May 1, 2017
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HALLWAY DISCUSSIONS at Hunter College:
So the other day a few classmates and I started talking about death. Now it wasn't your typical somber narrative. Nope I first noticed one of my friends looking a bit depressing, so casually I asked "how's death" instead of, you know - "how's life?" The response from this dude was "dying is worth living right? So why does it feel so wrong?"
We all laughed at this strange entanglement of words, then started talking about highly descriptive wills. I specifically stated I wanted each page of all my books to be mailed to a different person I knew, every Sunday, at 4:52PM, with one verb and noun circled with a blue feather pen, that clearly described how I felt about them.
P.S If you get a page with three words circled on it, that just means the two words I chose initially, needed one more word to really sum up what was on my mind at that given moment in time.
Voiceless Prophecy
The land you once conquered is now in smoke.
Lend me your nose so I can smell the sweet soot of your institutions aflame.
My world emerges from the Atlantic Ocean, along with slave ships, turned over canoes and ancient relics.
It is your turn to walk a trail of realities and tears.
Funny how this land was made for you and me.
We do not wish to be your masters,
nor do we desire to psychology break you.
We would like to invite you to a new way of thinking.
A thought that doesn't involve haves and have nots,
class or supremacist laws.
Having worn your constructed identities,
accepted your labels of what make you and us
when will you understand that we are all children of Earth?
How can I pray to the same God which you call upon to do your dirty work?
Why do I have to give up something to gain something less than what I am asking for?
How can I value your religion if you worship Greed and Power.
How can I write freely behind my computer knowing that it was made with blood! Here I am talking about smoke, when I’m subconsciously trying to contain it. I should be adding more wood to this fire.
In some ways I am...
I must remember that I am
with the help from those who made this very keyboard!
So goes to the producer of the pen, the paper I write on, and the shirt I stretch out when I am mad. Contradictory times is it not?
Forgive me ancestors if I shared your voices without your permission,
but it has and always will burn from within me to share your stories.
If they can’t hear you doesn’t stop our ears from listening
nor stop our tongues from sharing.
What is Left of Us?
What happens when we wear your clothes,
watch your shows,
eat your food,
drive your cars,
live in your borders,
speak your language,
pledge to your flag,
fight your wars,
enforce your laws,
carry out your business,
jailed in your prisons,
read your books,
attend your schools,
practice your religion,
share your beliefs,
go to your doctors,
and take your medicine?
At the end of the day,
I always ask myself “what is left of us?”
Locks are an Illusion
I should of never allowed myself to be robbed of my dance,
even if it meant death.
Time to take it back!
Envision me, twitching, feening for some revenge.
Now I am walking harsh,
running smart,
thinking profusely "Where is my dance?"
A little whisper enters the tunnel of my ear,
"over there, over here"
Pulling the door's handle, with these angry fists.
The place felt empty like most bags of chips,
it’s space mostly consisted of air.
The broken pieces that once made a scene,
imagine my jaw in disbelief.
"Where is My Dance?"
I was afraid, shocked and sick to the gut.
There wasn't a gun to my head, when my dance was stolen.
It was taken ever so carefully, ever so subtle.
I soon found out who were the few who ran off with my dance.
There was no way of finding them.
No tracks or leads to where they might be - but gone.
I decided to create a new dance.
A dance that was protected by a theft proof locking mechanism.
I continued to my improve dance, proudly where ever I found myself.
To this day it reminds me of how ridiculous my old fears were,
in a way my current dance helps me grapple with the new ones.
Your actions reflect your dance, your dance reflects your actions.
Love, embrace, cherish, appreciate your dance.
Learn to grow, highlight your joys and never stop moving.
Subway Blues: Momma where we gunna sleep tonight?
It’s New York City.
You rush down the steps to catch your train.
You swipe your piece of plastic, giving you the “ok” to pass through the turnstile. Now picture a mother and her child sitting on a thin orange blanket, side by side begging for some change.
If you gave a fuck, you reached into your raggedy ass wallet and pulled out dollar or two. However you realized all you have is some lint, a few useless cards and an old crumpled take out recipe - food so bad that it once gave you the shits. That’s it! You realize that within a week or two without money, you’ll be popping a squat with the same people sitting on that thin blanket too.
No one wakes up in the morning and plans to be homeless.
You might think “well maybe they didn’t work hard enough.”
Well maybe you are an arrogant asshole and part of the problem.
If that were your momma and kid, could you pass on by and be alright with that? Fuck outta here with all that bullshit. You’d be doing whatever it takes to be helping them out, so why is it different when we see a stranger? Why because we don’t know them? The fuck, do you have to play 21 questions with them first? Maybe play a few games of UNO, before you say “you know this fucker anit so bad after all?
Maybe they need help, maybe their going through some shit, maybe they are a con-artist trying to feed their children? Fuck should I know if I never asked?
Fuck should you know if you never cared?
Odd yet Intriguing
I haven’t posted in a while. Now I wonder if my actions have been subconsciously influence by those whom shared their hatred for Tumblr. At least I know here I’ll never run short of an odd yet intriguing community. Where else would I get my wacky inspiration ? evolving element ^^)
Walking Dead in Manhattan
I’ve seen your steps,
I’ve heard your groans, it’s 7 in the morning.
Some virus has hijacked your soul, the coffee and energy shots aren't working.
With no control you trample the old, the very young in strollers, even those you call special, flesh is all you want.
You’re willing to tune out the cries as you consume beating hearts.
You have no borders, nor do you have a sense of direction.
You’re D-E-A-D dead, yet you sink your teeth into the living.
If you had a brain, would you have seen that ignorance isn’t bliss?
Before you converted to a bitter inter-borough traveler,
I ask...what was your last thought?
I wonder... was it nutritious knowing that you gave up?