Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Scramble for my uterus!

I must admit that last night I was dumbfounded when I realized that there is a scramble for my uterus. Here I was going through life minding my own business when suddenly I found myself bombarded by members of the opposite gender looking to settle down and whip out a couple or two from my uterus.

Unbeknowst to them and myself,  something was churning inside me and changing my entire perspective and outlook on this thing called matrimony. Since my last blog, I am still unsure as to why people get married and I find my heart straying from that sort of ideal. What's even more haunting is I find myself withdrawing from the thought of bursting my uterus open to bring forth offsprings into this beautiful planet of ours.

What happened to me? I woke up and realized that I have something worthwhile. So to all the women out there, please, understand that you have been given the power to bring forth life. Do not take that lightly or think that owning a puppy is a test run. It was a serious jolt to my lowering self-esteem when it dawned on me that I am the cradle wherein my offspring will lie. That is a thing of honor.

I am not advocating that one be a recluse, I'm certainly not. What I am saying is do not allow yourself to be guilted into a relationship. Don't let your Mama do it, don't let Daddy do it. Don't listen to big sis coz when your heart gets broken she's the first one to say "I never liked him away". And please, DO NOT listen to your biological clock. Take that bitch to the clockmaker and kick back with a margarita.



I fear no man
Your threatening words are but sounds that history will forget 
Your harsh blows against my skin will be erased with age 
Even the bones broken within will mend with time 
That which I fear goes deeper than any man can touch 
For I only fear my own capacity to incapacitate myself


Oxymorons that make you go hmm..

What exactly is a Free Market? Well, lets break it down.

Free - Unrestricted

            Unrestricted - No charge

                   Charge - price asked for

                           Price - amount of money for which a thing is bought or sold


Market - Place for sale

               Sale - exchange of commodity for a price

Market = A PRICE

In essence, the free market ideology is a price system promoted as having no price.


I guess this explains the severe seizures and subsequent ex-sanguination in the manufacturing sectors of developing countries after a large dose of free market is injected into the veins of their infantile economies, an act commonly referred to as Infanticide.


Some kind of suicide

At night, I rise and go up to my roof. It is cold and I am naked. I raise my arms and embrace the moon before I jump. Always before I jump into the clear blue swimming pool with he surface lights reflected on the floor. I dance through beads of sapphires and diamonds, ivory marble caressing my ebony shell. It is cold and I long for warmth.  The night air sweeps across my open back and I let myself sink into the abyss. The very life in me is snuffed out and tender longings that embraced my heart seem no more than whispers in the wind. 

Promises that were made by men of low virtue a long time ago break free from my heart, freeing my soul. I inhale the breath of this death in my quest for life and hope that God will count my tears. This is the end of the beginning of the end. All efforts to remain sane are cast into the waters of uncertainty. Lets see what gift fortune drifts my way. 

Monday, November 23, 2009

Pre-Medicated Shenanigans aka PMS

The thing about PMS is that it stirs up all those emotions safely submerged under the weight of common sense and rationale. These emotions can sometimes be so overwhelming that they put an otherwise sane female in insane and potentially life threatening situations.

PMS eradicates all sense of shame and throws pride under the bus, making this is a very delicate period-- ahh-- phase in the feminine life cycle. It is the cause of much ridicule, commercial time and medication. I would not be surprised to find that Eve was in a PMS choke hold when the serpent struck.  

With PMS EVERYTHING is augmented. Suspicion becomes paranoia, indecision becomes schizophrenia, forgetting becomes dementia, sadness becomes depression, and rejection becomes emotional trauma. For up to fourteen days, life is a sequence of interpersonal maladjustments.

But PMS does more than lead to random acts of hormonal violence. It is also a very powerful part of the feminine process. At this point every month we truly FEEL our unadulterated, uncontrolled and uncensored raw emotions. I mean, we feel so powerfully we need to self medicate.

I forget where I was going with this....shit! Dementia.

Spare The Gun and Spoil The Child.


The call for any new generation is the need for self-identification. This generation, so inundated with information, has had its entire ‘thought’ process tossed out the window with all remnants of human virtue. Seriously, we are raising self seeking children who have absolutely no respect for their elders because the government has stripped their parents of every form of parental authority. We are allowed to give birth to them and send them off to die in meaningless wars but we are not allowed to discipline them in a manner befitting their actions. So basically, we can’t spank them but the government gets to kill them! 

Sunday, November 22, 2009

The Neo-Middle Passage

I just had a profound and yet disturbing thought. College, my friends, is the new middle passage. Here is where they finally break that “adolescent” yearning for autonomy and individuality by sending you to an institution of YOUR choice, to pick the industry YOU would prefer being enslaved by. But giving YOU the choice is nothing more than a jedi mind trick so you get to bare the blame when you realize your life sucks. After all YOU made the choice - in a system that actually has no choices. Whoever designed this system are geniuses.

The kicker is that they got you to believe the system has a choice so you can feel some sense of power and authorship over your life. But let me ask you this, did you ever consider living in the jungle? See, if we really HAD a choice the jungle would have been a viable option after high school. And, to make sure you never change your mind and actually head off to the jungle they issue you your first CREDIT CARD. Yay, now you are really screwed!  

But look on the bright side, you have a college degree and boy are you proud of it. You worked hard for that Doctorate in Bulls*#t and Masters in Hogwash. 18 credits per semester, 6 months as an intern (unpaid slave “paying” their dues), 2 years of residency and 3 attempts at the bar exam. Nose tipped up to the world, a piece of paper hanging on the wall of your $1,250/month studio apartment, you proclaim “I am a college graduate, dammit!” But the truth behind your words is that you are now qualified to regurgitate the thoughts and ideas of the puppet masters.  

All this has got me mightily pissed! I am an artist, but from 9am - 5pm I am looking over invoices and purchase orders just to pay my bills. By the time the evening bell tolls I’m too tired to be of any use to MYSELF. And that is the point of the system, to get us so exhausted that we can’t think beyond the system. We are so busy toiling, our spirits broken to the point where TiVo is our only fix. I mean, you can’t go a day without your favourite show. They pull on those heart strings and get you to feel because you have to be numb all day to swallow the lie of the system. Everything, everything has been set up for us to believe that this is how it should be, that this is life. F*$# THAT!!

Adult Vs Youth

As a teenager (which can extend to the age of 30) life is all about dealing with the undulation of hormones manifested as either a severe outbreak of acne or complete malcontent with society. Everything hinges on the immediate reaction, decision, premonition, intuition, preposition, imposition and any other *ion you can think of.  

As an adult (which can begin as late as the age of 40) you learn to leave well enough alone. Acne is but a heat rush easily covered up by any 0.5% salicylic acid containing concealer. The world will still suck tomorrow so why worry about it today? And all the *ions are ignored in lieu of a quiet night, a good movie and someone you love.


Why do we make our beds?

1) Because it is the right thing to do. 

2) Because Mama said so. 

3) Because it looks nice and clean.  

Okay, but think about this; you just spent eight hours within those sheets. Skin, sweat and flatulence particles are probably hanging on to the sheets for dear life. Is it not wiser to air out the bed instead of making it? Just wondering.

Saturday, November 21, 2009

No Trespassing!

Today I picked up some twigs

and I watched a fourteen year old boy

fumble barefoot over the hot pavement.

It was windy

He was trespassing

Good Sex

Have you ever been at the threshold of fulfillment, at that point where satisfaction was inevitable and you longed to stay there for just one second? Oh, the pleasure that comes with the realization that the person inside you, the woman engulfing you knows EXACTLY what it takes to bring you to the door of heaven (to quote a cliché). There is much to be said about good sex but more about a good sex partner. And by good partner I mean a playmate who takes the time to distinguish between who you think you are and who you really are. Basically, one who helps you unlock the nymph inside you. 

See, too many people are deceived by first impressions which, in my opinion, are nothing more than external projections of an internal need for self-protection. First impressions cannot portray the whole nature of a person, yet we try to maintain these false identities in intimate relationships.  Basing ones understanding of a partner on that first impression is self-delusion at best. Everyone knows that making a good first impression, not necessarily an honest one, increases your chances of getting what you want. Meaning that in that initial contact you intention is not to be known or to know the other person, but to get something from them that will fulfill that longing within you.  This leaves both parties deceived and deceiving.  This impression is almost impossible to maintain because it is you off balance.

But life has a way of restoring balance, doesn't it? In little over 6 months the whole you begins to emerge out of its forced  hibernation, unless of course you are a sociopath then 6 hours is your limit. The curtain is pulled back and the partner realizes that he/she does not really know you. All those logical questions that were stored away to make room for self-deception leap into the forefront of the medula oblangata and maximum pissery ensues. What was once cute is now an impetus for every fight. The late nights at the office, once symptoms of an industrious and ambitious nature are now seen as signs of stolen moments of infidelity with Tabitha the intern. The little snore right before she falls asleep, once looked upon as a cute trait is now scorned as an upper-lip-hair-like unfeminine quality.   

 At this point we can safely say the relationship is on a downward spiral unless you reveal who you really are. It is never too late to introduce your mate to the freak within.  "Hey Heather, how about some hot wax and mittens?"  Sure, she may be shocked at first but give her time to sit with the idea. She may surprise you. Or "hey Adam, can you bend over? I'd like to see if this fits." Yup, expect him to be a bit suspicious and slightly apprehensive but if you keep whispering sweet nothings in his ears, he is bound to break. If that doesn't do the trick, nothing works better than nagging. Now, in revealing yourself you might get rejected, but that is a cheap price to pay for self-actualization. If they call you a freak, move on. It is better to be alone than in the company of someone who wants you to hide who you are or who you don't trust enough to fully express yourself. 

As for the sociopaths out there, please, keep your true selves to yourselves. 

Keep Your Head

Do you realize how self centered it is to be so emotionally invested in fighting my ideas as if my opinions have something to do with you personally. My opinion is mine and I will have it whether you like it or not just as you will have yours whether I like it or not. My point of view takes nothing away from you. Your opinion is yours and YOU get to keep it. I celebrate that.

This is merely a Dialogue - an exchange of ideas.

  Exchange - barter, swap.

You can only exchange things that are different otherwise there would be no need for an exchange now would there?

Please, breathe…it’s not that deep.



People In Time

He puts down his empty cup of coffee, hesitates and gets up from where he sits. From his tattered coat pocket, he pulls out some coins and lays them neatly on the table. Shameful, and afraid, he looks around at the blank faces looking back at him. He is a man from a time long gone by. Head down, he walks to the corner of the door and stares out at the rain pounding upon the earth. It is a merciless day, and he knows this. He pulls out his dirty, ragged gloves and slips them slowly over his callous hands. It was a long day. The wind sipping through the partial opened door parts his coat edges, revealing his soiled breeches. He is alone in this world of loneliness.

He steps out into the rain no umbrella to shield him, the eyes still staring at this man from a time long gone by. His legs are heavy with toil, his hands hidden in the hole-ridden pockets. No one sees the tear through the rain, no one sees the pain through the shame. Head bowed low, he walks on, alone. He stumbles to the ground, his face crashing on the harsh pavement, the cement rough upon his skin. Upon this place tears, rain, earth and blood mate in this interplay of life.

And the little girl smiles, the joy sipping through her stained teeth. The eyes stare at this man from a time long gone by. She stands upon shoeless feet, soaking in the pouring rain. With the innocence of angels she holds out her hand to him. The feeble arms of youth anchor his weary feet. The callous hand rests upon her head and strokes her hair. More love than either of them have known. He continues on to his journey to nowhere, she moves on to her path of death.

The eyes still stare at this man from a time long gone by. She stares at this man of the times. And the rain pours, still.

The Lost Art of Courtesy

After the overwhelming feeling of committing murder subsided I wondered why it was so easy to envision bringing another person’s life to a swift end. Then I realized that deep down I didn’t really feel this person worthy of my time. Some where in me courtesy had taken over and found itself constantly fighting feelings of loathing towards this person. And that made me wonder, if we never needed anyone else, if man was inherently asexual, would we care to love? Would we care enough to indulge the ridiculous whims of those we claim to live for?

Apart from that, do we really need or have we be conditioned to believe that we do? I mean, a child who grows up seeing nothing but humans kissing and mating grows up believing it to be the norm. With equal certainty, a child who grows up with the opposite becomes the opposite, making us nothing more than a reflection of that which we see everyday. But if you start from the point where that which is seen is not necessarily true then we are clearly fucked! Coz heaven forbid if the John Wayne Gasey’s of the world are actually natures possibility and not the alternative.

What does this have to do with the lost art of courtesy? Nothing, but isn’t this a far better topic of discussion than the demise of chivalry? 

How I Found God In Surrender

An empty heart is the most filled for it is in this nothingness that all is allowed to be. Here, in the breath of death, is life unimaginable for all things tangible and factual are lost and reason has no room. Here, in this place that only the soul can whisper truth, is the eternal and ever powerful breath of God. Here, after my heart has cried its last and first tear, I can sit in an emptiness where pain and joy collided to teach me something more painful than joy and more joyful than pain. Here, nothing is mention and all is. Here, all is allowed to exist and all is neither good nor bad. Here, in the place of surrender, I am honored to touch the heart of God. Here, in this place of surrender I watch the earth in play, I watch you and I pass each other. Here, in surrender I watch time fade and present be. Here, nothing is and all is. Here, all is because I am. Here, I am taking a walk. Here, I learned that without surrender comes ownership and with that comes suffering. 


It is in this place of blissful surrender that all things are allowed to flow through me for I have found my place in the grand plan of the universe. In this place of complete surrender I am so immersed in Godness that God neither ends nor I begin. We flow as one and I become the vessel for the spirit. It is in this place of surrender that all needs to control break in the wind and all is dialogue of being. I converse with the wind and give it room to be just as I am. It is in this spirit dialogue that I commune with pain and watch it be through me without judgment. It is in this place of surrender that anger is and joy is and all is because CHANGE is. In this state of complete wakefulness, possession dies, joy is surrendered, pain is surrendered and there is no more need to own anything.

Surrender. Surrender. Surrender. Surrender. Surrender. Surrender. Surrender. How does it look? It is being in a state of wholeness by having nothing.  To be wholy empty is to be. To give back to the force that is the core of all things.  To notice that which is passing through, to have a dialogue allowing it to be and then watch it bring clarity. Judging nothing leaves me unjudged.



Please do not take this diatribe as a self righteous critique on your sexual patterns or read so deep into it as to assume that it is a consequence of failed relationships, bitterness or any other symptom of ‘bitter woman” syndrome. Not that it is anyone’s business why I do what I do, or don’t, but I practice abstinence. Anyway, I say all this to say that there is a generation of women out there nurturing and lying to a whole lot of lousy male lovers and frankly I’m tired of ending up in bed with these men. Men who flex their otherwise flaccid biceps and profess cockily (pan intended) their ability to provided multiple orgasms. How is this even possible when you don’t even know where to stick it? So, until women learn to be honest to men, I’m just not having sex.


Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I neither practice abstinence nor whore about town. Seriously, my boyfriend would kill me if any word about this got out.

Native Juicies

There is something to be said about engaging in the consumption of native juices. Something about the exotic completely stimulates and titillates the senses. No, I do not speak of wild berries in the Amazon or nuts roasted in the Congo. I speak of something more sublime and sensual, human juices. 

The inhalation of native body fluids through the various coital configurations is man at his most inquisitive. This endeavor, over and under unchartered bodies, does more than just satisfy our carnal desires. Through the age-old law of survival of the fittest; it ensures the continual evolution of mankind by infusing the best of both races into a single organism.  

Never marry someone if you have a moment of hesitation. Why? Because you might be suffering from a bout of malaria or have never sampled native juices. Something about native juices gets a person TO!!! Turned out.


Even though I love my job I have no illusions about it and make no excuses for its shortcomings. Like the mother with the morbidly obese child she regretfully checks into fat camp, I struggle with this profession.  

See, I work in an industry that caters to pubescent boys who equate masturbating to barely-soft porn or mind f****ing their Nintendo Wiis to a productive day. This industry’s dick gets wet every time a fourteen year old turns fifteen because of the numbers this age bracket brings in. Inevitably, art becomes the drugged out whore who breaks the awkward kid’s virginity for $11.50.

Why Care How Deep The Rabbit Hole Goes When The Rabbit Is Dead?

Okay, I have literally just returned from a Town Hall Meeting in Sherman Oaks, CA. Well, if I am to be 100% honest let me call it what it was, a Town Hall Brawl. Most of the people in the room were north of 40 years old, white and male, but I figured I could take them. Hey, I have no problem dropkicking grandpa in self-defense.  

Nose tipped and glad to be a Negro rep, I made my way towards the Performing Arts Center of some high school whose name I don't care to remember. It was not until I reached the steps that I realized I was heading in the direction of some shit. To step into or not to step into…hmmm tough choice. I decided to step and low and behold a skinny gentleman, probably Latino - but this being America he could be an amalgamation of any of the four major races - handed me a magazine with the face of Barack Obama adorned with a Hitler moustache. Yes, Papi had that much cajones! THEY figured a "minority" handing out controversial pamphlets about a "minority" president to other "minorities" is less likely to encounter a fist in face or foot in ass response because we are both "minorities". THEY were right. Don't you just hate it when THEY are right? See the way I saw it I had a bigger battle to fight so slugging it out with the idiot would have only affected MY credibility. I took the pamphlet, smiled and went inside. 

The room was packed! I mean it was so packed people were sitting in the aisles and on the stage behind the Congressman. Once the floor was opened for questions the Old Western unruly cowboy mentality that pissed off every Clint Eastwood character from “A Fistful of Dollars” to “Unforgiven” reared its ugly head. The only differences were these guys were neither in a saloon nor inebriated. With the shoe-size attitude came shoe-size questions and reasoning. Logic was officially replaced with emotion and folks were throwing out the baby with the bath water. “Personal liberty”, a fundamental right that Americans clutch on to like bad teeth and braces was violated once every ten seconds. Anyone who asked a question that someone in the hall opposed was booed. Some folks were booed just for something to do. There were times when six people were talking at the same time one was confused as to whether they were assisting the Congressman answer the question asked or just suffering from a severe case of verbal diarrhea. I mean shit was everywhere and it stunk to high heaven.  

Then came the true weakest link, the possible missing link between man and ape. This young man asked the one question that seems to have more lives than a cat, the President’s citizenship. Immigration 101 – If you are born in the United States or BORN TO A U.S. CITIZEN who meets certain requirements, YOU ARE BORN A U.S. CITIZEN! This information is not hard to find, just go here - http://travel.state.gov/law/info/info_609.html - like I did. Next question PLEASE! And not a moment too soon.  

An angrier, older male made his way to the microphone and begun to read a speech attacking Barack Obama’s Healthcare Bill. HALT!!! If you missed it stop reading right now and delete my name from you page. Here is a video you should be very familiar with? http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mEJL2Uuv-oQ. Let me summarize, when an issue such as Healthcare reaches critical mass (i.e. enough people are pissed off), a member of Congress or the President can decide to take on that issue and make legal changes. First, a committee is formed in Capitol Hill (Legislative Branch) to tackle the issue and they generate a bill. Once in agreement it moves to the HOR. If passed, it moves to the Senate. If passed, it gets to the President’s desk (Executive Branch). If he doesn’t like it, the bill gets a veto and the process begins all over again. If he likes it, it becomes law and the responsibility of the Executive Branch to enforce the law. Once a bill becomes law it is the job of courts (Judicial Branch) to make sure it is upheld. See how that works? The President does not generate bills he can only sign them into law. If you hate the direction a bill is heading…guess who you need to fire? Exactly, your Congressman or woman.  

People, the answers are out there and easily accessible. There is no sense, literally, in getting emotionally wrapped up in the wrong information. You have to learn how the system works in order to fix the broken parts. Otherwise you might just pull out the bolt that’s holding this fucker together then what do you have? Stop choking on your own ignorance, it is an ugly way to die.

Oceanic Motions

Guys, what is the motion of the ocean?

What does it mean?

And what is it supposed to represent?

Feminine Expectations



Peres: Oh! Oh Shit! That feels so good…What was that?


Peres: @#$*!! Get the @#$*!! Off me.


Knickers are hauled across the room as the naked bloke runs out. It is very obvious that the sex did not meet the ladies expectation. Or did it exceed it?


Shut Up and Eat!

I am naked,

Lying here.

The fork is in my mouth

He is still talking

Loving the sound of his voice.

He cannot hear me and I doubt he sees me.

I have been ready for him

Prime grilled New York steak cooked and served in a platinum platter.

Why is he not eating?

The peas are getting cold,

The potatoes are hard and inedible

And still he talks.

The sizzle is fading,

The countless nostrils inhale the mouth-watering kitchen freshness.

The thrill faded with the serving.


Mom! Billy is playing with his pepe!


Masculinity Defined


Snowflake gently upon my nose

Sunshine warmly in my eyes


Fuck me!

I want to be wanted at a level that defies all human logic, to be touched with a wand of fire that keeps me forever nourished with the soup of love.  I want graphic and explicit. I want someone to fuck me and leave me forever fucked!  


Here you are, left alone and forced to sit with your own loneliness accompanied only by your thoughts. What runs through your mind? What are those endless waves of passion and fear that circulate around your aura, transforming you from angel to psychopath in under 10 seconds? Your thoughts morph into fears and silent voices begin to ring a sick and twisted truth in your mind. These voices that claim to soothe remove you from the reality around you and the endless options of happiness. 

Loneliness will rip you open and force you stare at your insides. You may not like what you see.



It is easy to fight a demon you can see, but when that demon is yourself then the image is not all that clear. The rain is coming down with the wrath of God. The day seems ripe for a tragedy. I am waiting for one to happen. It seems that all day I have been gravitating towards a surreal and tragic end. That no matter the extent of my “happiness”, ultimately, at the end of the day, I will have to shed a tear. I will fold myself up like the child I am and call out to God to help with the loneliness killing me. This after I sent out a letter that read, “Dear T**, Tears can be the harmony of sad lyrics, or the melody of happiness. You choose the rhythms of your life. Love Peres.” I have come to realize that in this world, there are no rules to follow, no formulas, just people trying to make it from the why to the how.

To Be In

I was loved once, or I was once the recipient of what I thought was undying love until it died. I will never again question the existence of death in the life of mortals because we die! Everything associated with man dies. Sure, a few fossils will remain for the aliens to probe, that is if they do not have enough information already, but most things will be consumed by death. Will anything ever remember the self- defeating; self-destructive species that once treaded the earth? Maybe, God knows the planet will be in such a state that we will be remembered as the prime example of “what you must NOT do to your home”. But, I digress. The topic was love.

To fall in love is to be slowly undressed. To stand before the glaring eyes of another and yell out loud and proud, while naked,  “I am perfect. With my scars received from the battles of life, my warts handed down the family tree, and my extra weight gained from years of experience, I am your gift. I am the one that shall stand by your side when the whole world chooses to condemn you.  I am the one who will fight your battles when you are weary. I am the one who will lie beside you when you die. I am the one who will sacrifice all that I am that you may be all that you want to be. I am the one who will stand behind you in times of glory. I am the only one you will not be indebted to. I am the one who will love you." This unwritten vow of love does not end hear, for the selfish nature of man is yet to play its part in this obvious tragedy.

In time, dreams will have been sacrificed and compromises will have been made. And just as love came out to play, so did hate. The eyes of the lovers eventually open and the truth of the nature of man is revealed. The battles begin and with them come pain. The walls that once held up the home begin to crumble as insults and judgements are traded back and forth. Eventually the weaker of the two backs out with tail tacked between the legs, head held high and the realization of self-imperfection weighing heavily on the chest. Truth dawns, this was not LOVE at all.  

To be in love is to be in the company of the one person who takes a very close look at you and vomits at the sight of all your imperfections. Once the nausea passes they begin to see the beauty in you. Nothing you do could possibly surprise because they know you, they feel you, but they are not you. They will be the first to let you know when you are wrong. They will pick your ass up and throw you back in the fight when you are weary. They will keep your memories alive when you die. They will be all that they can be and support you in being all that you can be. They will stand beside you as your partner in times of glory and defeat. Your debts will cancel out because you value one another. In this honest union, the selfish nature of man is allowed to play its role, to allow for the humanness of the the lovers. What about the hate? That was expelled with the vomit.



That Gnawing Feeling

My heart is empty. There once was a place inside me where gentleness and love resided and an internal peace held me a float. Somewhere along my path, it died and I can no longer get it back. It is a miserable life when you know that you do not love and are unable to. The power to relate to your brethren is lost and you do not feel an ounce of remorse. When you care for, sympathize with but do not love, the seed of basic human existence has ceased to develop. The flower that is life is slowly but surely withering away. The mere thought of spending time amongst the company of friends, enemies or anything with the vague semblance of a pulse is utterly revolting. I know now what I have become, a self-prophesying and self-glorifying recluse. The seed of love cannot grow within me anymore. I am scattered like pollen in the wind, having no place to nestle. I knew the feeling of love once. I held it in my hand. Funny thing is I know when and where I last saw it.


I Met A Man

Yesterday I met a man  who reeked of smoke and told me that the smog was death. 

This man looked up and testified to all the world that wealth was sin. 

I met a man who so high on alcohol he reeked of gin and hung by a thread. 

This man I met had worn out shoes and a smile that spoke of life and loss. 

I met a man who held out his hand and asked me to walk a mile in his shoes. 

This man I met was loud and shameless and forced me to stand before myself. 

 I met a man who dreamed of life but lived in death. 

This man I met, my brother, my father, my lover, my friend. 

Yesterday, I met myself.


Childless Whisper

 I sometimes wonder whether it is my destiny to feed your child. I search within myself and ask whether he is for you to bring forth to test my ability to be human, my ability to prove that I am part of the world. Could it be that the journey of every man is to prove that he or she is worthy to be called the child of the higher spirit? Maybe in this world, where we are all in search of the meaning of life, the answers sit upon the breasts we beat in frustration.

His gift

He touched me with his eyes, but loved me with his fist. This love that was so strong  I felt run through out my body. 

He felt me with his heart and spoke to me in anger. This heart that moved the mountains that shielded my eyes from the true pain. 

He gave me all his soul and killed me in my sleep. This soul I looked into and saw the murder I can’t justify. 

He gave me so much, when all I asked was that he just  hold me.

Something Better

I will slide back into the abyss of silence for when all is said and done, it is the only refuge I crave. Much can be learned from the deep feelings triggered by the plight of one's follow man. But much can also be lost when one sees oneself as the only solution. There is a yearning within every man, I believe, to find the answer to that which has thrown the human race into a state of complete and unnaturally natural alienation. What has pulled us away from the world and away from each other? As I eagerly await an answer I lay still in the darkness of human ignorance, unaware or conniving the fact that my brother will fight me when he has had enough. There has to be something better than this.

Anyway, the darkness will envelop me and I will gladly welcome it. Yet again I will indulge in a whim that will send me to bed in a fit of rage and self hate. Why? Because I am Catholic dammit and thereby raised to hate the very passions that make me a creation of the Divine.  I dare not travel down that passionate road lest it leads to "wisdom" that can only be, in the Catholic religion, associated with the work of the devil. Allow me to digress for a minute, who says the devil rests at the bottom of the world? Do they have proof? 

Do I really care to know the answer to this question? 

Better yet, do you?


The Eyes


I have looked into the eyes of an old man who crossed the borders of life to live a new lie. 
A man who has learned to toil with the tears of this new dream of pain and blood. 

I have looked at hands that are worn out with age, that have wiped tears that have hit the earth, that is their cursed mother. 

I have watched and listened to the moans of a woman giving birth at the way side to a child who will never live to see the new age. 

I have seen the soul of depression, the fear of regression and the myth that if one works hard enough, the Divine will bestow gifts at his door. 

I have seen the look that is in the eyes, which are the keys to the souls of many who know the treasure that is food. 

I have seen the truth of the brothers and sisters who have learned to live a life that is compounded with nothingness and emptiness. 

These are the lives that we all fear 
These are the eyes we turn away from, 
the truth we run away from is that in those eyes we see ourself.


It is an ill wind that rest upon my shoulders on this day Much of what I feel I can not describe and even though this bothers me, I do not wish to find a way to make it all coherent. I have been lost in the world of the pen where all contact with the real world is severed like the baby cut from its mother’s womb. I have felt tenderness in the absence of friends yet a mystic presence cradles me in its embrace, gently whispering that I am not alone. It tells me that I must relish in this pearl of silence and let nothing break the gift of loneness. 

 Do you hear that sound or is it merely the echo of my paranoia? I hear a sound so loud and unclear and I want, for a moment, to let myself dwell in its intensity. But I know that I must not, for a voice warned me that I was not to let anyone in. So I pound my head against the harshness of the cold wall and hope to God that tears my dark flesh and makes my soul bleed. This is a pleasure that can only be enjoyed by the few who know what it is like to find comfort in pain.

I sigh with the realization that this is a world with very little compassion. A world based on a fear so intense it has blinded us from the truth, that we are ONE. We are ALL wanting. Yet we look at the successful and scorn the weak, we love the children but hate the adults. Were we not ALL weak once? Were we not ALL children once? Did we not ALL play in the dirt and scrape our knees? When, where and how did we loose our youthful innocence? 

I sigh once more with the fear that if I do not show some semblance of compassion for the bum at the corner, St. Paul will slam heavens gates at my face. And in that thought, I find the answer to a question I never asked. Religion, that is my culprit. The wandering stain that teaches us to fear who we are by putting our given power outside of ourselves. This fear that follows us everyday of our lives, regulating us like prisoners in an Island that we cannot leave, the Island of the self. Religion, Karl Marx says, is the opiate of the masses. I believe that not once in his wildest dreams did Mr. Marx think that his words of liberty would result in the world’s longest dramatic pause.

Friday, November 20, 2009

Democracy Dies

Apathy and complacency are enmity to democracy. A system based on the people, for the people, by the people inevitably meets it’s demise when the people remain silent. Silent in fear, be it real or imagined. 

In today's world there is silence between the lines of the newspapers, silence amidst the political pauses and silence in the channel surfing. There is always silence when nothing is questioned.