Archive for ‘dream’

March 28, 2017

how to be a thoughtful globalist in the wake of fake intellectuals

this would make me empassioned, or
impassioned.  i am passionate about this something…
that’s how i get
when neo-globalists
who’ve never left the states
try to fix
other people’s problems
with
their English language exclusively.
the irony of westernization; fixed only by itself. YOU SEE?
and that is what they call backwards and selfish.
tho, there will be no stories of this on the news.
because just get out there and disrupt because.
and they should
call those who
think locally “nationalists” too.
a bunch of loud fools.
you know, somethings don’t translate.
you know, people might have different opinions.
this is how language works.
so when they/you designate
their/your ideas, ideations, and ideologies
as such, i just smh in realtime.
so silly, so stupid, so same.
that is why i am a where-ever-i-am-at-ist,
because i am right there,
i can attempt to understand
what i see and experience around me,
for me, for truth, for better.
maybe even for you…
but honestly, not for you (i don’t care)
or the tv (forget tv), i won’t facebook livestream it
or create a clever sign that
gets thrown away next day in some ironic carbon footprint
(that you too should actually hate)
after the post and the filter and the likes–fretter fakes.
and that is what i am passionate about,
or empassioned about, or impassioned about,
all that is around me
because i can touch it tangible,
as they said, i can feel the real,
i can set the clock next to the bed.
and there is something about language and labels.

March 24, 2017

my painting (even with tired eyes)

i woke up this morning
thought about
painting a painting,
put the colors in it,
gave it detail,
and so it was.
minor moves in maelstrom.
then i called it my own
and asked for a museum,
a place for it to
be put up in,
a place for it to call home.
eye of the storm, so settle in.
and then i woke up again.
and then i found my painting.
and then i found my museum.
to the leeward we form.
looking at the mirror
even with tired eyes.
thank you for this day.

November 17, 2016

there are no part-timers in a capitalistic world.

true activism is
very important,
especially to
the career activist,
because
even if there
isn’t a problem yet
there is still
rent to pay.

and perhaps always
some imagination
to make.

November 6, 2016

making it ok

perhaps, in a country where we have made it
commonplace acceptable
to meticulously disrupt and replace
those in far-off scapes

at the push of cold button–now, also
we find it ok to explain which might
or could happen so dire to us
while something right in front

of our very eyes happens.  Imagine that,
we the people see the foreshadowed future
as more imposing, more real than our present
which stalks about us, which tells us

to be concerned for. think of that day
that hasn’t happened yet, and be worried.

October 23, 2016

delineate the fall, scene 1

mornings like these
leaves come crashing
through the limbs
of stiffening trees

where fat squirrels
bound like jack rabbits
in search of
something to call winter shelter

inside the silhouette paint
of an autumnal tie-dye day
thermometers point,
inside, they spin at change

what sound of cut silence
delineated by robins call
a bus, the 67 going by,
Pileated Woodpecker
and a “V” flown southeast

our house cat mows grass at
my pale naked feet,
on some cool broken sidewalk
merely rented–what to own?

entryway of flowery vine
as stairs coming alive
at this venture of fallen
dead photosynthesis–dry leaf dying

i imagine if it
thought to spark a moment
in the morning mind
of some drifter standing

i imagine it like
it was some actor being told
to “ACTION!” by
some muted invisible god
in the distance biding its time

(fall to the set)

July 26, 2016

dreams grow underground

one time, i had a dream
about thought, and then
i forgot. it was about
how everyone made up
excuses to why they were
wronged, and how i got
stuck in a tunnel under
the city; it was full of
graffiti, and smelled of
fish, and i floated on a
boat out into whatever
way the river carried me
while others watched their
screens so closely to
not miss me in the boat
just floating on by in
whatever wronged manner
i had been exposed to:
something about what i
looked like and attitude.
something about dad & god.
then i woke to beepings.
then i woke up to glare.

March 10, 2016

gratitude (only joking)

i would like to give thanks
to the group of artists &
poets for finding myself,
excluding me in what
would be a city musing
hell, the fording grounds
where we share likeness,
but really we don’t, really.
i found better in labored
shit, humored in the mix,
constantly waking to do
something that I didn’t
truly enjoy, living the fear
of hard judgement betwixt
going-ons and so-so works.
yeah, i found it all where
you weren’t, it was good
to not see you there, it
was good to see some actual.

February 13, 2016

Selective Modern Movements

Rather
than
relate
we
separate.

Rather
Than
inspire
we
hate.

Walking
down
a
street
in Northeast

a
man
said,
“…It’s
Too
Cold
to stand!”

He
uttered
this
and
ran
in front of me.

I
wondered
what
about
belief.

I
wondered
how
cold
it
had
to
be

to
run
from
a
belief

I
stand
so
closely
with.

Then
I
wondered
about
silly
fantastical
movements

right
and wrong
and
objective
truths.

No shit.

January 30, 2016

when someone dies, you know

vivid
energetic
life,

to a
faded
bag
of effervescent
flesh,

inanimate
void,

a torn
latex glove,

a sack
seeped through.

bone
meal.

iron.

film.

i am here
right now.

i am
fading.

December 27, 2015

Motion

I find myself
in motion–

in driving;
as a vehicle,
a vessel.

not waiting.
Just go.