Is this art
How I love you I want To put you in a frame On my wall Stare for days At your beautiful mind Wrap my lips around The color of your eyes Brush up against Your fine lines It's like magic The way you dance Around my existence Make the world disappear Total eclipse Of everything
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Reflections from Tonga.
So much of what lies on the ocean floor looks like brains. It’s no wonder the sea takes on the essence of a living, breathing thing. It is. A monstrous one, massive and powerful, deep and secretive. Here in the Pacific, it’s absolutely clear. So clear that even when you’re floating in it, you can forget there’s water there, save for the coolness against your skin. It’s as if you’re flying, looking down at the way the sand folds snake across the earth. You don’t even have to put your head under. When the sun is shining, the Pacific is as clear as air. I was floating this way today, watching the sunlight’s dancing patterns against the distant sand, wondering how deep the water was. I grew up with such a phobia of the ocean, I never could have swum so far out before. Especially on this island all by myself. But these blues are so warm and peaceful, my body so buoyant in the salt. It didn’t bother me at all. The realization made me smile. Then I saw a fish dart by. One small fish, so white it was nearly translucent, a bit of yellow dusted across his bottom fin. I watched like a child as he came closer to me. Then there was another, maybe a big brother, and together they circled me. Suddenly there were five. Ten. An uncountable school came flowing in an endless stream from the deeper water. Was something bigger chasing them? Were they chasing me? They didn’t touch me, but they formed a ring around my floating body, swimming in circles at a steady pace. I tried to count them, but I couldn’t keep track of these fish that all looked the same. I swam, and they followed me in a long, thin line until I was able to stand. I grazed my hand across the water, and they responded with a dance below. Carry on, carry on -
There's no need for perfection Where you're going You can leave that bag behind. Travel lightly as you travel blindly Beyond the preconceived prisons Of your mind's eye. Those lies belong to a past life But you and I - We transcend the rigid contours Of those black lines Etched into white paper. Evolved and enlightened, First we are erasers And then we are the makers, The creators, the rearrangers, Magical travelers of the cosmos Guided by divinity, we are the lone rangers The life tamers, the risk takers. Only lost can we ever be found Feet rooted in Earth, Head floating in clouds. Take a look around, Take another breath in And without a doubt in your heart Carry on, carry on flying. I’ve been trying to figure out how to break my silence after a too-long hiatus from this blog. I figured a really amazing poem or short story or hilarious comic would come along and I’d be back on track. But you know, there is a much greater, much scarier, much more devastating silence that needs breaking right now. And I’m very grateful to a friend and brother for opening a dialogue with me after seeing a post I made on Facebook about the atrocities in Charlottesville this weekend. It turns out I had more to say, and I feel deeply the need to share it. Thank you for reading and please do keep this conversation going. With me, with each other, internally within yourselves. Our reality right now is devastating, painful, terrifying, incomprehensible. It is big and dark and ominous. But it is not hopeless. Did you read that? We don’t dare give up hope, brothers and sisters. Stand up. I am standing with you, for you, come stand with me. There is no choice now, there is no time to cower and lick our wounds. I’m standing, are you ready? Come stand with me, I’m standing with you.
It's a hard truth to swallow, that the American dream is a lie. A wicked line of marketing we are brainwashed to believe since birth. That this country is a beacon of light, a place of equality and freedom for all. But let us not forget that the United States of America was founded through genocide, stolen from a greater people. And we do forget this. There’s not even an honest dialogue about our tragic history so that we can say sorry, forgive, move forward in a way that is actually in line with the quotes of our founding fathers. Instead they “teach” us in school that the Pilgrims arrived, and there was a peaceful dinner with the Indians. And we call it Thanksgiving. As children, they would dress us up as Pilgrims and Indians to reenact these lies. Too many people swallow that pill, grow up and believe it forever. They wrap the flag around these gaping wounds and call themselves patriots. But last year on Thanksgiving Day, Native Americans peacefully protesting the re-stealing of their sacred land to build pipelines were blasted with water cannons and rubber bullets in below freezing temperatures. On Thanksgiving fucking Day. Fast forward to the election of this ignorant-in-every-sense-of-the-word, white-privileged, racist, hateful, narcissistic, evil, little man we are now disgraced to call President: He is the match that has lit a tremendous fire, but do you know what's burning? The rotten, ignorant, racist, hateful, bigoted, inequality that has been sitting here festering beneath the surface of this nation since the day it was founded. Tucked behind shiny signs and inside big houses and packaged nicely and presented as a promise-land. Flying home I was reading my passport, there are quotes on every page you know. Thinking fuck, this should be mandatory reading for President Trump. For everyone. This is the American Passport, one of the most powerful little books in the world. “The cause of freedom is not the cause of a race or a sect, a party or a class — it is the cause of humankind, the very birthright of humanity.” Yes, my brothers and sisters read that line again. Go open up your passport, take a look at the idyllic, patriotic passages on those pages. I mean, it sounds so good, man, so RIGHT. How can we not stand behind the ideals that this great nation was founded on? Because the truth we are afraid to speak, so deeply programmed against speaking, is that none of it was ever really true. It never really meant what we read it to mean, and how could it in it’s essence in light of how this country came to be? The land of the free soaking in our Indian brothers’ blood. Freedom for all was freedom for the WASPS who came to take over, with the help of their slaves. The freedom they were granted: to consume, consume, consume. Mindlessly consume and pledge allegiance and wave our flags, sing the national anthem and forget the utter hypocrisy of it all. And as ugly as the face of our reality is now, THIS is the true face of America. It’s what’s been hiding behind all the shiny advertisements all along. And as much as it burns and hurts and cracks your heart open to see it out there in the open, it is about fucking time we see it for what it is. And the world sees it for what it is. So that it breaks down totally, burns up, whatever has to happen in order for us to rebuild it from the bottom. Rebuild it into the place they lied and said that it was. Free for all. A place where we can dream and be and live together with love and acceptance and forgiveness. We cannot do that without things getting really ugly first, uncovering all that evil shit that has been bubbling under the surface poisoning the air for hundreds of years. It's going to hurt and it's going to tear people apart. This shit is real. I repeat, this is not a drill. And what we need to do now is join together, here at the bottom, in the burning pit of it all and hold on to each other. So tightly that we forge together and become the foundation. And when the smoke clears and we sweep the bodies and the broken dreams away we are still here, standing together, ready to rebuild. Also from our passports: “That this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of Freedom.” “What a glorious morning for our country.” Some days you were shy, hiding behind a veil of gray.
You must have thought I wouldn't see you, but I always did. The way the water formed borders ever shimmering, teeming with fish. The pointed hats of saleswomen and their golden loaves of bread slicing through the horizon. Soup steam rising from every corner stall, calling me to sit and eat. Dusty feet, bike tires, motorbikes in constant motion, streets turned rivers, turned streams. Buildings, tall and thin, adorned with carvings and colors that could have been from anywhere, except they weren't. They were yours. Joy peered through the crimson panes of her blessed sanctuary, body outstretched across the silken petals of blossoming love. Each exhale escaped her lips a hum, an ode to the ecstasy of Being, breaking the silence that embraced her, faithful, like a lover. She rose and fell as an ocean, birthed again with every heartbeat. She bathed in peace, in light, in stillness, peering as she always did --.
Outside, the crimson tide gave way to rough sea, a tangled mass of sharp blue lines bending like steel in every direction. An indistinguishable prison. Trapped inside, the wild eyes of the one she knew as Sorrow. Wet with wanting, they watched her, as they always did, steady like serpents poised to strike in desperation. Heavy breaths raged like storm clouds, fog on the glass, transient blindness. Joy did not avert her eyes, and neither did Sorrow. She knew without seeing. He was always there, as long as she was. His piercing eyes crying of the misery of Being. She raised her hand to the glass, fingers trickling condensation into dancing streams. Up and down in sporadic loops, hands wiped the surface clean - Joy's on one side and on the other, Sorrow's, moving in perfect synchronicity. Palm to palm, locked in gaze, Joy and Sorrow sat in stillness. Joy smiled and somewhere behind the prison lines, she sensed that Sorrow did too. It was in that moment that she realized her unshakable truth - that the pane through which she peered was not a window but a mirror. Sorrow not an other, but a droplet in the same cup of wine, Joy not absolute, but Sorrow set free. No house, I'm home -
blood, flesh, bone. Knock down the walls, there's plenty of room. Stay the night, stay forever; Everybody lingers, in hair and nails on fingers, exterior decorating. Unlock eyes, ears, valves of the heart. Get comfortable, don't mind the mess, always under construction. Home's a work in progress. DOOMED is a choice. Broken before we're buried, eyes on fire with anger, it's a choice. Blinded, silenced, dosed and left on the sidelines - choice. Cowering, life a night-lined alley, only fear says we're alive, we're making a choice. Powerless is a choice. They don't give us power, they don't take it away, we make a choice. Homeless, penniless, forgotten - you have a choice. Sitting in a classroom, daddy paid the tuition - you have a choice. Stuck on the train, back and forth to work again - you have a choice. Old man, death in the eyes, grandchildren whispering goodbye - you have a choice. Dark skin, light skin, skin covered in blood, thin skin, bruised skin, old and loose skin - you have a choice. It may feel like you don't, but every brick in the foundation of existence is choice. Between every breath is choice; underneath the fingernails, choice; mucus lining the eyes, wet with choice. Let their dark and dirty dungeon be your castle. Let the pain be life. Know that every day the sun shines, sheathed or not in storm clouds. Every day it shines its light. Right now, this time, is your time - make a choice. Be a flashlight. Sticky, oozing, gooey, evil casts shadows - they don't make us hide, it's a choice. Seven billion flashlights don't allow for darkness, flashlights don't hide. Even masked in thunder, even with the night on one side, every day the sun shines. Choose to be an ally. Shine just as bright. You will not be alone, and together we cannot be defeated. Doomed is a choice. I say, "Fuck darkness." I will shine like a light, every second of my blessed life. This is my choice.
He sat there, reading a book
Just reading his book Back to the open doorway Story lines bathed in rays Of natural sunlight. I can't see his face, I can never see his face, But if he'd only turn around I know he'd see mine Peering down from the balcony Of my own life, Dreaming up the color of his Eyes, how they must be kind And a little bit wise Just like mine, Exactly like mine - Lost in this land of visions Reaching for reality Grasping at possibilities That flash in the periphery Imagining, mind playing make believe He's lost in his book I'm lost in a daydream. Decorate, form a border
Live outside the boundary Unorthodox, innovative, avant garde Marginal, maybe, now Hair that frames the face, covers the eyes, Sweep it back. Lose your balance hovering on the line. Re-bend the wires to make and shape your own life Disrupt the p a t t e r n Disconnect, let the battery die Explode - acid everywhere Find, redefine, limits Question your own authority Silence for days at a time Lost in the universe of your mind Find abundance in poverty In faith that you are safe Untied, not understood We need not comply with context Unbind from the spine and rewrite Manifestation of pure potentiality Threads left loose, twisted Shake with the hips To the deep beating Of truth in your heart. |
AuthorChicago-born citizen of the globe, rich in the things that really matter. Let's get weird. Categories
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