welfare shouldn't exist. The power derives from the pursuit of control. Million dollar businesses run by billion dollar businesses, feeding you with lies while they brutally and horrifically slaughter animals, pump oil in to the soil of our home, and tie people to a paycheck. The fear, of course, comes from everyone being so damn scared to fall. The fear that they will not be a millionaire, the fear that someone won't love them, the fear that they won't have enough to be greedy, won't have enough to earn power, and won't have enough to succeed. God, that word makes me cringe every time.

To be straightforward, I don't fuck with that shit.

Racing has become a very political sport. Many kids losing hope, faith in their fantasies of beating Dale Earnhardt Jr. for a Daytona 500 victory with every born millionaire that pays their way in to Nascar, sprint cars, modifieds, etc. The cost of it rising tremendously by the year, and the lack of competitiveness and structure the lower levels of racing have. My heart breaks for every less Slingshot I see at the track because of a family not having enough money, or a kid just simply giving up.

But you know what, I have something to say to all of those kids;

Who cares?

There is no such thing as failure, only fulfillment. There is no such thing as success, only prosperity. And believe me, neither of those two things come from money. There is no dollar amount in this world, there is no car, there is no lover, there is no type of success that will bring you anything but a temporary glimpse of what this world is truly about. It is not victory, it is not "making it," in life. It is love, it is passion.

This life is a gun pointed to your head. This life is your 5th finger slipping off of the ledge. This life is your death bed. If you were about to die, would you be satisfied with how much money you made, how many businesses you owned, how many people post Facebook statuses about you, or how you loved? How you pursued your passion with the most ferocious ambition. How you changed lives by the way you inspired others. How hard you loved, and how much you gave just for the moment you get to see the smile you induced on someone else's face.

This world isn't about success man. This world is about serenity. Happiness is the love that emulates and energizes the next move that you should be making. Serenity is the peace you feel in the twilight moment before your eyes rest until the next morning, proud of all of the universes you changed today by just giving, by loving, and by chasing.

That, is what racing is to me. Racing is my unleashing. Racing taught me that to be under control, is a choice. When you are in that car, chasing that leader down as you push that throttle further and further, do you think about anything, besides how much you love what you're doing? How exhilarating it is that you are driving a God damn race car on dirt? Racing is the monger, the poster, the symbol of breaking free from the shackles of all of these strings. Racing, is that gun to your head. Knowing at any moment something may take a turn for the worse, but you keep pushing and pushing that car harder and harder in to the corner as you taste the checkered flag.

Why?

Because that is your love, being freed in to the energy you are giving yourself, and the energy you are emulating upon the world.

Racing is my escape. It is my moment away from the incinerating pain I feel, the memories that infest my mind, and escape from this war-torn, greedy, depleting world.

Racing, is why I am able to type this right now. Because for some reason, in that orange 43's cockpit, I am lost in the ways of tremendous love, an inferno of passion, a tsunami of ambition. At the same time, I am found, doing something I love to do without greed, without the lust for power, without the fear of failure, death. I am living as I bang off of Hamlin Speedway's cushion and chase down the next person in my sights. I am not living when I write math equations from a desk in school. 

I am living, when I am doing exactly what I have to do to make my existence worth something to me. 

The truth is, the world is a hard, dark place. You have probably heard that a million times by now.

But the other truth is, you don't need to conform to a single aspect of any of it.

Race after your wildest dreams. Annihilate the competition of contemporary society. And be victorious, in making every moment of your life mean something beyond what the world allows you to mean, because this life is out of your control. This galaxy is beyond what you can physically do. The sun may not rise tomorrow morning, and there is not a single thing you can do about it. Let go of the steering wheel. Crash in to your heart, mind, and soul, and do what you want to fucking do.

Do what you love, with your last dying breathe.

​Racing, taught me that.

So, what is an urban white boy, poetry writing, wannabe rapping, hippy delinquent, superhero obsessing, piano playing freakshow doing in a racecar?

I will tell you;

Simply, being free.
Being,
​Happy.

Maybe destiny has hired me as an artist,
because reality has enslaved me in fear.
Expression, energy, creation,
build skyscrapers in my heart.
My ultimatum, my holy mecca,
my curse, my disease with no antidote,
my infinity.
Art, is something I create.
I am the pilot, of my own invention.
The master, of my own valleys.
The designer, of my peaks.
The king, of my own demise.
It is alternate realization,
a world, spilling out of my own fingers.

Maybe I am an artist,
because I am too scared to lose,
too chaotic,
to not create,
something that will never leave,
unless I throw it away.

I am an artist,
because art,
never leaves,
​only leads.

A flower, a bird, a story.

I did not have friends growing up. A lonely soul, trapped in a population of material, violence. I found connections, relationships with the only parts of the world that would bring me in to their home, the only parts of the world, that welcomed.
Things that one can give, without possession.
Growth, love, creation.

I had a flower, that grew.
For years, this rose sat in the sunlight that reflected around my room.
It was a vibration, a message, of something beautiful,
that will always be there, if nothing else is.
The rose always grew,
watered by waterfalls of knowledge,
bathed by the light of meditation,
absorbed by the soil of passion.

But on a late night, I came home.
The rose, had deceased.

I had a bird, I loved.
It's immense color expanded daily.
It's wings flapped in the air of spirit,
it latched itself, upon my shoulders,
that became immune to weight.
I fed this bird, all the beauty I knew to express.
Food of art, nutrition of effort,
water of importance,
treats, of material.
I cherished the bird,
a spark of hope,
the epitome of all things gorgeous,
and all mine.

Yet the bird, had passed.

I wrote a story, I created.
A story of adventure,
discovery.
Inked by tragedy, 
written by the pen of Biblical complexity.
Rage, fallen heroes, angelic voices,
singing to my paper.
Characters of striking images,
elements of something, 
more than science.

I came home, to a home burned.
My story, had disintegrated.

All that I love, has left me,
but become me.

The higher power, pushes me to the edge.
Please don't kill me, God,
I am my last love, no longer another to share this bed.
Please don't kill me, God,
All of my Friends R Dead.