EVERYTHING IS NOTHING

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WHAT YOU SEE, WHAT YOU HEAR, WHAT YOU SMELL, WHAT YOU TASTE, WHAT YOU THINK, WHAT YOU FEEL, WHAT YOUR REALITY IS... EVERYTHING TO YOU. YOU ARE CONNECTED TO EVERYTHING ELSE. YOUR EVERYTHING IS NOTHING. NOTHING IS EVERYTHING. WHAT ARE YOU? WHY ARE YOU ALIVE TODAY? DECIPHER YOURSELF...
YOU ARE A UNIVERSE. YOU CAN BECOME ANYTHING, DO ANYTHING, THROUGH DECIPHERING THE PATTERN OF YOURSELF.
WHAT ARE YOU? WHY ARE YOU ALIVE TODAY? DECIPHER YOURSELF...
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what is a painter
if not one who conceals
the raw white bitterness
of canvas

from hence 3 primaries
rainbows created
all to color and distort
true color of a page


a fault is replaced with a quick stroke.
art is an artist
who hides ideas
packed in
the entity
of

“NOTHING”

























what’s in a decision

if you were
a serpent,
you would bite
at opportunity
of the largest mouse.

but you are not a serpent.
you are blind.
you will not
feel the difference
as a serpent’s flickering tongue.
you will bite the head
of a small mouse,
thinking it is the greatest option.

you are impatient.
you are crude.
your instant gratifications
will force you
to bite
a poisoned meat.


you will only die,
before you are a serpent




















women
are manipulative
bite with rattles,
have difficulty with logic
breathe with emotion
hate to be alone
cry when men leave
stupidly wait for events to happen
instead of taking ideas
and forcing them to be events

some days
even as hard as i try not to be with all these
and try hard to defend all of this
it sickens me
that i am one.






























success
never brought as large an emotion to me
as the sound
of two beloved boys
playing guitars on a Sunday morning

in the scrambling
for free breakfast,
makeshift, unidentifiable concoctions of burgers emerged.
and when my friends gleamed
with radiance,
as if such a feast,
was a celebration of some victorious win over the Roman empire,
it was this which brought me happiness.

notorious for neglecting classes,
the adrenaline of rebellion
did not pump my heart,
but the nervous twitching lip
of my equally mischievous accomplice
made me grin.

although my thighs
strengthened in their musculature from long hours
of walking streets with no definite destinations,
when i held the hand
of a teenage male
and our sweat bled into cloth
as rain,
i would laugh out loud with euphoria.

ultimate
sadness,
to be confronted with reports of disobedience
and lectured in phone calls and letters
on my “irresponsibilities” from the people
that had known me since childhood.

it was maximal
grief,
when i ran away from a life of
nights that lasted days,
the acceptance of me
by nomads like me,
and kisses of warmth.

and it was also ultimate
relief
to know
that after it all
i could
“improve” myself
and gain respect

but i still miss the me of then.
and i still smile,
when i think of those days;
the happiest i had ever been.
judgement is
a presumptuous thing
not for
the sake of morality
but because
if we have only
seen 1000 angles
of life
10 000 may be
lacking or gaining
how many books
can a human read
and even
then
can centuries
of knowledge
know the
history
of
now?
how do we
know anything
and how can
we judge
anything
and do we?
yes.
we do.


















as a river


is it possible
that my life
has already been lived
and breathed
to the extent of expression
which i have not yet mastered?
my poem
which i thought was MY POEM
is simply an introduction
to another geniuses words
and MY PAINTINGS
which i deem original
still borrow paint from canvases
already dried
after reading
an illustrious
and enlightening piece of literature
i become depressed
and happy
to know i am not alone
but still to know
i am alone
and that geniuses
before me
have known this pain
and have expressed it well
gained immortality which i hunt yet to gain
is it not
“all relative”
and a perfect “om” ?
i do not know how i know it
or how i know that i do not know
but i know
i will be among them as
“someday”.
river. becomes. and becomes.
without understanding
how it knows this constant change











Brow of beast sat steadily,
Still wavered in reflection questioningly,
Was I a culprit or a saint?
In red lips was blood of life or stain?
My night a bedroom for mine thoughts,
Or house the tamer of my thighs?
This heir of dark was in me to take,
And plunge all good to evil’s fate,
My eyes saw not of nature’s scene,
But dreamt of nude men and lascivity,
The noble air breathed in my lung,
Capsized with intake of incense,
I stood aware of what I become,
But looked not back but to front of me.


























anniversary

weeps the bed of morning glories.
dew glistens as an obligation
from a tender breast ARISES a hardened soul
femininity
lost to CHORE.

knowledge,
dusts on the table brown.
as spices sweet never cease to smell,
the cloth of work is gray from wear. and
a skirt still hangs black as unused charcoal.

the Queen of colony
dislikes a worker’s potential grandeur,
so sits, with book and trimmed mustache.
watching bee become
busy with the task of being busy
and Queen soaks in information of words.
watching.

a hip surely must have no other purpose,
save the finality of a child’s pitter patter.
once orgasm as evanescent joy
now but a duty.

alas these endings never end,
and one path chosen holds another untamed.
I, will never wed a fate.
marriage was not meant for a woman’s brain















suicide

when i taste my blood
i feel close to earth
i feel real
as i see it gush out of the gap
this small kitchen knife has opened

i need to feel real.
because nothing else is
so i pour myself out

and leave this body to vultures

































i am
appreciated for
a finished canvas
an aria sung
a spirit brought to being
through my dance
admired
for my blunt poetic
ideals
celebrated
for the love
i give to a child
in a hug
and still
shunned by all
through a fornication
and
even though
my piano
exhibits a soul
within
and my fellow
musicians
compose out of harmony
should i
talk
or emulate relief
and enjoyment
out of sex
i am nothing
but a vulgar vat
of the putridity
of human acts
to me
music
and prose
rhythym
maternal gratification
and yes
even sex









it is but one vision.
one experience
one
to be glorified for
and in
this element
so dear to me
mingled between
melody, color, and skin
why dear populace
cannot you see
that to me
this is all
art
























brown shoes
pink shoes
red shoes
purple shoes
polka-dotted shoes?
of horrendous taste
bought at a yard sale
at a cheap price
which were not necessary.
should
price be cheap
we buy what we do not need

white shoes
gray shoes
my favorite black spiky shoes
and
i
have
2 feet

2 feet

what is a painter
if not one who conceals
the raw white bitterness
of canvas

from hence 3 primaries
rainbows created
all to color and distort
true color of a page


a fault is replaced with a quick stroke.
art is an artist
who hides ideas
packed in
the entity
of

“NOTHING”

























what’s in a decision

if you were
a serpent,
you would bite
at opportunity
of the largest mouse.

but you are not a serpent.
you are blind.
you will not
feel the difference
as a serpent’s flickering tongue.
you will bite the head
of a small mouse,
thinking it is the greatest option.

you are impatient.
you are crude.
your instant gratifications
will force you
to bite
a poisoned meat.


you will only die,
before you are a serpent




















women
are manipulative
bite with rattles,
have difficulty with logic
breathe with emotion
hate to be alone
cry when men leave
stupidly wait for events to happen
instead of taking ideas
and forcing them to be events

some days
even as hard as i try not to be with all these
and try hard to defend all of this
it sickens me
that i am one.






























success
never brought as large an emotion to me
as the sound
of two beloved boys
playing guitars on a Sunday morning

in the scrambling
for free breakfast,
makeshift, unidentifiable concoctions of burgers emerged.
and when my friends gleamed
with radiance,
as if such a feast,
was a celebration of some victorious win over the Roman empire,
it was this which brought me happiness.

notorious for neglecting classes,
the adrenaline of rebellion
did not pump my heart,
but the nervous twitching lip
of my equally mischievous accomplice
made me grin.

although my thighs
strengthened in their musculature from long hours
of walking streets with no definite destinations,
when i held the hand
of a teenage male
and our sweat bled into cloth
as rain,
i would laugh out loud with euphoria.

ultimate
sadness,
to be confronted with reports of disobedience
and lectured in phone calls and letters
on my “irresponsibilities” from the people
that had known me since childhood.

it was maximal
grief,
when i ran away from a life of
nights that lasted days,
the acceptance of me
by nomads like me,
and kisses of warmth.

and it was also ultimate
relief
to know
that after it all
i could
“improve” myself
and gain respect

but i still miss the me of then.
and i still smile,
when i think of those days;
the happiest i had ever been.
judgement is
a presumptuous thing
not for
the sake of morality
but because
if we have only
seen 1000 angles
of life
10 000 may be
lacking or gaining
how many books
can a human read
and even
then
can centuries
of knowledge
know the
history
of
now?
how do we
know anything
and how can
we judge
anything
and do we?
yes.
we do.


















as a river


is it possible
that my life
has already been lived
and breathed
to the extent of expression
which i have not yet mastered?
my poem
which i thought was MY POEM
is simply an introduction
to another geniuses words
and MY PAINTINGS
which i deem original
still borrow paint from canvases
already dried
after reading
an illustrious
and enlightening piece of literature
i become depressed
and happy
to know i am not alone
but still to know
i am alone
and that geniuses
before me
have known this pain
and have expressed it well
gained immortality which i hunt yet to gain
is it not
“all relative”
and a perfect “om” ?
i do not know how i know it
or how i know that i do not know
but i know
i will be among them as
“someday”.
river. becomes. and becomes.
without understanding
how it knows this constant change











Brow of beast sat steadily,
Still wavered in reflection questioningly,
Was I a culprit or a saint?
In red lips was blood of life or stain?
My night a bedroom for mine thoughts,
Or house the tamer of my thighs?
This heir of dark was in me to take,
And plunge all good to evil’s fate,
My eyes saw not of nature’s scene,
But dreamt of nude men and lascivity,
The noble air breathed in my lung,
Capsized with intake of incense,
I stood aware of what I become,
But looked not back but to front of me.


























anniversary

weeps the bed of morning glories.
dew glistens as an obligation
from a tender breast ARISES a hardened soul
femininity
lost to CHORE.

knowledge,
dusts on the table brown.
as spices sweet never cease to smell,
the cloth of work is gray from wear. and
a skirt still hangs black as unused charcoal.

the Queen of colony
dislikes a worker’s potential grandeur,
so sits, with book and trimmed mustache.
watching bee become
busy with the task of being busy
and Queen soaks in information of words.
watching.

a hip surely must have no other purpose,
save the finality of a child’s pitter patter.
once orgasm as evanescent joy
now but a duty.

alas these endings never end,
and one path chosen holds another untamed.
I, will never wed a fate.
marriage was not meant for a woman’s brain















suicide

when i taste my blood
i feel close to earth
i feel real
as i see it gush out of the gap
this small kitchen knife has opened

i need to feel real.
because nothing else is
so i pour myself out

and leave this body to vultures

































i am
appreciated for
a finished canvas
an aria sung
a spirit brought to being
through my dance
admired
for my blunt poetic
ideals
celebrated
for the love
i give to a child
in a hug
and still
shunned by all
through a fornication
and
even though
my piano
exhibits a soul
within
and my fellow
musicians
compose out of harmony
should i
talk
or emulate relief
and enjoyment
out of sex
i am nothing
but a vulgar vat
of the putridity
of human acts
to me
music
and prose
rhythym
maternal gratification
and yes
even sex









it is but one vision.
one experience
one
to be glorified for
and in
this element
so dear to me
mingled between
melody, color, and skin
why dear populace
cannot you see
that to me
this is all
art
























brown shoes
pink shoes
red shoes
purple shoes
polka-dotted shoes?
of horrendous taste
bought at a yard sale
at a cheap price
which were not necessary.
should
price be cheap
we buy what we do not need

white shoes
gray shoes
my favorite black spiky shoes
and
i
have
2 feet

hmm...

Eyes: A HINDU TO A HINDU


how COULD you?
betray your nation
sugar coated with such AMERICANISM
battered child; heterozygous mixes
HOW could you?
dim-witted radical
is SHE more beauty
than our river Jamuna?
her pale reflection
the mirror is screaming man!
how could YOU
do this horrible act
scarring such a country unheard and unseen
in your daughter’s brown eyes
confused specs of lightning
perhaps our darkened cocoa
could not compare to vanilla beans
HOW COULD YOU
tears of anger soil my calm face
while the riots
came to break boundaries
you threw all our efforts away
tell me how could you
integrate
cannot you see
in your tainted child
stains of a decision
burden of your “love”
YOU went and married THAT WHITE WOMAN!!!
tell me
were we not enough?

“My favorite color”

in the brilliance
of the hues
i do
not have
(DI-REC-T-LY)
i look
at the imperfect
physical
image
of my
spiritual self
I understand

I understand
i am
( [anything!] )
discovering
paragraphs of travels
in crinkles
on my
“young”
face
innocence
has run away


but as a lost friend

is still

alive

he will return

as my favorite color









far to fall
up there
among the suns
brilliant colors
touch
every
nothing.
trust
that eyes lie
miracles before
can be explained
upside down
horizon is equal
dirt is what is above you
fool yourself
into thinking
YOU
ARE

you are not
sky is home?
an illusion

clouds fall
the rain
falls

it will happen
one of these days













with age
i discover
my immaturity

then
i remember
old days
and read
old pages of written thoughts

and i was knowledgable
but not aware of as much
as i look back now.

perhaps this is why
gaps of communications occur
between generations.

what was then
is not now.
and what is now
is not the future.

so we are all trapped
in infinite stupidity.





















homage to a beach


in this
arborescent nook
i sit
with such scholarly air

oh the fulgor
of sand atop crimson skin
a grandeur such
no palace may inspire

among the leaves
my thoughts fall green
unexplored territory
with waves sparking their luminescence

such squander
amidst city pigeons
twinkle of false crystal
dull and bowing to the sun’s smile at Poseidon’s realm
























I am a fan
of knowledge
but not an enthusiast
of being taught
restricted as to where
my mind may venture to
chapter and verse analyzed
by interpretations of another’s mind
no, a room full
of Dante and Shakespeare
Erastophanes
and Pythagorean
i may study with myself
but not
with a preacher
of words
pieced together
by the true author
and what a hypocrite
am i
writing to the world of this
intending to teach a lesson
please
take all this
in a moment
and remember nothing
yes it may
be wiser to experience
life through
the mistakes of another
but no teacher
can make you understand
love
or euphoria
happines, or sorrow
learn of world yourself
knowledge is yours
not thiers.















note
after note
is not music
but an ingenuous way
to speak
in an illiterate language
music
is not just
for dancing
but to solve
the mental anxieties
of a troubled soul
i play music
i speak every language































sun sets
water falls
rain drops
i plummet
Sun Rises
Water Runs
Rain Evaporates
I Stand Up






























Leave me in my coffeeshop
I hate
Hate
Hate
This coffee shop
where the populace gathers
to chat
No. never never never silly conversations emerge
but formalities of science
metaphysicalities galore
, “Oh please”!
I mutter
with a cappuccino breath
as if the lady next to me
with high heels
and pinstripes
has occupied the position
of Einstein’s best friend
the great minds
would surely
raise an eyebrow or two
knowing their great discoveries
were served alongside cinnabons
and corporate shoes
Alas
where is the mindless gossip
written on bathroom walls?
give me gritty entertainment
and not sheep in versace
my my how the time
on their Rolexes drifts by
as I attempt to enjoy
my whipped cream
and instead face handsome,
3-piece suited
pride
I may be stupid
and arrogant
but my claim to decency
is sincerity in that
Aaak if Ms. Perfect makeup
And MR. Joe Bond
were TRULY interested in Shaw, Bernard
they should traipse on home.
crunch apples.
and read literature as an art
HUMPH.
Just let me
Stay here
In MY coffee shop!!!!!
And truly
(QUIETLY!!!!!)
Think about “stuff”






love
must be a painting
who doesn’t
love a painting
painters love to paint
in different techniques
with different thoughts
and there is love
which is silent
love that screams red
a painter
loves to paint what is real
or what his reality is
there is really not a difference
as i may love a painting
and you may hate it
but you will love another painting
we will both love a painting
and so will everyone else
paint belongs to a painter
but what we see
in a painting
what we love in a painting
is a color of ourselves
and even though
the world is a rainbow
we can never all be one painting















peanut butter

a snack
should be a snack
of all days
when sweetness calls
or salt persists
if a tongue desires the smooth
or a tooth needs to bite

i would be perfectly happy
for the rest of my life
to be given a spoon
and an endless supply of peanut butter
i could sit in a room
completely isolated
my tanned friend will console me
and i will talk to the peanut
and the butter
i love peanut butter
sometimes more than anything else
food is but a consumption
that dissolves down my throat
but as i know now
that i live in moments,
the moment in which my senses
meet peanut butter
is a moment

worth being in a room
all by myself
with a spoon
and an endless supply of peanut butter
for all the memories that it has given me
and all the toothpaste i have used
to shine my teeth unsticky
every mouth i’ve kissed
that enjoyed the suction of it
long live peanut butter
long live peanut butter






pi


you cannot square
a circle.
without a circle
inevitably popping out
3.14
1592653
etc.
just like me
you idiots
won’t solve my mystery
you cannot solve me
i am not something which can be placed
into a category in your mind
i am pi
you are pi
pi is
and is in everything
we are simple
and yet too complex
3 cannot be proportionate to 1
and my biography
will not reveal
all
of me
it is the answer
it is the golden ratio of life
and it is immortality
it will be our death
in our analyzations
we will not find the answer for ions

theoritize
as much as you want
but until pi is solved
you will not solve me

you
will not
turn a square
into a circle
in your limited dimensions.

remember that i said it.

you will not
limit

me
equilibrium in bipolarity


i live with her
and with him
and am neither
at any moment

to kill
one
would be to lose the other
and lose what i know

i am woman
man
of decades
and they never resist my vulnerability

i am undone
in their subtle signs
and suspect everything
in anything

when i try to carry myself
the pressure of gravity
pulls
two

you do not know
unless you are
i am not either
but i am both

i am not diseased
as without this ailment i will justly die
it is selfish
to imagine it is only me in this body












sex when you’re young
doesn’t change much
but if you’re a woman like me
who has had to bleed out
a horrid monster
monthly
since the age of 9
witholding the most horrible pains imaginable
you will marvel
and be shocked
at how relieved you will feel
to see red spots
and clumps in the toilet bowl
and if you are a man
who just got lucky
after hours of trying
and decide to stick around if she’s any good
you will be surprised
by how you will wait in anticipation
for
her request
of tampons
























what makes
a sentence
beg for a period
how will i know
when a thought is finished
or still lacking
a period is too decisive
too sweet
of a finish
what if i stumble
and drop it
over a cliff i have created
and i cannot rescue it
better to be safe
i would prefer a running
of thoughts
without any sense
my life
is a comma,
at best
a semicolon;






















Siddhartha’s lesson

the sweetness
of ethanol
on the bitter
memories of my tongue
burned
the hatred of life
i had
my throat
forget
as my hand
grasped an empty bottle
and with
increasing anger
at its missing contents,
threw it at the rocks below
from my serene balcony
these jagged edges
so much greater
than my wasted glass
the next morning
i awoke
to find the green
sharpness of pieces
had softened
i climbed down rocks
to discover
water
had smoothed glass
and stone
water had overpowered
the strength i thought was strength
and made me
proud
at how weak
we all are















you claim
this is YOUR war

how is it?

using guns of government
battling death
with a cotton patch
across your chest
pride of your nation’s picture

such a maudlin hero
you fight for causes
that are causes for someone else
you are their puppet

go home.
make love to your woman.
kiss your child
on the forehead.

now there
is something worth fighting for.



















“the reality is”,
they caught me
breaking rules.
but i never had rules.
i always
did what i knew was for me to do

i read fantasy
until i had to learn.
but i always saw myself in
a happy ending

it was wonderful to stare people in the eye,
until diplomacy did not allow
such bold gestures.
but i always felt lives best
through one glance

i didn’t become naive
until i learned of betrayal.

i never developed into an addict of love
until i turned to hate

it wasn’t a lecture that taught a lesson,
but the reality
of a human’s world.
i could not before imagine nature to be a “cliche”
until i learned
nature, was discussed.

i didn’t realize
i was ugly,
until someone told me.

i had always
known

i was beautiful








THAT MUCH


Van Gough
chopped off his ear
tragic story of a self-portrait
he cut it off calmly
and shipped it to his girlfriend
you keep on asking if I love you
well dammit if you really need to know
cut my lips and paint them red
so you can kiss them
when they’re hanging on your door

































my mother,
she wants to redeem me.
she doesn’t like the things i do.
i am always wrong.
no.
really.
i am always wrong
because whatever i do
it’s not good enough
for what she has wanted me to do.
i am not sorry
for not being what she wants me to be
she
is not
what i want her to be.
and i still love her
and she still loves me
i know!
and i realize
that at heart
she must be trying to help me.
but i have always asked for help
if it was necessary
i do not shut up and vibrate subtleties.
i do not need redemption
and i do not need anybody’s approval,
but this still does not
change the fact
that she
doesn’t like
what my life has become.
all my suffering,
and climbs
up impossibilities,
cannot cover up
the obscenities i have yelled.
and hate i have expressed of her.
hate that is the strongest of my life
and she is the love of my life
i cannot change me
and she thinks i can
she thinks i am “potential”
and not
ME.

and
that
is what hurts.

JeSuS

Fuck your friendships people
Fuck your lies
Fuck your lovers
Fuck your prides
Fuck a veil until it turns black
Fuck until something fucks you back
I fucked until my tears gushed red
You all fucked the solace I could have possessed
You all fucked
Until the fuck betrayed
Your fuck reduced to a cliché
Rebellion fucked you fucks to a line
The line ran on
A fuck or two died alive
But fucking still fucked
And you fucks fucked as fuckers cried
I let you fuckers
Fuck me with your knives
But a fuck does learn
Of the world of fuck
And a fuck like me
Discovered how to fuck fucked fucks

I
Am all you’ve fucked
I
Am still I
But you’re all still fucks
YOU’RE ALL FUCKS
NOW I’m a GOD









Fuck your “friendships” people
Fuck your lies
Fuck your lovers
Fuck your prides
Fuck a veil until it turns black
Fuck until something fucks you back
I fucked until my tears gushed red
you all fucked the solace i could have possessed
you fuckers fucked into a line
the line ran on
a fuck or two died alive
i let you fuckers fuck me with your knives
your “FUCK” reduced to a cliche
but an innocent like me learned of the world of fuck
a fuck became so i in disguise
i fucked you fuckers down to a line
the line ran on
a fuck or two died alive
rebellion fucked you fuckers into a line
but a fuck like me
learned the world of fuck
and a fuck that i became learned how to fuck you fucked fucks
see i’m an innocent
a dreamer of the skies
but you’re all fucks
your fuck became your life
and you’re all still fucks
and you’ll all always be fucks
all fucks
don’t you all know that fucks die ?
your gloom, your misery, your games, your routines
your charades, your malice, your endless fights insane
you fucks fuck because fucking gives power
your FUCK so strong that our dreams are slaughtered
but tell me who’s here?
letting your secret flow free?
its not a fuck, but an innocent thing
one like me can learn the world of fuck
learn of your souls and dig inside your lives
but you’re all still fucks
and my dreams are still mine
tell me fuckers, have your fucks become your own?
you live your lives
go ahead try to fuck mine
but i’ll never be a fuck
you’re all still fucks
i’ll keep my visions
i’ll keep my dreams
i’ll cherish every fairy tale
and love without fear
go ahead and fuck me fuckers
you’ll never win
your fuck is a minute
I AM ETERNITY




Old man singing
Aint nobody play a chord for his cry
Times of struggling hours alive in leathered skin
He don’t mind the bugs growin beside his dreads
Soap and water don’t make up for lack of kin
Will somebody come to save our old man?

Old man smells ketchup
In the laughter of youngin’s walking by
Smiling’ as they step around his shadow
Once or twice he made some kids
But they never come around
Pride aint a shirt you wear when nbody sees you frown
Will somebody come to save our old man?

Old man freckled
Where the sun forgot
Tattered about like a dead pigeon on the highway
Aint nobody stop
He coulda built a hut beside a beach but his house is on his feet
If you pull down your window he’ll tell you where to go
But nobody seems to give a fuck about the old



------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

i sat in a chair without cushions
in the counsellor’s office
while inside a room concealed by misty glass,
they were deciding how to give me my lessons
“its just this simple” they told me
“choose a passion, choose a plan, choose a future”
I told them my passions were infinite
and to choose any one thing I would want all of things
to which they replied
“you’re young, it takes time, to develop a dedication to one cause and it alone,
to sacrifice for something true,
to know every day what you must do”
“hogwash”, said I, to this intended inspirational speech
if I know where I’m going why would I need feet
if the goal is ahead
in some sense it is already complete
are any of you where you wanted to be?
is all of this life beautiful and sweet?
why can’t you bastards say the truth
we don’t know what we’re here for
to live is a joke
there is no reason or logic or fun
the mind, the mind is what dictates all
you know not where it starts nor where it ends
but you live every day for your supposed purpose
a lawyer, a banker, a daughter, a whore,
a scientist, magician, dancer, actor
you’re all the same can’t you see you blind fools?
you’re playing a game
without knowing why
or the rules
I won’t do it
said i said I
I will live every existence
never having one that is mine
i will have no personality no aims and no goals
but simply will observe”
to this they told i
“regardless of that, reality knows you’ll die poor and alone”







experience

my mother’s grandmother
could tell you
the expected outcome
of any prediction

she is not a psychic
and never was a scholar.
but her teeth are deteriorating from travels in decades of chewing words,
and her skin feels smooth,
but tough. from days working patiently with thorny fruit trees.

when i came to her furious
she smiled and asked why.
but she knew.
and i didn’t.
even though at that age
i knew everything!

my mother’s grandmother
knows just how
to give a hug
that will calm your soul.
but she is not a GOD
and she is not a genius.

my mother’s grandmother
has seen
new life,
grow.
but she was never a scientist.
and her eyes are too tired to read.


my mother’s grandmother can’t explain why,
but she knows
that oil will kill a tick
and that when the sky becomes pink
wind always visits the following day,
in overly-exertive gusts.

my mother’s grandmother,
she could tell you some things.

Potato

Life is:
A potato.
round
square
triangular
never perfect
fried
baked
mashed
always unique
NOT chicken
NOT spinach
NOT apple
NOT beef
potato.
we are all potatoes
from the earth
we rise
to greet
every day
never knowing
what will happen
or who will have us for dinner.
potato in a restaurant
and in a drive thru
we are all potatoes
no matter
how much ketchup
is added
the potato will still be there
we are one
potatoes
and all
alike














beware of who you put a moat in front of.
someday,
you might need
a dolphin.

















red

an old fellow
fancies such a flower
for a faithful wife
of 40 years together
the blood
of a newborn
now a heart
shaped box of chocolates
while
the young lad
of a week’s affair
purchases a
panache dress
for a woman he has
seen nude
and the bold
at the company’s
most crucial board room
chooses nothing but this
as wallpaper
this which
was once used
as light in brothels
as to minimize physical imperfections
and still
this
reminiscent of love

give me another
color
with so much
life as this







________________________________________________________________________




my genes are probably pissed at me
my father is dark
and my mother is white

and i am not
looked upon as either
not my eyes
or my skin
or any my features have the pieces
to the puzzle consumers expect to see
the buyers of the world
so soaked into the perceptions they have been made to have
rarely analyze the absolute absurdity of it all
they want to put me in a category
so their day is a little easier, a little less
unsettling
i understand
if they all questioned their existance as i do
they would all be as confused as i am
and people don’t like confusion do they?
they like finality
the statistics of science
religion’s “truth and hope”
fantastically contradictory advice given by EVERYBODY
“seize the day!” but “take time to smell the roses”
“only fools fall in love” but “if you haven’t loved you haven’t lived”
“explore the world to find yourself” but “find yourself in university with a future”
“imagination is more important than knowledge” but “dreamers can’t make a living”
you want to believe that the daughter of a scientist and a physician
is... well you know. i don’t have to tell you
but i won’t stop confusing everybody
i won’t let your thoughts desist into conclusions
no, no! where would be the fun in that?
please, i beg you, don’t listen to advice, don’t accept anything as is
because any given thing can be dark
and white
strong and weak
beautiful and ugly
genius and retard
dreamer and realist
anything is everything
everything is nothing
and all in between
in a world that is a mystery in itself
i am one of the many proofs
that there are no
concrete
answers


































the caribou and the lion
the caribou runs
the lion drags caribou down
and eats

the caribou is a pretty thing
and lion is jungle king
caribou drinks modestly
lion pisses freely in water hole

caribou and lion
so dependent on the other
one is weak and fast
and one is strong and steady

caribou grazes
lion snarls

but if all the caribou die
lion falls
and if the lion should fall
the baby caribou will never learn to run

























































pancakes and a fried egg
are not my idea of love.

i don’t want normality
or security.

i want everything that is crazy,
and awfully evil.

i need to be bitten and enraged,
then healed.
and look at my scars daily.

i’ve had them both.
the breakfast and the escape at 5 AM

i prefer walking with the early rising of the sun
and will scream before i reach for maple syrup.

love is not comfort
it is not a book,
or a security blanket.

it should drag me down,
make me suffer,
blow me into a balloon,
and just before i pop,
i will crave
the feel of bedsheets
and the damp smell of secretions.

a cloud will save me
and i will feel ALIVE!!!

i will have that love.
and burn every piece of toast offered to me










paradox

i close
my eyes
so i am
able to see
away from the “true” images
restrictions
of sight
i imagine
IF…
how I want
MY WAY
hoping in this
will be a world
for others
castles
of freedom
rivers
of knowledge
drift away
into peace
that i cannot touch
and you keep telling me
to open
my eyes
shut down all
possibilities
.

















walking down the hallway with loud music from my player


it soothes me
in chaos
and your
comfort
cannot compare
this is my salvation
so save your
bibles
and your
wise mantras
i will listen to volumes
even if my ears bleed































they are telling me things
and i don’t want to listen.
they are creatures inside me,
telling me about you,
everything you’ve done;
that love has made me push aside.
they remember

they are the redness of my womb,
the aching of my thighs,
they are my thoughts

when you made my body yours,
they are my soul at surrender.

and they do not forget
they tell me things
so i shoot off my ears
and i watch them
squirm and squeal down
the pipe of my sink.
then I haunt my thoughts
with the
paradoxy of good
that i also don’t want to listen to.
i don’t want to remember your sweetness.
but my lips refuse to forget
your taste.

so really you have left me with no other solution

so i shoot myself



and everybody
shuts up

the second
i was born
i took a first breath
the first of many
that would lead to death
a circle
that we must all conform to
but if we breathe to live
and then breath dies
giving a push
to breath
for some new life
is this not immortality
or are we all just
one breath
that has an intake
and finally
ends?






note
after note
is not music
but an ingenuous way
to speak
in an illiterate language
music
is not just
for dancing
but to solve
the mental anxieties
of a troubled soul
i play music
i speak every language


the strobe lights flash
zebras across your body
the other eyes are all watching me
but i am watching you
what a challenge
to soften muscles of rigid determination
that you have sweated to obtain while i stand here with wide hips
that have hugged pleasure, fried potatoes and red salsa
i am
your sensitivity
and you are my
black leather jacket
we are one
you are I
dancing
not to music
no. music
should be respected by
more than just ear
so for now
we dance
to the rythym of our own bodies
how we roll
and slide in expression
and we live
for our bodies
we are one
we dance our bodies
you and I



don’t be distracted
by my black eyeliner
and purple hair.

once upon a time
my transcript was perfect.
i was a star.
and a teacher’s pet.
i had 4 forks and 3 spoons,
and sat with a tissue over my pantyhosed crossed legs.
i have also worn fishnets
and been called
sexy.
in some places i was a prodigy.
and in others, a rebel.

i have been a “dork”.
and a “geek”.
i have been brainy.
i wore glasses that were chunky
and highly
un
sophisticated

i’ve worn lipgloss
and i was popular.
there were boys
aching to court me.

and somewhere else,
i was not much to look at.

i have been innocent.
and called a wild thing.

i’ve been a dancer,
a poet,
a scientist,
a mathematician,
an idiot,
a thinker,
a musician,
an artist,
a writer,
a “chick”.

i have settled,
and here folks
is the big bam ending.

i have become

just
me.




a coward
somehow mates to strength in a group.
a coward will never be proven
in a clique.
i was not a part of them
i didn’t know my fault.
i was the unknown
and i was followed.

i was not a hero,
but i was
alone.

they threw taunts at me
and i dripped of fear,
they were 6
and i was 1.

i wanted to run.
i had to shout.
but instead my pride
made my fist punch.

and it surprised me.

then

i ran.
i ran all the way home
and they followed.
in a group.
all still stunned
that i fought back.

they threw stones at my windows,
as i watched for an hour.
i had bore my soul to them.
they had introduced me
as the new kid.
and
only then
did i began to feel it.





i was an “example”
of the unspoken politics underlying my generation

there are moments
when you learn
who you really are.
and they won’t come with
tae kwon do instruction
or a pHD.


but ,

at school the next day,

they dared

to call

me

a coward.





i think
that if
two people can find love
why
does it matter
if those two people
are of the same sex?
if there is love
and trust
and such a beautiful element
can come to life
i think
it should not matter
how it is found
or where it is found
it can be
between a horse and a turtle
a child and a mother
a man and a man
a woman and a woman
in a mirror
or in a pervert
if there is love
it is energy
and energy
does not judge




we are too lazy
to discover our neighbor’s comedies’
even though every person has their story to tell
we sit
and laugh at a box of static people
and after we’ve even more lonely,
have bloated up from chips,
and reek of boredom,
then.
we switch the confounded thing off

but
we are humans
so it sticks in our head



window

confessions whispered
to a window
the only friend
of a lonely soul

for what other friend
offers sunsets
as supper’s circus performer
or shows the lighting of the stars

hopes are always shattered
when spoken

just as wishes made after
a candle is blown out

why torment
a trusting heart
with uncertainty

window
will never close off a view
shall lack the morality
to be politically correct

window will never
raise up a hand
shooing away your story

talk may be just chatter to one who chatters
but chatter a window knows not of

a window has no passerbys
and seeks to decorate
its plain frame
to lure in a wanderer’s eye
a visitor is always welcome to the sill
and window will delight in the “waste” of your time

window who romances
regardless of age
showed wonders decades ago
and wonders still
oh if i was to have
a lover as this
who decorates
with
such ornate frills
stitching Nature’s mountaintops
matching sky
with perfected hue of blue
a screen no other artisan hopes to weave
simply to impress the one window sees

and window
fluffs clouds
with solidarity
in all their magnificence
as water rises
and gives life to them
we assume they do not live from this
but window
will never fail
to show the truth
not even a thunder’s yell

and window will show
a cloud in arguement
what other
would embrace such pain

window to window
all of varying sights
snowing in sphericals
til come desert night

what other friend
could afford
to
purchase
the world
and leave it open
for us all
with no freedom
but the appreciation
of whatever we shall see,
all that window dreams to be






love me!
i sceam
to the world
and no one
is listening
because
i put on
an outfit
of hate
i talk
tough
and everyone believes me.
when i am too scared
to ask for help
it is not sensed,
that the strong
need a favor
sometimes
i cannot fight
everyone
i pray
asking for it
somebody
love me
anybody
would be
perfect.
even if
nothing is.
because
i
am loved,
it will be





the formula
to what you think
is ease of soul
amounts to a doctorate degree
of something.
and a nice house,
with a golden retriever,
a cat,
some kids,
and a picket fence.
not to mention the expensive marble driveway.
and security camera
at your gates.

this is not for me.
this is not
for the pothead on the street.
this is not for the people you call failures.
this is not the substance of their smiles.
this is not what a guitar sings about.
and this is not what makes
tears fall out of joy.

i am free

inside.

but i wish
you the best of everything.

if you need a neat picket fence
to feel happy.




have i tried
honestly no
drank beers though
my friends claim they saw me drunk
i didn’t feel drunk
no pot
no drugs.
but my morality
is becoming a problem
i have no desire
and yet wish to be objective
how can i write about the world
without not experiencing everything?
i told myself
i’d never drink alcohol, but oh what a mighty taste
Bless beer.
but dammit.
will i be labeled
as a poser
by fellow youths
if i write
about acid
what is this fakeness they hate
“poser” is a form of judgement not fake?
i have no will to care
i’ll write about drugs.
i’ll interview
if you learn about me through a poem
i can imagine drugs




i used to eat
lemons
raw
lemon after lemon
chew chew chew!
as a “child”
i was always alone
different from humans
i used to
talk to trees
and ask them questions
as a “child”
i drew what i saw and wrote what i felt
i used to never scream
and sit obediently in a corner
while my intellectual parents
would converse with their colleagues
as a “child”
i used to
slide down little hills with my amigas Nietzan and Gordon
pretend i was on a skateboard
and sing “surfin USA”
as a “child”
i used to
walk to school with my father
as he quizzed me on my multiplication tables
as a “child”
I’ve taken to lemon slices sprinkled with sugar
I talk to myself now
I have guidelines. and an editor.
I have kept a best friend for 11 years regardless of travel
and have also met humans
which have changed philosophies and my body of bodies
I rebel against every bit of society at times for the sake of rebellion
and at times for the sake of justice
I am trying to find myself
in the myself that I have found so far
I have divorced parents that I love
and memories of happiness alongside pain
I tried childhood even though I never was a
“child”.
but now
i cannot yearn to be 4 feet again.
now,

I used to be
a child


Sour gRAPES?

if loving is breathing
and i am not in love
then why do my lungs
consistently fill with air
if it is better to have loved and lost
than never at all
how could i ever bitter
without knowing the difference
if fire sparks at true love’s kiss
should not
the ashes
be of two lover’s after this
if i am meant to have a soul
why was this mate
never met
if love happens between lunatics and saints alike
and we in a generation of radicals
boast of difference
then is not love
the surest sign of conformity?
if love is indescribable
then why do so many
including myself
seek to explain it?
if loving is the key to happiness
and if a child knows not of such romantic antics
then explain to me a smile
of a child playing in the wind
if love is free
then why do women
insist
diamond ring!
while fathers
purchase flowers to complement the carefully chosen dresses of maidens
at simply a ceremony
of sacred value to two
if love brings laughter to life
and i am loveless
then why do i laugh
and why do i smile
and why do i enjoy all of life
and can never miss
that which i do not know?




it happened
no denial
and yet
my eyes
shake with tears
of not knowing how
or why i let it
you were not
the mistake
i was
in you

in you
discovering
my hipocracy
and contradictions
all my lies
i hid
in something
i thought
no one would find
but you
with the motion
of your hips
and the slope
of your lips
upon me
i gave
all i had
every lie
every possession of me
to you
never imagining
how much

pain
would come
how much of myself
could i give?
how much of myself
do i have left?
nothing
NOTHING!
and to you
i am not the first
nor the last
just another
beautiful thing
in a garden
of beautiful things
many roses
as red as me
as fresh
and i am just
another rose

far less
amounted in beauty
than some
and of a greater scarlet than others
after i bloomed
i am
a brown petal
on your tendrils of memory
no tear can erase
the fact
that i was plucked
from the garden
randomly

with the rest of them
my fragrance
somehow wrapped you up
but what have i done?
i am just
a beautiful rose
in a beautiful garden
of roses just like me



my small
grasp of knowledge
disgusts me
every article
every literary piece of work
just leaves more questions
i must be stupid
not to know such simple things
for example
i want to know
who thought up the idea of a kiss
what crazy fool decided
that a man and a woman should share lips
I am of the Jamuna River
and yet the kama sutra does not answer me this
when i think of sex logically
it really is quite disgusting
a messy sort of deal for beings
who overdose every place with napkins
just what came over
whoever invented common expressions
and here i am
with a pen
borrowing words of webster
this is bound to drive me insane
who are we
and what is this all
dammit
i am 17,
trapped in a 150 year old mind
and still
have not mastered
how to make good coffee




raw war


do something
as our soldiers are marching
on this long walk to freedom
from all the hatred and injustice
do something
to fight the anger
let us battle, but
with our minds
do something
kind for the neighbor beside you
for he is your brethren
when your family is dying
be open to let each and every redeem
themselves
for we are all intertwined
we are feathers
if we shoot arrows
how shall we ever fly?

i am the dear abby
of problematic people
i try to offer advice
or at least make them smile
and i usually succeed
as it shows in the sparks of their eyes
but i am a failure
the one person
who would benefit most
from my attempted kindness
never understands what i’m saying
because i do not have the words
that she needs to hear
i cannot help her
in her pain
when she hates to be alone
the one person
that i would be happy to help for the rest of my life
is not someone
that i can help
when she calls
and begs
it is not frank
and is in undertones
and i am too deaf to hear her pleas
so she says goodbye
still feeling alone
she feels
what i hate for people to feel
and it is all my fault
because i can help all the people in the world
but i cannot help my own mother
and am the only reason
for her pain
and her tears.
i ruined her life
and helped all my friends.
i am nothing
but a fake
abby




Beautiful woman,
I have heard
from them all
of your weep
does the willow
not provide
vines for you to cling?
Gaia will water herself
why must your tears insist?
nobility
why do you sit
slumped within yourself
does our world not grant a throne?
tendrils of black
why do you shadow such a face?
does light
not force his way out of
the sky to illuminate?
legs of proportionate value
why do you bend so jaggedly?
do the smoothest aloe vera stems
not soothe all that is desiccated?
gentle robin
how can a musician not sing?
do our waterfalls
not serve as an adequate drum?
intelligent one
why do you not use your mind?
does the mystery of our galaxies
not spark an interest?
empty one
why do you hunger?
do our satious delicacies
not whiff your desires?
artist of colors
why do you not brush?
do our sunsets
falter in first impression?
passionate malaguena
why have your lips not touched?
do the bodies of our earth
not cause salivation?
lust?
do we all
lack the beauty to be loved?
mother of your thoughts
why have you not borne a child?
do the giggles of a new life
irritate a peaceful calm?
alive are you not?
but why do you not live?
oh beautiful woman
I see why you cry




for my father

to write
of a flower
when one’s roses
do not bloom,
is difficult.
and yet i can imagine
the scent
of a daffodil
that i picked one day
when i was walking
down a street filled with people
shaking
the sun’s warm hand
with their burnt, crisp faces
and i can smell
the daffodil
as i am breathing in a past moment
and i think
that perhaps
i was wrong
to say
that all of life’s troubles
were wrapped up
in a picnic basket
solely for me.
so i decide to dress myself
under the petals
and i remember
that you once
planted a seed for me
and i grew from that seed.
perhaps now,
my affinity
of my growth in the wrong direction
tells your senses
that i am
a weed,
but i know
that just as
i did
you will look
outside your window one day,
see daffodils,
and think of me.

I have so many things
I have so many
I have so
I have
I




i am doubt
in purest form
this is
the job of a rebel:
to take
that which is certain
and raise questions.
though sometimes
i’d rather
build something
on a foundation
of sturdier ground



i am a 17
trapped in a 150 year old mind
and still
i am too stupid
to solve an algorithm
when i haven’t had enough sleep



I am 17
trapped in a 150 year old mind
and still
i have not mastered
how to make good coffee


worth waiting


worth
all the nights
approaching silence
with heavy eyes
sore and aching
for a water
i have never
tasted
cannot touch
anything
without lust
and i know
you
are worth
the tears
and the heartache
of pain
of all the
territory
in my breast
untouched
untamed
worth resisting
all
for you
i will
wait
whoever you may be
i know
worth the agony
lying in my bed
lips kissing
the air
between us
until one day the space
becomes a distance
and a distance becomes the possibility
and the possibility
becomes a reason
to never create such a space
with anyone again
you will show me
how this possibility
becomes the reason
why i have known
it was
worth
waiting

i will only eat the earth

parallel
i lie
to surface
of water, earth and sky
i
am immortal
in energy
without skin or eyes
my soul
is in every
urge of a wave
screaming
in the bubble of rain
we will never die
we will never live
we are parallel
and as mathematics defines it
we will never intersect
with any other force
than ourselves
and the energy that is us
a line
holds eternity
then why love?
love is parallel
we are parallel
but not
in one line



is it power
to trust a suspicion
the precaution
to look before a step,
shall it prevent an accident
or waste my minute
which i have worked so hard to savour?
i died by not listening
and lived knowing
i don’t have a choice
but to feel
and it is beyond instinct
it cannot be explained
in any word
there are roses and rewards
a fatality
not mentioning your name
because of a lost minute
and an angry boss waiting as you
arrive late
is that what i am?
late? have i missed being on time
what a wonder
it would be
as the last breath
leaves
to know
you are early




parent


you cannot protect me
a fetus must
learn to breathe
without a womb
i will cry
and suffer
and you can only watch
this is your agony



ja dead

The numbness in 3 fingers callouses from masterpieces on a guitar alive in your eyes no poke or shudder nor erotica will alter that steady gaze behind a wall you can sense it but not climb once you strum on the first string no second or third or fourth no countless other will ever feel the same



sex, fucking. and love

experience
does none
but alter an opinion
for although
the action
of hips
and legs
and mouth
is one and the same
my memory has given life to phrase

what distinguishes
one
from the other
is a matter
no other
than thought



there are more
than us
in everything
what’s in a shadow
is it really as simple
as we have explained it?
what a pity.
are our minds
in our possession
even though
we only manage a
small percentage
who beside us
are visitors
or livers in our bodies
what escapes
from light
and returns at night
what dream
sees what we have remembered
and not what we have seen
what a thing
more magnanimous has
what color
do our eyes perceive
out of dimensions
we still do not feel
what do we feel
is it really the full
or a piece
we are too arrogant
if we believe
it is only us



what a shock it was
to be startled to dropping my spoon
into splashes of milk
upon hearing good morning
from
a wrinkly old man
in boxers.
this was our “proper,
formal,
introduction” to each other.
as i was casually eating
my cereal.

i was informed.
not politely explained. but informed
later on that day
that this
bothersome creature
who had disturbed my serene view of
one car in the parking lot beside our brownstone,
was our new houseguest.
and my mother’s new lover

informed mind you,
after 3 months
of what i thought
was divorce.
from MY father.

the wrinkly creature
never grew to fancy me much through the arguments
i got into with my mother.

eventually the creature and i made truce.
and i learned to tolerate,
and respect him.

but

boxers at 7 AM on anyone,
still scare me.



undiscovered


my work
is not mine
until it
is appreciated
by them
this is my insecurity
and their strength
it is not mine
it is not me
if it is
not recognizable
or respected
how can i introduce
my child ; my work
if my child
is still
unborn



i could die
right now.
step into a street,
of movement
would such an action
be the
control i have
over destiny,
or will this
simply be
an already
predicted event,
envisioned
to occur in space?

is anything
i have the
capability to do
a change?
or is every new step
of what i think is new,
really old?
and am i taking a path
that has
been traveled,
by a force
more visionary,
than me
where,
and what
can i control
and is this
thought
just a fate,
designated to confuse,
designed
to push me into fear
of ever
unveiling
the .........


i despise
lack of solution
why must
the greatest matter
of life
be that which cannot be solved?
although logic can be boring
simple algaebraic movements
are fulfilling
when properly finished
a mystery
of such proportions
as love
annoys me
i cannot grasp
it with a calculation
or freeze it
what is there to study
if so many forms
begin every second
and if every
is an anomaly
of the next
is that a pattern?
not one i can resolve
why must such
a satisfying moment
be only preserved in memory
i may frame
an award
or clip an article
to a common room
but love.
love seems a solution in itself
then my new question
also cannot
be saved
in a camera
if love cannot be solved
and has no solution
if love is a solute
then what
was the problem
to provoke
such
a confusing
thing?



depths


Cry
on your skin
in puddles
shake with
your rigid
fast breaths
absorbing me
in my waterfalls
flowing
and stopping
as my tongue
bends
on your river
of strength
melting
all my walls
i do not
surrender
it is simplicity
belonging
to one
and only one
and we
become the other
in
Lips
i find
your softness
no one else knows
this
for us
alone
and together
you
in me
i open
the closests
and cover with silk
of you
so full
of everything
my hunger
has disappeared
evaporated
from the pools
we created
on our bodies
embrace the sound
of us
in the trickles
down our foreheads
we discovered
a new ocean


i know i miss you
when i look at a photograph framing your silouette
i’ll purposely look away from you
and try to remember the little crap in the moment of your capture
the stapler on your desk
the tiny crinkles on the sheets
the view outside
every damn splotch on the carpet
all of them memories
all of them moments
so i’ll try to attach myself to them
and not you
beg my body to crave every little thing surrounding you
to yearn for the feel of the heater we hated that never would heat
desire the kiss of your pillow
but i don’t
and i can’t
they’re all just things
even with their emotional episodes
they’re not even commercials on tv
the big blue bright lamp with the burnt lightbulb
the beautiful sunset outside your white glass window
they’re all ok
they’re alright at best
but i know i miss you
i hear the sonnet of love
when i seep my soul into your eyes
outline the trace of your body with my memory
and feel my body begin to decompose without you
i don’t need a book
or a movie
or some quote outlining the door in one of those herbal holistic shops
to try to explain to me how it feels to miss someone
to love
YOU
a powerful writer or artist illustrating such loss
could never be dismissed, but
i don’t need any of such artistry
no big words
no eloquent descriptions
just a photograph of you
surrounded by the world




seeker of truth


seeker
of that
which
you know
do not
see
what you want
so search
in the water
from which
you were
born
into a light
that you escape
never understanding
that it is
this
that you need
trying to
find the answers
in drops
of rain
in evaporation
you will
lose
everything
that you gained
falling
on a road
a thousand times
while your feet
with their soles
torn
escape from
intimate journeys
that you know
must be taken
seeker of all that
you cannot contol
live to live
at times
when you don’t know
what your eyes see
as you are
faced
every morning
never ending
under the night
with the
bitter reality
of truth
seeker
know
mystery
sometimes is not
magic
if
discovered
know
that what you find
inside
may not be
for the
rest
to
see
and seeker?
I know



judgement is
a presumptuous thing
not for
the sake of morality
but because
if we have only
seen 1000 angles
of life
10 000 may be
lacking or gaining
how many books
can a human read
and even
then
can centuries
of knowledge
know the
history
of
now?
how do we
know anything
and how can
we judge
anything
and do we?
yes.
we do.


I have been
so devoid of emotion
and all i could paint
was death
but not a cruel or particularly
happy one
just an element
a gratifying one, but lacking
NOW.
your hands
have clasped my breasts
smoothed over my calloused lips
I feel everything
rain onto my
aching body so much
longing
just to be touched
to be forced
and clamped
held down
and lifted up
with strength surrounding my waist
to feel something
between my thighs
other than my pillow
who has been a faithful lover for many nights now
your warmth
inside
has changed
the world for me
not in love
love cannot give as lust can
lust is finality
and never demands anything
other than what it has given
I am not ready to give yet
this is
exactly what i needed
to make ME feel again



I WILL ONLY EAT THE EARTH

I will only eat the earth:
ripe pomegranate in her youthful state,
grapes of wine,
decisions my mouth will make!
I will only eat the earth:
pizza. and greasy sauce.
has fried
irresistible hunger pang cravings in me
pepperoni. Just pepperoni and no “dressing” on my nude salad
my body
is the body
of every pepper
every fruit consumed
I will only eat the earth:
give me no mass produced
sugar coated cookie,
“crisp chip” commercials
shall have no power over my morning
let me play my music:
sing with ferny trees,
guitar made of wood and a heart
save green rectangles in your wallet
for a beggar on the street.
I will only eat the earth:
not on a couch
or a poshe chair
it is BRANCH:
what is pretty through man has lost all its pretties
grass strands tugged by these fingers,
hollow log holding me
I will only eat the earth!
love my dirty
fingernails
use me !
betray me !
but be raw
obvious
honest. in your intent.
I will only eat the earth
so be a tree
be an orange.
don’t be political
and don’t manipulate when i can do too.
be a berry.
because,
i will NEVER eat silicone

escape

escape
beneath these waters
and am among the fishes
blue with sea
my solitude
every thought
reaches my mind
with speed of wave
swimming through bubbles
foaming, frosting
immaculate, white models
that i write from
home
among the coral
jabbing my feet
all is sane
and simple
in such an
underwater world


success
never brought as large an emotion to me
as the sound
of two beloved boys
playing guitars on a Sunday morning

in the scrambling
for free breakfast,
makeshift, unidentifiable concoctions of burgers emerged.
and when my friends gleamed
with radiance,
as if such a feast,
was a celebration of some victorious win over the Roman empire,
it was this which brought me happiness.

notorious for neglecting classes,
the adrenaline of rebellion
did not pump my heart,
but the nervous twitching lip
of my equally mischievous accomplice
made me grin.

although my thighs
strengthened in their musculature from long hours
of walking streets with no definite destinations,
when i held the hand
of a teenage male
and our sweat bled into cloth
as rain,
i would laugh out loud with euphoria.

it was ultimate
sadness,
to be confronted with reports of disobedience
and lectured in phone calls and letters
on my “irresponsibilities” from the people
that had known me since childhood.

it was maximal
grief,
when i ran away from a life of
nights that lasted days,
the acceptance of me
by nomads like me,
and kisses of warmth.

and it was also ultimate
relief
to know
that after it all
i could
“improve” myself
and gain respect

but i still miss the me of then.
and i still smile,
when i think of those days;
the happiest i had ever been.





how can i
explain
that although
you were love
and understanding
you were not
all love
and all understanding
that with it all
came the greatest hurt
the greatest pleasure
and your greatest betrayal
of me

unimaginable and i shake as if
addicted to the memorabilia
of purity.
i have seen
wedlock without a kiss
and have read of reality,
that you were not man enough to believe in.
and i kiss
and do much more
by my weakness
but you.
FUCK YOU!!
you were supposed to protect me
to shelter me from myself
but you let me fall
you let me become an idiot
a useless hip
a stupidly seductive eye
a temptation
i created
unable to resist
you being
a part of me
forever
why did you let me fall
and then say it was love
love is not an eternal fall
but a momentary sense of depth, and then
a rescue
from fall
when the person who is about to fall
does not know of a fall
or the one who falls
without knowing
out of blindness

i was without eyes
and you could see
and you pushed me
into a pit
i am bleeding
i am crying
every cell in my body duplicated
with sadness
that i have never felt before
i feel your pain
and shed your tears
even with your regret
i am the one naked.
i am this because of you
how could you??
how
love that rips me apart
to a mere woman
a woman that i have resisted to being
you let me
become a woman!!!
a WOMAN!!!
i who preached
to every
of waiting
i was a martyr of sanctity
i did die
in that hour
i am so ashamed
of how my body betrays
how you betrayed
i let you manipulate
i let you have your power
and you never once
let me have your crown


your tears
cannot undo this damage
i hate you
now you make me out to be the horrible one
a devil
and an angel
but you were the more powerful one
i made it so
you could control
for you knew
what would happen
you knew
because you have happened before
but i was new
and stupid
but i will not become old
because of regret
i will drink my blood
and smell my fear
but how
can i feel
so much life
in an emotion
that feels worse than death
knowing that i said love
and let
me betray you in thought.
but even in this betrayal
i hoped without knowing how.
thinking. remembering
that you said
LOVE.
love!!!! love!!

so i fell .

and you
who said
“love”

let me
fall



is a woman
not made of the same matter
a man is?
a woman may cry
but a woman can also burn tears into

a man

may come and go
as he pleases
choosing whatever
possession in his desire
when a woman
has an urge
a temptation
to be acted upon
should she
do on impulse
she is labeled
by the uppities of society
a whore
while a man
is still labeled
a man
for embracing
the extent of senses
one can find in touch
a woman
is persecuted
unless she also gives her heart
but how many a man
love at lust
a woman
has no sin
but animal blood
a man
may wake
under a different sheet
after any chosen night
and he may leave
never to be heard or seen again
while a woman
is left feeling
undone
yet should a woman
choose to do
the same
no great
cheer from her friends will come
but malicious whispers
why can a man
succumb to desire
and a woman
remain with common sense
when it is
a well known fact
that men are far more ample in commonality
why must a woman
be common
with all the correct
senses lacking
is a woman victim of lust
not the same as a man?



must i


condescend
to the beginning of heartaches I have OVERCOME
in order to be loved by you?
Although
the light shines in waves upon your greek figure
YOUR reflections are NOT ENOUGH
To collapse ME from the mirror




i am such
a hypocrite
lecturing everyone
on fairy tales
and dreams
in the books
i read as a child
which i still read now
oh joyful glorious saturday
wtih a crunchy Gala apple
and Hesse’s pages in my hands
give me sci-fi
or any such book
with imaginative
creative
nonsense
that i may choose to believe
and then
again
i am off on tangeant
yes.
i read before
i read now
and where has all
my scheming gotten me?
all my hopes
told to a drunk
about to kill himself
and i am just
another stupid
make-believe cinderella
still sitting in a modern chair in a rented apartment
staring at a
very realistic
very scary
bill




the change
in practice of sex
through the decades
is abruptness
and organization

in bedrooms before
it was left and undiscussed
whole without pieces
or divisions

now that virginity
can be defined through medicine
or morality
sex is pleasure

but split apart
who is a virgin
and who is a whore
can be broken
and theoritized
by classifications
of what qualifies as sex
physical actions
that have been examined

sex
then
was a change of mind
of feeling
it was the instant
a girl
wanted a boy
to kiss her

it was the way
a woman
looked at a man
in such eyes
that begged
and did not request politely
for touch

now
viewed upon
as not just one act
but divided
with the four bases
society has composed
sex is baseball
and one
who has
lost virginity
has swung to home

running
from the old days
of being
christened impure
at
first bat

elsa

i could have missed
the story
of a beautiful woman
if i had been blind.

i am moon.
she is sun.
i capture fierce wolves.
she melts sadness .

i could have lost
moments of absolute purity
if i had kept my silly assumptions.
she could be
another girl on the street
that i would purposely glare at
with disgust.

i opened myself
because of her.
in her sane handshake
i put in respect.

she is not free of troubles.
she has fallen into crevices.
and kept a smile.

she is my only wonder.
i can analyze the world,
but she is still a miracle.

it took many years
for our two hearts to mesh
into a solid force

at times i thought she was a perfect cheerleader.
and at times she thought i was mean.
eventually
we lost our superstitions
and gained ourselves.



through travels in change,
adolescence,
and distance,
we became letters,
and phone calls.

when they all told us
that nothing stays the same.
we changed.
together.

i don’t believe in angels.
but i can prove
best friends.

beware of who you put a moat in front of.
someday,
you might need
a dolphin.




i am a part of you
unseen but watching
as you walk under the fruit-bearing trees
splitter splat
shoes over red berries
looking down and up
sighing at this beauty
falling
one leaf
touching your skin
you brush it away
so i fall
to the earth
neglected even though i am green
still fresh
but in a month or two
i will fade
to a rich brown
and will never
be green again
but will always be
unseen
and watching you
from the ground
waiting for your
shoe
to crush
my dirty
brown
skin

Anyone can become anything. We are all God. That is what my story is about. Althoguht it is not a story, it is a collection of thoughts which have come through my physical vessel, and have traveled the world many times before and at present. The way I want to arrange my project is a combination writing method using poetry, memoir, narrative excerpts, theories, and all other writing forms which i do not want classified. The reason for this is to break the elitist system of genre found in the literary world. I want this work to be accessible to everyone. I also want this work to be accessible to anyone, everywhere, for free to the public. Thus, the internet, media, tv, pamphlet copies as well as paperback and hardback copies will be used in an effort to show in reality that everything is connected and in an effort to reach everyone. This also will help jumpstart my business ventures to start my own company, with the product being information (particularly health). Similar to google and gnutella sharing programs such as Kazaa, Limewire, WinMx, etc. However, my company will also share all information in addition to just music. Reaching the youth of today is a huge priority, because what mindset they are forming now will affect us all.


to them you're wrong
to me you're right
for all the blank stares
and no replies
whenever you've felt sadness
at times of remorse
i believe in you
you tell them you're strong
they tell you you're weak
they tell you how to behave
what to think
they've been telling you your whole life
all the customs you've learned
i believe you are pure without character
i believ ein your idea, your essence
all will say that you need to become someone else
tell them that
you believe in yourself
________________________________________________________________________
I cannot sleep
nor choose to dream
why a "why"?
why a "right"?
the choices sprawled
the decision-maker you
all forces destine a life to produce
i do not want to be an i
i do not want a definition of life
i am. i think. i feel. i do.
i exist without an answer
i exist only because there is you
and you and yous before you too
why must this continue
why must progression produce
I DO NOT WANT TO BE AN I!
I DO NOT WANT A DEFINTION OF LIFE!
stop all the careers
kill the romance dead
i am nothing everything
there is
isn't an end
_____________________________________________________________________________
Zappatista vs. Capitalism
i am a zappatista
you. fight me with your restrictions
i smile and refuse to give in
i will not be part of your system
i will think my own thoughts
you fight with your weapons
my peace is my gun
you think power is the solution
the only hierarchy to advance the human race
i think there's a better way
no lines, no boxes, no limits to anything
freedom you claim
but freedom is inside us all
you are god
you are invincible
but thats not what you were taught to believe
______________________________________________________________________________________

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________
If all the radio networks, TV shows, etc. saved all the money they use for contests, and gave it to poor coutnries, we would have a lot less poverty.
Instead of organization, deliver it first hand to inidivudual families. Better yet, teach entrepeneurship skills to all people, show them that nobody, anywhere "HAS TO" do anything.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
It is human nature to fear victory, to stem away from domination. In the human's instincts of self-survival, the definitive difference between the human and many other life forms is the concept of morale. Those without this concept are labeled into many categories, including but not limited to mentally disturbed, poor character, inhumane, criminal, etc. The latter is what fascinates me in this present moment. The criminal does not fear victory. He does whatever he must do to survive to his standard of life. The normal moral man will not do just anything to survive. He has rules he follows which conduct his behaviour. The criminal is feared by the normal man but not respected nor understood. The normal man does not understand the concept of no rules in life, including all things moral and ethical. A criminal looks at life without the taint of moralism. He sees the action and effect. The moral man sees implication, adjectives, and association upon action and effect. A criminal sees money as an opportunity to survive. He sees the quickest way to obtain money: He sees a man with money. He sees if he kills this man, he can obtain this money. Survival. The moral man sees taking money as wrong, morally wrong, because it is easier for the moral man to do this than to work every day for his entire life for a salary. What the moral man perceives as easy, he sees as wrong, he sees as lack of character. What the criminal sees is survival. Survival by the moral man is determined by rules. Survival of the criminal is determined by opportunity for survival.
What do YOU think?

"what are you?"

i’m scared of going
to bed tonight
worrying that tomorrow
will be there when i wake up
and i won’t be ready for it.




held you near
now I hold you from far
still breathing ?
still living ?
how ?

your memory is collapsing me
a finger
reminds me of the trace
your lips made
of mine

no eye
SEES me
no face blends into my soul
save yours

C U R S E D
I wear this mark
on my heart
seething into my depths
I locked oak doors!
and you?
a ghost.

did not expect
this
was it from the beginning
invisible ?
only to be seen through
MY eyes ?
or was it
a gap I hated of a reality that your illusion fulfilled ?

I ask
the clouds to cry
and I have never
before wanted sympathy

too much
to devour alone
. but I have been alone .
seeking consolations
where ?
in another’s body?
within

you still find me .
in another’s mouth?
it is you feeling my kiss .

Flesh to Flesh is all
nothing in me wants
except the sweetness
of your familiar pain
nothing is home
as your brow
caress of something stronger than skin
but how ?
how you?
I have always been a vagaboun.. noma.. d

and yet Nature leads a path
berries taste of you
and I am only
what I surrender to
sending your energy
through my blood
wasted
all your efforts wasted
in a simple fruit
how is taste enough
when I need you ?

compass . within a heart ?
distances unattainable !
so how do you
travel through this space ?

my blood still red
thick and sour
wounds closed
how have you entered
piercing through my safety ?

no prediction
For your heart
but time
cannot ravage what you’ve done to me

the greatest love
I possessed
consoles me no more
a note
in a harmony
too harshly reminiscent
of your song
music ? oh my music. ha!
what music .
there is no life
in any melody
without you

was it just a wish
and am I just a dreamer
p r o v e t o m e
I cannot distinguish reality
From my thoughts

what is “YOU” ?
who are you
who am I
No.
I know who I am
but why ?

(how)

I search
ache
burn
how can you be the nothing as evanescent or as constant


If you are real
without ME
i SHOULD die
so IF my blood is still breathing
you must be
a dream





I am angry
no other word shall do
I gave in to love
it punished me with a wound
I am angry
no other word shall do
You robbed me of
My innocence
and made me think with doubt
I am angry
no other word shall do
a palette of mind
that once was a rainbow
has mixed to a muddy black
I am angry
no other word shall do
in all your confessions
a lie seeped through
you are a child and I am done with you
I am angry
no other word shall do
playing chess
was risk-free and more fun
till I stupidly succumbed
I am angry
no other word shall do
to rectify the harm I’ve done to myself
by choosing to love
to worship all that you are
I am angry
no other word shall do
I forced myself
to push aside the troubles
and smile with the sun through clouds
I am angry
no other word shall do
you let me down
you let me fall
and I had denied this truth
I am angry
no other word shall do
I loved you once
I hate you now
your whip leaves scars on my heart
I still believe love does exist
and wait for the sinner who shows me this
But no other word shall do
I am angry
For no longer being able to believe in you



it is such sorrow
to write
with this alphabet
which i was not born with
which was learned
and even as
my tongue
speaks
in words that are more my own
i have not developed
the comfort to me
and have only
obtained what was available
now
i may speak
and read
and write
with a million voices
but to be bilingual
is a curse
no greater wing
could lift me
than the smile
of my country
celebrating
my tribute
to her soul
but i am of more than one country
so what country shall i boast
alas it stands
in every thought i think
in every word
that i have dared to learn
from tongues
that may
or may not resemble my own
to be of more than
race
is my only pride
and my only curse




black sonnet


to match
the darkness of your face
not in pigment
but the foreboding stories of your mind
what breathtaking cruelty! ah,
prettier than some
ordinary rose
that serves as a muse to so many
ebony eyelashes curve
leaving much to my imagination
what genius resides
as your roommate
shall it and I ever meet?
is there a one who is not a stranger?
if not in physicality
then within the caves of you?
this seductive mystery
so carefully spun in a dance
am I to tango next?
a waltz is too sweet
ballet for the aristocrats
it suits
fitting every unpredictable swerve
of your body ; the
force the unpredictable offers
such sensuality
system of fools split as sheep
bawing in fear of your step
sensitivity does not live
in the veins of such a dark hand
so should I rather undress myself?
uncover the black sonnet of my being?
perhaps not. let us not waste to discover such an expected story.



for anyone that feels the way I do


even
as i am writing
my future
for them to know
i know
there is someone
with a pen
writing up
a disproval
for what i have to say
critiquing my
every thought
and i respond
knowing that whatever
anyone has to say
about me
i will still
be me
at the end of
everything
that happens
will be gone with time
and as i am writing out
my lessons
for the world to follow
i know they are asking
if i am learning
myself
i am!















and i do not preach
of something i know
nothing about
and still i know
at this moment
a someone,
another someone
is watching me all the time
at the grocery store,
as i tan naked,
with my lovers,
i will never
feel safe
because i know
my emotions
are on a platter
for everyone to taste
what i am feeling
i show
in everything
and i put my heart
everywhere
and still i know
that someone
somewhere
is thinking up ways
to destroy
me



how can i
explain
that although
you were love
and understanding
you were not
all love
and all understanding
that with it all
came the greatest hurt
the greatest pleasure
and your greatest betrayal
of me

unimaginable and i shake as if
addicted to the memorabilia
of purity
i have seen
wedlock without a kiss
and have read of reality
that you were not man enough to believe in
and i kiss
and do much more
by my weakness
but you.
FUCK YOU!!
you were supposed to protect me
to shelter me from myself
but you let me fall
you let me become an idiot
a useless hip
a stupidly seductive eye
a temptation
i created
unable to resist
you being
a part of me
forever
why did you let me fall
and then say it was love
love is not a fall
but a rescue
from a fall
when the person who is about to fall
does not know of a fall
out of blindness

i was without eyes
and you could see
and you pushed me
into a pit
i am bleeding
i am crying
every cell in my body duplicated
with sadness
that i have never felt before
i feel your pain
and shed your tears
even with your regret
i am the one naked
i am this because of you
how could you??
how
love that rips me apart
to a mere woman
a woman that i have resisted to being
you let me
become a woman!!!
a WOMAN!!!
i who preached
to every
of waiting
i was a martyr of sanctity
i did die
in that hour
i am so ashamed
of how my body betrays
how you betrayed
i was a fool
unleashed my secrets to you
you manipulated


your tears
cannot undo this damage
i hate you
now you make me out to be the horrible one
a devil
and an angel
but you were the more powerful one
you could control
for you knew
what would happen
you knew
because you have happened before
but i was new
and stupid
but i will not become old
because of regret
i will drink my blood
and smell my fear
but how
can i feel
so much life
in an emotion
that feels worse than death
knowing that you said
love
and let me
Fall


rapist

this is
my body
but not my mind
my hips
are widened
but my soul is clutched
my hands
are grasping your back
nails are digging in
but this is not touch
in your ego
your mind
has used mine
but to capture me
you should have
used your heart
for what greater control
is there than of
complete
willingness to fall?
force is not control
this may be my scream
but this is not my surrender



mentor

there are
discrepancies in your wisdom.

you preach of peace,
and insist on deadlines
and regularity
in a world
that really
controls you.

there is fury in your kind words
and your thoughts are conservative in creation.
i am not yours to fashion
and i am not a dog to be walked.

i have respected men
and at times have envied your common sense.
but i am not
just a woman.
and humans are not above each other.

there is a discrepancy
in your disgust of power
because as you are presented with a staff of authority,
you insist i bow.
i am not a slinky who will bounce
only after i am pushed.
i am a determined firey spirit.
i am more than what you know.

there are discrepancies
in your friendship.
as a stranger at a political scene
is respected more than i.
do not dare to shush me.
i will not be quiet.

there are discrepancies
between us.
and even though i attempt a calm,
these discrepancies furiate me.
these discrepancies make me condescend to anger.

there are discrepancies
in the way you trust me
there are discrepancies
in your love.




what a
waste of time
that i do not have
to spare
when my body
is begging
for that
which is marked
taboo
you sit
in your chair
and engage
in such drone
conversation
what a waste of time
unless
one searches for love
and I am
not this one
no.
I must
according to
a woman’s obligation
button my shirt
but simultaneously slip into
a sultry color
why
all of this
preparation
for the simplicity
of instinct
close your mouth
of words
do not overestimate
these formalities
with expected weeks of waiting
this will either die or advance
so unless you
have time to risk
let’s fuck society
and fuck ourselves


nothing better


happy birds
fly high
when i’m on stage
i am much higher
and much happier
and i fly
better than a bird
there is nothing
higher
than a stage
except me
when i am on a stage



pretty flowers
everywhere
except the ones on my front lawn
which are dead




how
can a tear
feel so alive
resistance
to such alarm
of my body
is pointless
i am overpowered
crushed
not by stress
or a heartache
not by blood
but by
a single
clear
tear



you were standing that night
in a white shirt
free of ruffles

your brown skin
gleamed in the light
of a dark auditorium
after a show
that you were the star of

that night
was the best
night of my life
you started my life
with so many thoughts
and so many new loves
i discovered my passions
of music
and art
and theatre
all in you

i was already all of this
but i did not know it
you were the life
i wanted
i realized it years later

as i remember
pulling
your white shirt
close to my skin
it was a first kiss
for us
but it was the start of many things

i wish i could find you
i have tried
and failed
i was a child when i met
and now have grown
and experienced much of the world

but i still
cannot forget
your brown skin
your eyes that led to me to your lips
sacred stage
where i first met you
and fell in love
i don’t know where you are now
and i don’t know
if i still would gaze upon you
as i did then

but for the start
of all this

thank you



you defy logic
you defy fiction
YOU
oh you
shall i speak of the glory in your eyes?
the depth of your stride?
every centimetre of treasure that you are
how can i
YOU are more than
anything everything nothing
i cannot describe you at all!
you are a white page
which if burdened with either letter or color
would sink
you cannot be labeled
you cannot be stamped
i will not let the world know anything about you
for you are everything
to ruin god would be to mention your characteristics
your endless beauties
aaaaa!!!!
go away all you words and you dreams begging for image
who you are
is
YOU


i am
escape
it is dangerous
to dare
to love me
i run
after love
even when it
is chasing
me
i will run away from you
and you are a good soul
not a friend of sorrow
as i am
do not kiss me
i will run away from
the certainties
that will follow



vampire,
enter
my bloodstream,
with the
bite of lust.
poison me
with this passion
because i
cannot live loving.
i love nothing
and nobody.
instead, i am in love with

everything.

without singularity.

come
into
my bloodstream.
infest me
with your cancerous kisses.
make me immortal

i cannot live in love
to love

“one”

is to
DIE


waking UP

my
journey
of
staircase:
up down,
up down,
up down,.
taking me to
toothbrush:
side
to
side
to
side.
and a
compass
in
my mouth
eyes
see
mirror
display
direction
in the future of today
with the same white teeth
. the same white teeth! the same black eyes.
monotone.
but,
AH HA !
nose inflates
DIFFERENT?
than i am!?
and then sun
hits pupils
same
same
hit as yesterday
arise
same
same
regardless of whatever happens next.
SO,
for desire
of change:

tomorrow
alarms
NOT ALLOWED





Unfinished death

such an important
part of life
but life goes on
and so shall I


rain

scorching me
with coldness
I lie
all alone
a cushion to the
falling deep blue on me
WeEping with each breath
his eyebrows scrunch up
in an outburst of anger
at what he cannot have
sends a yellow flash
splitting the tree
i was using for an umbrella
in two
I do not Move
captivated by sound
my eyes do not blink
ignoring the thick oceans that build up beneath them
he is in love with someone else
but sun shuns his dark clouds
she is too good
and i am just leftovers
but if i remain jealous, rays will never shine on the grass again

it is always me
who mends them both
and who is my mentor?
where is MY lover who would kill a tree
to find me?

but HE hates words
he won’t let anything escape
from my moist and full lips
as always,
i succumb to his kisses

meant for someone else

random thoughts @ 2 AM


dot
gone
thoughts
race
black
night
dry
lip
moist
skin
write
write
word
none
too much
not enough
for anything
substantial


i swear
Dear pilgrim,
i would rather
miss the day
than to greet it
blind
never wanting just one thing
see it all
or nevermind
and as i sit contemplating
whether to stay or to go
i feel a bit helpless
knowing my eyes want more
jolly this and tip-tidy that
“reality is” i really do not care
if a response to a “how are you” is not “ok”
slap myself silly
for this sin
but I do not attend church. Cannot confess but with a grin
So dear pilgrim
Please have a splendid. Polite afternoon
but i must admit
you have disappointed me
for this lesson few will obtain
yet it still remains that
to shake the hand
of a man
wearing a glove
is worse


Than
not shaking
any hand at all



“freedom”

My only freedom
Lies in knowing
That we are never free
Understanding this
Knowing there is a wall
Strengthens my mind
So as one day
Break it
Why must we
Breathe
Or eat
Even sleep
Why cannot we fly
Instead of pressing
Gas pedals
Smooth chrome
Proving
To?
Ourselves
How
Suave
We are
Riding
In machines
Created
For egos
We do not
Feel
The ground we walk upon
Shoes
Of plastic
And dead cows
I know
We are all one
Not free,
Together

Not free together

And I begin
To think
Is there
Really
Such
A
Difference
Between the two



i am told
by many people
that i have an answer to everything
and am extremely impossible
they hate me for it
my arrogance.
but my delight in arguement
is the only consolation i have
knowing that whatever anyone may say
i will always possess my wit



Silicone

Oh what a beautiful illusion you were
a dream I forced to reality
there were signs!!
and instances
love puts such tolerance in a being
that you never
did anything
you vowed to
was surely not a moment of disparity
for your promises would come
moan you made of me
wailing from the greatest pleasure on earth
the sin and innocence in a human touch
but aside from innocence
all it was
remains a sin
such a deformity you hid
and my ears lacked the wisdom
to listen to voices
yet should I have listened to them all
you would not have been a true illusion
was it love?
and what love is this
that does not flame
until it has taken a kiss
it lacks all the important things
the total responsibility
for another heart
no this was some other space
that filled my heart
with a tender embrace
now soils my face with rageful tears
what a beautiful piece of silicone you were



robot

i’m told i have to decide
on something
doesn’t really matter what
as long as the decision is a lengthy one
which will wrap up my dreams in a suitcase
and land me at the destination of a retirement package someday
they’re all the same
all the jobs
all the choices
all the pointless illusionistic freedoms
which we assume we possess
but nobody stops to think about that
they’ll just keep telling you
to never think
to just
“do”
you’ll find that after
you do
and do
and do
and do
you do
stop thinking
because you’ve become a part of a system
that makes no room for thought
whatever you end up doing
is just an action
to get you to the next day of action
where will a thought get you?
what good is an idea in this system?
an idea is pointless they say
without motivation
without the do
there can be no think
but when you do
you
don’t think
sure you think that you do think
but you don’t
because if you did
you’d break out in laughter
and run off a cliff
this life that you’re living
this house that you’ve bought
this wife that you love
it’s all part of that “do” thing
so whatever you think of it
you’re still its robot
and should you ever stop doing
to think
you’ll discover the absurdity
of everything


i hate
love
anger
irritate
refuse
embrace
chalice
rape
beat
surrender
sleep
cry
dream
recover
insomniatize
disapoint
seek
trust
doubt
me.



you will be
the only organism in the world.

for as long as i want you.

all you will feel is love
and you will feel it completely.
in this time
i will be
only yours.
and will never be unfaithful.
you will be amply supplied
with every fetish there is the possibility to desire.

but.
always but.

the hourglass
will run out of sand
on your bliss.

and i will be gone.
before the
last grain
drops.

because ,
“no one worth possessing,
can quite be possessed”. – Sara Teasdale



it is always inside me
this contempt of the polite
even when i have had to kiss ass

the hell that power puts into people!
i’ve had bosses
who thought they were better than me by being assholes and assholettes
and now
they are the ones who are couch potatoes
drinking beer and minding their spoiled children

i hate these games
that you have to play in order to get anywhere
strategizing in dating,
being overly decent to an orderly,
doing homework because you are told to
in order to have a nice fat A on a transcript

all these games
will get you nowhere
they will eat at your soul
and drive you down
until you begin to realize
that you don’t have to be a participant
in these sideshows

they are not the bosses of you
don’t let anyone take over
what you think is right
because we all have different definitions of what is right
and thus there is no definitive definition of what is right or wrong

if you feel like peeing
on your superior’s desk
do it.
and face your consequence knowing that it is THEIR consequence for YOUR actions. don’t be reprimanded. just know they’re idiots who don’t know that anything truly terrible done will be punished by guilt.

just do what you want to do
not for the sake of doing what you want to do.
no.
don’t be like what i used to be :
aiming to be a rebel just for the attractive bad ass title.
do what YOU want
if you feel your trust compell you

if you know
something
it is what YOU know
and to you it will always remain true
so don’t let anyone convince you
that your truth is not truth

because to them
you
are not them

but we are all truth

just not to each other








i will never know anything better than myself.
there is anguish in this.
i only have two eyes
and what i see
is only understood by them
what i know as red
is different
to every.

i have no knowledge
and no reality
i only have me
and my observations



i am
mixed and confused
by genetics
my father is dark
and my mother is white
and i am not
looked upon as either
and the
most hurtful
most annoying
thing
anyone can ask me
is
“what are you?”