For Bosque
3:43pm
Tuesday, 01.29.08
Here comes the bride
All dressed in lights...
Flashing lights and gay as hell.
Then
When they are face to face
She looks to me
And I answer her gaze
Just before her eyelids spill all over her eyes.
The Whole Hole
8:50pm
Friday, 01.18.08
Here in this whole hole, there is no difference between five minutes and forever. Your different selves are madly apparent, far too engaging, and as soon as you finally finish counting, more appear.
That is why I do not count. Oh man, they’re all staring at me.
Unfortunately, the hole is composed of only three sides and the side that you would expect to exit is the actually the entrance and the exit is the window on the entrance door. And our thoughts do not even fit through that window.
I will age far before I should and even more before I want to.
I would totally play garage and cars while in jail.
Friday, 01.18.08
Here in this whole hole, there is no difference between five minutes and forever. Your different selves are madly apparent, far too engaging, and as soon as you finally finish counting, more appear.
That is why I do not count. Oh man, they’re all staring at me.
Unfortunately, the hole is composed of only three sides and the side that you would expect to exit is the actually the entrance and the exit is the window on the entrance door. And our thoughts do not even fit through that window.
I will age far before I should and even more before I want to.
I would totally play garage and cars while in jail.
Worry About the Words of the People It's Weird To
I know you don't know what I'm talking about
I hope you don't mind me tryna spell it all out
It won't be words that you can understand
But it'll fit in your hand; hands.
I put my God on the top of mountain
And put my pebbles down before I get to countin'
I do it the all time, and in the same way
It doesn't take me long, just all of my day
I got a Christmas Gift, that I get everyday
She sits across from me; I won't throw her away
Beside that sits my Ginger Snap, and how low she lays
But when She comes back, it's still all the same
My Nirvana runs fast all across the sky
It's like She's never done, but somehow she gets by
And my Rhythm Song, He's a classic guy
In the water, in the valley, on a straight line
And the straight line, is bent to my Mardi Gras
She's the loudest universe that you ever saw
And when She laughs, She makes the longest pause
Then the party starts again, of cawse
And my Wishing Marble got the same color
He never stops rolling and pretends not to smother
He's on a journey to a still unassigned place
But I know where I am once I've seen His face
I gotta land some time, always far from land
It's my Flying Nest that catches me in His brass band
He always knows I'm gone before I leave
And opens up the door just when he sees
Me returning.
When I get home, I have this Nugget of Light
She doesn't judge and she can shine whenever I'd like
She's so cool and still makes sense in the daytime
She is an everything thing, but only she is mine.
In between up and down and here and there
I got a Stormy Jasper and She pretends not to care
I get stuck on her cuz She's cut too strange
And She's not too good at keeping the storm in steady range
But that's the coolest thing that she has
Just as slow and exciting as the Jazz
I throw her like some unused packet
But I only mean for me to catch it.
And I always fall in that big rose garden
But the keeper never asks for my pardon
My Jubilant Misery just keeps on keeping
That's the one that smiles harder when She's sleeping.
They all keep you in a fantasy world
And that's fine for these struggling black girls
This sings to the ones with no rainbow
And louder to the ones who can't remember what they came fo'.
I hope you don't mind me tryna spell it all out
It won't be words that you can understand
But it'll fit in your hand; hands.
I put my God on the top of mountain
And put my pebbles down before I get to countin'
I do it the all time, and in the same way
It doesn't take me long, just all of my day
I got a Christmas Gift, that I get everyday
She sits across from me; I won't throw her away
Beside that sits my Ginger Snap, and how low she lays
But when She comes back, it's still all the same
My Nirvana runs fast all across the sky
It's like She's never done, but somehow she gets by
And my Rhythm Song, He's a classic guy
In the water, in the valley, on a straight line
And the straight line, is bent to my Mardi Gras
She's the loudest universe that you ever saw
And when She laughs, She makes the longest pause
Then the party starts again, of cawse
And my Wishing Marble got the same color
He never stops rolling and pretends not to smother
He's on a journey to a still unassigned place
But I know where I am once I've seen His face
I gotta land some time, always far from land
It's my Flying Nest that catches me in His brass band
He always knows I'm gone before I leave
And opens up the door just when he sees
Me returning.
When I get home, I have this Nugget of Light
She doesn't judge and she can shine whenever I'd like
She's so cool and still makes sense in the daytime
She is an everything thing, but only she is mine.
In between up and down and here and there
I got a Stormy Jasper and She pretends not to care
I get stuck on her cuz She's cut too strange
And She's not too good at keeping the storm in steady range
But that's the coolest thing that she has
Just as slow and exciting as the Jazz
I throw her like some unused packet
But I only mean for me to catch it.
And I always fall in that big rose garden
But the keeper never asks for my pardon
My Jubilant Misery just keeps on keeping
That's the one that smiles harder when She's sleeping.
They all keep you in a fantasy world
And that's fine for these struggling black girls
This sings to the ones with no rainbow
And louder to the ones who can't remember what they came fo'.
In Love with Peace & Obsessed with War
Do memories hinder or help people in their effort to learn from the past and succeed in the present?
Memory is my ability to store, retain, and retrieve information gained throughout life. Personal experiences, academic information, people, etc., all rest in my memory.
All organisms have a memory of sorts. It is part of the arsenal of weapons everyone and everything uses to survive. Imagine if we could not remember our names: what kind of mess would that make?
Humans: memory is emotional.
Sad memories. Happy memories. Funny memories.
The memories evoke an emotion, a certain mind set, a pattern of thinking. Those emotions, mind sets, and patterns of thinking are the things that have the potential to either hinder or help me in my efforts to learn from the past and succeed in the present.
The memory itself, standing alone in some unidentified ethereal location, is colorless, odorless, silent, and nonliving. A memory resurfacing in the my mind is colored in, develops olfactorily, is given a loud voice, and becomes grandly animate all because of that which remembering makes me feel.
Feelings: hinder & improve
What the memories make me feel is the thing really to be considered in learning from my past and succeeding in my present. Persistent sadness or pity usually cause my stagnation, because sadness and pity that perform in a timely fashion are normal and healthy. Their persistence cripples me and tricks me into believing that I deserve the sadness and pity for the rest of my life. I don't.
Good memories. They serve to remind me that life is not always bad, that thus far, I have always made it through, that life goes on. The good memories treat the symptoms of this terminal illness that is life.
Cussing Without Warrant
It's dark early these days. The daylight is shorter, it seems. This is the time of the year people tend to become depressed. I believe it is called seasonal depression provoked by the decreased exposure to sunlight. Coupled with cold weather and boredom, I am sure the condition is far more than uncomfortable.
I want to be a connoisseur of words. I used to believe that the key was in having a large vocabulary and to an extent, that is important. But as I have grown, writing has become so much more than a hobby or an interest and more of a way to document my evolution as a human being, a way to balance and check myself. It has become one of the few times I am honest with myself about myself. It is one of the few times I even address myself. From that, I have learned that the only thing more important than the words themselves is the manner in which they are arranged. A beautiful arrangement of the simplest words is far more magnificent than the ordinary sentence seasoned with big words. That seasoning is not enough. Words are like ingredients for language and communication. The clever combination makes a good stew. I am not giving up on learning words, but I shall learn to better manage and manipulate the words with which I am already familiar.
READING is so important for this kind of thinking. One must read, a lot, in order to make sense of their world, in order to informed about other worlds, in order to become cultured, in order to be more accepting, and especially to be an artist. You must read. Whatever one chooses as an art form, reading, reading, reading is so important. There is so much information in the world about virtually everything, or an explanation for why much is not known about a particular thing, all documented in literature. Literature, words, words, words connect us. We all speak a language. We all talk to someone or something, somehow. Read everything you can and everything you are given. The talent of reading is amazing. To look and recognize letters that form words, words that have definitions that are automatically retrieved to make a context for what is being read (provided that the word is known to that particular mind). And even if one should not be familiar with a word, there are more words to explain that word and it never ends.
Read books, articles, fortunes, faces, sounds, music, essays, advertisements, criticisms, arguments, announcements, stories, labels, title pages, notes, emails, blogs, shirts, tattoos, secrets, minds and then write. Give someone else a chance to read.
I want to be a connoisseur of words. I used to believe that the key was in having a large vocabulary and to an extent, that is important. But as I have grown, writing has become so much more than a hobby or an interest and more of a way to document my evolution as a human being, a way to balance and check myself. It has become one of the few times I am honest with myself about myself. It is one of the few times I even address myself. From that, I have learned that the only thing more important than the words themselves is the manner in which they are arranged. A beautiful arrangement of the simplest words is far more magnificent than the ordinary sentence seasoned with big words. That seasoning is not enough. Words are like ingredients for language and communication. The clever combination makes a good stew. I am not giving up on learning words, but I shall learn to better manage and manipulate the words with which I am already familiar.
READING is so important for this kind of thinking. One must read, a lot, in order to make sense of their world, in order to informed about other worlds, in order to become cultured, in order to be more accepting, and especially to be an artist. You must read. Whatever one chooses as an art form, reading, reading, reading is so important. There is so much information in the world about virtually everything, or an explanation for why much is not known about a particular thing, all documented in literature. Literature, words, words, words connect us. We all speak a language. We all talk to someone or something, somehow. Read everything you can and everything you are given. The talent of reading is amazing. To look and recognize letters that form words, words that have definitions that are automatically retrieved to make a context for what is being read (provided that the word is known to that particular mind). And even if one should not be familiar with a word, there are more words to explain that word and it never ends.
Read books, articles, fortunes, faces, sounds, music, essays, advertisements, criticisms, arguments, announcements, stories, labels, title pages, notes, emails, blogs, shirts, tattoos, secrets, minds and then write. Give someone else a chance to read.
Promise of More to Come
I miss him. I miss his stupid humor. I miss his baritone laugh. I miss the moroseness of his absence and the tragedy, the drama of his presence. I miss his ringtone. I miss the feeling of annoyance that sometimes surfaced in his times of chronic pursuance. I miss his anger, most acute when I had been out drinking or with questionable company.
I miss his kids. I miss being their cool stepmother. I miss his dependability. I miss knowing there is a person in the world that I could call at outrageous hours of the night for absurdly simple maladies that would come running. I miss his inflexible confidence that he could correct anything that faltered me in my steps down the path of good. I miss and I loved how it angered him that I didn’t believe he could always fix, correct, and rebuild for me.
I wonder what it would be like now, us. I wonder if the alterations of my mind would have any bearing on our interactions now. I wonder if he has changed. I wonder if he would notice that I have changed. I wonder if my alterations would be maintained should I again become his better half. I wonder if he at all misses me, thinks of me, fights himself not to call me, or deleted my number. I wonder if he will take me back.
I want my resilience back. I want my clarity back. I want a new glass.
I won’t look out the glass he shattered. Obviously, the picture is distorted and the world is much better than I’d be able to see. I won’t blame myself. I won’t say I deserved it.
I might cry. I might be sad. I might make a playlist. I might play that playlist a few too many times. I might cry some more. I might think recklessly, but only temporarily. I might pine for him. I might sweat out my frustration for him. I might feel desperate. I might curse the day we met. I might cry, cry, cry.
I believe I am beautiful. I believe I am beautiful. I believe I am at least Christina’s champion and God’s champion, if I am not to anyone else. I believe that God will send me better. I believe that I will get over him. I believe that I am supposed to feel this pain and this pain will only further introduce me to the woman that I am.
I know that God will send me something better. I know He will send me healing. I know He will send me a forgiving spirit. Because He is, there is a promise of more to come.
I will keep in mind that it is natural to miss someone I let in my heart even if he did not prove to be worth the price of admission. Thanks Will.Yum.
I miss his kids. I miss being their cool stepmother. I miss his dependability. I miss knowing there is a person in the world that I could call at outrageous hours of the night for absurdly simple maladies that would come running. I miss his inflexible confidence that he could correct anything that faltered me in my steps down the path of good. I miss and I loved how it angered him that I didn’t believe he could always fix, correct, and rebuild for me.
I wonder what it would be like now, us. I wonder if the alterations of my mind would have any bearing on our interactions now. I wonder if he has changed. I wonder if he would notice that I have changed. I wonder if my alterations would be maintained should I again become his better half. I wonder if he at all misses me, thinks of me, fights himself not to call me, or deleted my number. I wonder if he will take me back.
I want my resilience back. I want my clarity back. I want a new glass.
I won’t look out the glass he shattered. Obviously, the picture is distorted and the world is much better than I’d be able to see. I won’t blame myself. I won’t say I deserved it.
I might cry. I might be sad. I might make a playlist. I might play that playlist a few too many times. I might cry some more. I might think recklessly, but only temporarily. I might pine for him. I might sweat out my frustration for him. I might feel desperate. I might curse the day we met. I might cry, cry, cry.
I believe I am beautiful. I believe I am beautiful. I believe I am at least Christina’s champion and God’s champion, if I am not to anyone else. I believe that God will send me better. I believe that I will get over him. I believe that I am supposed to feel this pain and this pain will only further introduce me to the woman that I am.
I know that God will send me something better. I know He will send me healing. I know He will send me a forgiving spirit. Because He is, there is a promise of more to come.
I will keep in mind that it is natural to miss someone I let in my heart even if he did not prove to be worth the price of admission. Thanks Will.Yum.
The Best Kind of Revenge
Wednesday, 01.02.08
4:07pm
Bhutto
Benazir Bhutto
Here there is a legacy more grandeur than any storyteller could tell.
A Shia Muslim woman who was born and made herself far more than a Shia Muslim woman.
To the Shia Muslims, just a woman. To the world, progress incarnate.
Educated. Education.
Powerful. Power.
Ambitious. Ambition.
Progressive. Progress.
Liberal. Liberty.
The things she is not to be.
The things she stressed.
Women in Islam. Women.
Starved of intellect and consequently evaluated as incapable.
The streets on which progress was murdered are still ablaze.
And the future is even more unknown and dangerous.
The time for life-sized decisions fast approaches
And the work has become obsolete.
Vote anyway.
Vote anyway.
Pakistan, vote anyway for her party
For her party is for the people.
Democracy despite despondency is the best kind of revenge.
4:07pm
Bhutto
Benazir Bhutto
Here there is a legacy more grandeur than any storyteller could tell.
A Shia Muslim woman who was born and made herself far more than a Shia Muslim woman.
To the Shia Muslims, just a woman. To the world, progress incarnate.
Educated. Education.
Powerful. Power.
Ambitious. Ambition.
Progressive. Progress.
Liberal. Liberty.
The things she is not to be.
The things she stressed.
Women in Islam. Women.
Starved of intellect and consequently evaluated as incapable.
The streets on which progress was murdered are still ablaze.
And the future is even more unknown and dangerous.
The time for life-sized decisions fast approaches
And the work has become obsolete.
Vote anyway.
Vote anyway.
Pakistan, vote anyway for her party
For her party is for the people.
Democracy despite despondency is the best kind of revenge.