Since I’m not a magician
I’m not going to rob you with illusions
alluding to what miraculously went missing.
Since I’m not a magician
there’s no glittered confetti
at the end of each act
since time lacked any patience
to steal your heart or mind away
you might want to depend
on all the comparisons
you were told would
make you subjectively better
and then call it FACT!
Ah ha, Oh yeah
a torn form
is never lucky
a malleable action
mix needs a full
A yet tousled revealing dishevelled
in the none unusual
in the utmost unlikely
Well, first you need to disconnect
Then, tell the other that it is over
You cry for one day, but plan
how things are to proceed:
Silence for a month
then process and decide…
So neatly planned
as like making a biscuit
quickly, and so effortlessly
come out dead like me
come out to pick
to feed at the dying
near cold bloodied
come out as you
you don’t lie
come out and
suck on what
In the perpetual hum for purposeful sound
in the perpetual sight of recurring triggers
in the cerebral cortex where it all begins
rest, and arise in distortion, I’ve located
the injury that can never heal, and has now
grown into a germ, a seed that multiplies
that yawns at its clones, admiring its progress
reverberating proof for its recurrence.
Disguised as neurons, spreading its message
holding the nervous system hostage, it clings
to the mind and develops a language, its own
trapping the heart of memory, its function is to
inhabit, to encumber, to ill assess. I’ve discovered
when it became The… It occurred simultaneously
with the struggle for words to dissect the point of
these proofs, but my discovery was too late, The…
created its very own elaborate function, a syntax.
They tell me there’s still some purpose for its existence
an invisible membrane, which when made aware
acquires a self conscious bruise: a quick kill for a study
of overreaching steps, spent too much in a cocoon for self analysis
falsehoods for comparisons, error messages prompting no end
never having a place, a cause as faceless as an unknown not.
And like the study of broken, it still makes a whole.
so touch, gulp, then grab onto anything
anything keeping you still alive. With this point
reach for something else other than infinity
my fingers cross as we begin to drown for branches
they grow old reaching parallel but never touching.
Oh I hear
I can’t wait
Knowing isn’t implied
it is a false comfort, for
a quality achieved
an enlighten thought
that only reveals
a place that you
arisen to accompany
a place that
change does not come in the form of a dollar…
Oh, to be covered in your form
would mean more than actuality
understanding, because presence
requires the involvement
of a better world…
I was the last to recognize the rain
to hear its trepidation, gently at first
on rooftops; distinctively you can hear
its harbinger, a forceful few drops
splashing the likes of endeavours away
leaving remnants of lost desires:
fallen leaves, wet guttering leaves
ruminating over the first time you dealt with
the hours, the seconds that behest hope.
Like no one else has dealt with pain
you tell yourself yet again another lie:
I won’t care so much, care so much
I’m a new person
cold and unforgiving.
a torn form
it isn’t full
a nightly fixed
as blood clusters
full of signalling(s)
of not much
but awkwardly offers
another encouraging, a beggar…
Yes, I know I have lamented negatively on the promise of positive thinking… I am also tired of expressing why it is not going to save me to people who maybe are a part of the massive self help thinking? Our experiences are far different with the association to thought, because it is really survival that you’re talking about, right…? Just as along as you’re here, don’t bring anyone else down like crabs in a bucket?
Travelling with positive thinking was my great get-away existence: leaving a place, trying to escape negative experiences that involved people I love, and the space that they took up. Uncomfortably sitting with their choices, because I had no choice. This is an existence that is life long… Yes, the majority does that, we all do that everyday. Isn’t that why we run away from home in the first place? A means of survival from what is presented as the only solution(s)…
Everyone wants to think and believe that they are thinking positively about their life, future, and surroundings. No one wants to be in that state where they are day after day thinking about regret, loss… These things are tremendously painful, which does not need the accompanied guilt of others recommending a myth. But maybe everyone is different?
It just feels like a practice only represented in thought. Especially in thought that leads to temporal gratification. Because we can say many things that we don’t believe, or it changes over time, you can say it over and over again, and this idea of positive thinking is meaningless when you can’t act on it. You can represent it with sentimentalism, you can represent it with habiliments, you can place whatever symbolizes it should mean, but what is in your mind swims there. Already there, happened, and existing… There is no band-aid.
Maybe treating each other better than we believe we’re doing is more realistic? But that would involve more extensive economic research, such as what can this person do for me.
Free healthcare is what I’m hoping for everyone:
“Because as long as I’ve known my mind, it apparently festers all day every second, on all that’s been done to me (negatively), and my response to that. I’m constantly trying to calm something that seemingly can’t be appeased in my head. I’m constantly having to debate with it. And it never, never chooses my side… I think not having any memory at all will kill it.”
Positive thinking involves a lot of non-present activity, because as I remember, and I wish I could forget this moment, because it involved hiding in a past lover’s room in her parent’s house because my presence would upset the family. Yes there were apologies after when the family that I was being hid from left, but which straight, white person has to deal with that shit ever? It also does not help when a previous lover’s family is racist, homophobic, transphobic, basically existing in a realm of hate. You being black, gay, gender-queer…, which is all they saw presented before them on holidays or whatever. I know what you’re saying, don’t date people with families who are like that, but that’s kind of near impossible. Maybe wait another two to three decades, and say that, and even then it is still questionable. Anyway, this kind of sways away from what I was trying to get at regarding positive thinking. In both of these episodes, I was aware of the situation, and I wanted to be there for my partner. So I psyched myself up with all of the things I loved about her, when having to deal with that uncomfortable space of being hated and/or ignored. I just thought about her the entire time. But why is it that I have to be constantly thinking about better things just so everyone is accommodated, and feeling comfortable? This is just one example of why positive thinking does not necessarily work, because you have to interact intimately with people, with others who have their own bias agenda…
If you’re tired, afraid of feeling
If you’re weary of explode
then subside, then quit
then settle for less than
more than you’re worth?!
The economics of existence
if there is such a subject
does not, and never involved
the weigh-age of life it self
Yes I agree
if I was a certain
plant my life will
be short lived
I think about
how much I would care less
if I wasn’t spawned.
You think I want be here
I’m not a plant
so don’t ask me
to like or live like one!
I’m not a robot nor secret agent
manufactured and trained in a factory
of compartmentalized parts: none and feeling
as this will interfere with my true joy
when and if I do experience the purpose
of this fleeting exercise of being happy
there won’t be any need for giggles
as a solid laugh will be more evident
of nothing and everything…
Whatever occurred at last night’s awards show apparently was that offensive that many people are upset enough, and so kind enough to brief people like me about the night’s proceedings… I really didn’t care to know. The tweet by The Onion, whom I don’t follow on twitter, is just plainly ignorant on so many levels that I wonder if they will recover.
Neither one of these occurrences were examples of what I like to call Kaiso, or even satire, but more so a lack of never having to face your poor judgement…
Is what being represented as satire of the world of fame imploding on itself? I mean we’re just so caught up on these stars, and they are allowed so much leeway that it’s just ridiculous.
Anyway, I feel it necessary that we review the meaning of satire and its usage:
Satire is a genre of literature, and sometimes graphic and performing arts, in which vices, follies, abuses, and shortcomings are held up to ridicule, ideally with the intent of shaming individuals, and society itself, into improvement. Although satire is usually meant to be funny, its greater purpose is often constructive social criticism, using wit as a weapon.
A common feature of satire is strong irony or sarcasm—”in satire, irony is militant”—but parody, burlesque, exaggeration, juxtaposition, comparison, analogy, and double entendre are all frequently used in satirical speech and writing. This “militant” irony or sarcasm often professes to approve of (or at least accept as natural) the very things the satirist wishes to attack.
Satire and irony in some cases have been regarded as the most effective source to understand a society, the oldest form of social study. They provide the keenest insights into a group’s collective psyche, reveal its deepest values and tastes, and the society’s structures of power. Some authors have regarded satire as superior to non-comic and non-artistic disciplines like history or anthropology.
For its nature and social role, Satire has enjoyed in many societies a special freedom license to mock prominent individuals and institutions. The satiric impulse, and its ritualized expressions, carry out the function of resolving social tension. Institutions like the ritual clowns, by giving expression to the antisocial tendencies, represent a safety valve which reestablishes equilibrium and health in the collective imaginary, which are jeopardized by the repressive aspects of society.
The cling of residue is not as listening to the end of rain… It is more like a dangerous virus indulging in its wasteful raillery, or letting itself kill you. Yes, this is my poor excuse for feeding a discomfort of a terrible year which ended in even more grief for my graveyard.
It is incredibly difficult to find footing on any land, when even believed concrete pavements can quickly become invisible… And all that is left is a chase to keep as much physical form, ground, so you can still at least walk. This is what I attempted in last month’s broadcast of Washington Heights Free Radio’s (WHFR) Broad Strokes hour with Calypso Sally. My attempts failed immensely…
Even though I spinned a lot of deeply felt tunes, and I like the mix I eventually came up with, my commentary was fucked up. So as an apology, my redemption to WHFR and my likely listeners, I am going to re-play the tunes from last month’s broadcast. No commentary next Wednesday, February 27. Indulgence necessary!
far more pronounced than the darkness for heads of states
as their only purpose is to feed on what is left missing
what is ignited, as in a promise, or what vanquish as
the ideas of a contender, even as we are still prisoners.
So restricted to a mode of black or white
that the existence of surprises are still
unfathomable, anomalies of miracle
is a thought for the pursuit and praise of gratitude
in whichever remedy of victory, glory:
a sport of claim for whomever finds it first…
In your efforts of being remembered, remember something: Everything you say and do no longer depends solely on another person’s memory or premonitions of an experience nor existence… So there, you are remembered eternally, your existence is valid, or at least when someone purge the system, or people just move on.
The empirical markings of presence which are not so evident in the promenades of what is made visible, seems like a village virtually venturing on memorabilia: a recurring pattern for an existing bruise…
I really have to get out of here…
Constantly I hear people saying to people, learn English or go the fuck home! I wonder sometimes, if they realize how much of English is ingrained into our thoughts, and how much is translated into English. How much we’re not experiencing, missing, just because of a history of dominance… I think about this every time I encounter someone who is multi-bi-lingual. I feel left out of the experience of life when I hear my good friends speak in Spanish, or when my nephews Skype me and they’re all excitingly screaming in French, and I have no clue as to what their outbursts are suppose to mean. I feel even less capable, but not as embarrassed or even ashamed about my response to the pope’s resignation in latin: GO TO FUCKING BED LATIN…
Ok, so that’s totally an oxymoron to my developing argument, and I’m late, and my annoying, What the fuck is this?!, is late too. But I have this to say:
Dear ex pope, I kind of don’t want to relive the history of Latin and the English Language, since I failed that course, and now failing in the currents of the ever changing montage of minutiae: the living lingua franca… Which is fine, for me at least, since I have no history of a language unless it is taught, and then manipulated. A language that your predecessors did not anticipate would evolve into an amalgamation of thoughts, philosophies of this multitude, which corrupts your puritan way of forbiddance: because old ideas are suppose to fail as new languages begin…
I don’t care to even learn Latin just to understand what you affirmed in your resignation: that your attributes are not holy at all, or even one to endear! As I would like to understand a world that does not involve your dominance. Your need for constant experiences of assumed creation…
And as from what I remember, the etymological politics surrounding the language itself was a means for exclusion. One not even worth engaging or glorifying too much in its antecedence, but just to leave it as it is: A DEAD LANGUAGE.