Posts tagged ‘violence’

September 9, 2017

logically you are not even if you say you are on account of your actions and that language’s histories

i wonder if when I,
poets, activists, or protesters
disparage Western concepts, culture, constructs,
in their precious american English
they realize that they are
wading in the deep waters of
conflicted ideology.
(i am not defending or attacking it, just a thought.)
i wonder if they realize how careless they potentially look.
(tho it could be misread or misinterpreted, easily.)
the language of the Oppressor
suites well for an offensive, good thought… Lorde’s

master’s house with master’s tools (as explained):
same with antifa violence–end’s means,
or narrow-mindedness politics, not for me.
some things are only those things in name.
i want actual world peace.
i literally want equality.
i have begged for equal parental leave rights for fathers.
(and sometimes i just want coffee or beer.)
i can’t care though in a world of apathy towards definitions;
maybe you can see what i look like through texts.
there must be a proper algorithm for that.
i write in it,
i teach in it,
i think inside my head in it,
how do you do in it?
language is that prevalent, do you think in second languages?
probably told something
about how i am in it by someone i don’t “know” in it.
but i must re-reflect in it, hypocritically.
do i wear cotton clothing?
most likely my parents did, and their grandparents did…
that crop we should truly burn for its despicable history.
who is this building i live in named after?

Occam’s razor a bit more and start removing those bricks too.
every pattern is another pattern resembled: what did it mean, again, then?
that lovely beach you go to, named for?
he must have friendly-fired at some point, making it somewhat ok.
did the Viking‘s not sack Dublin perhaps
raping and killing and plundering that Emerald Isle?
something about my favorite football team that doesn’t win…
the homeless may sleep for free in that structure’s shadow, cold tho.
i can’t recall because i wasn’t there
but these poets, activists, and protesters,
perhaps, they are backwards really–me too,
with language rooted in vile pasts they (and i) despise,
so fluid its will can change fast daily
just to make some poignant moral point work out for a new sign;
like media statisticians, i can make numbers speak too.
get them to sing like a well-oiled machine at church.
a few words in print, alas, but my Narrative… shit.
i can speak another language.
i have visited new and different lands.
i will never stop reading or changing my mind on anything and everything.
perhaps, if you are a globalist who has
never left the States and who only speaks
one language, mother tongue, how good are your big ideas?
practicing and preaching are two different things.
no big deal though, just saying, reflecting.
so how would you like to say what you think now?

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July 7, 2016

a traffic stop in St. Anthony

humans in their ways find shelter,
to hide from that such news
which they do not understand, in ways
to keep to keeping, to keep on
and go, and most–and i, will never “get it”
the agency of those in such high towers aloft
and their fears they decide on,
to encase and to deal fateful cards
to those so swiftly and so finally so nearly
in such a manner, so wrongly,
in circumstances we could all now weep,
for the images we see we are all now there.

March 31, 2016

JC MPLS

i do wonder, dead
or alive, with or
against, subjective
or fact, right or
wrong, can’t we
all just get along?

probably there exists
no change, where there
exists no neutral…
probably you already
know about this smart
dilemma in your beliefs.

May 6, 2015

I used to live here, Whittier South

And those injured and suffering went along
Carrying bandaged faith and sore teeth,
smelling of sour mashed sweat,
rubbing tender eyes,

as empty cans and bottles littered
the Whittier South yard where they sauntered.

Harmless props save for the thought.
It was a weekend to remember forgotten.

Sunlight carried split-skull interactions,
churned ladles in their tender stomachs.

If only these plastic chairs could talk they would be perfect witnesses,
chucked into red-ash fire
at the utterance of a word.

Feet kicked aluminum to metal sound,
and “see over there—there’s the compost.”

Now, can I have a beer?
Can I have a piss?

November 25, 2014

Little Bird (On such a Violent Day)

Side-walk bare-
A thin bird lands,

Picking through crumbs,
With its beak,
While a moment later
It takes to fast air.

No sex, no gender, no opinion, no chaos… no care to compare.

This feathered,
Dark-speckled fuzz-ball;
Natural, not from test-tube,
Sweet sounding creature just is, -true.

Picking up
Hopping round;
Scrounging for what
Lie on the ground.

-Concerned only with its food.

July 31, 2014

Taxing Life

Life Taxing:
we sit behind walls to pay for sitting behind walls.

Wheels spin, no gas on deck,
armies fight wars waged for black gold;
these things are related.

Glass punctures and creates an escape,
you sit roadside with a flat-tire and deflated ego.

An IED blows off a soldier’s leg,
an obese man eats a sandwich and drinks a diet coke,
a beautiful young model hates her reflection; finding flaws;
a CEO makes money.

And no one knew the half.

Birds fly,
rivers flow,
a book weighs down a hand,
words play heavy on the head.

Cottonwood seeds float on thick air,
tombstones bask in the sun.
So far away no voice could reach;
even so not of native tongues.

Days we have lost and the one that just began,
my toast is burnt,
furniture sits un-rearranged.
Affects leave me unchanged;
for certain of, same, -oh distaste.

Life goes on
a cat meows
a clock ticks
the heat moves in and settles down
Fall is here.

Only this time it’s without you.
I wish I could tell you about that.

January 6, 2014

Spare the Rod

My father used to say, “Spare the rod and spoil the child.”

 

I think it was some church thing.

 

He used to say that,

But he doesn’t say that anymore…

 

Now I am bigger than him,

And people talk a lot.

October 22, 2012

Thoughtful Drones

I love you more than I trust Western Medicine:

Lay in the waste.

Take note of the wreckage…

Relate to what you’ve witnessed with minimal discretion.

 

I hate the job that makes one question fate:

Advised to resign or die, or ride on the side just to get by.

We all get along, and then we are all gone.

 

I like the way things sound when the meaning is found:

Back, bi-language, tri-language, trite paralinguistic remarks; physically aimless, tainted, fit and smart.

Ageless claiming to be famous, rolling their eyes.

 

Tell them to fuck off.

 

I dislike the feeling of ummmm, ahhhh, things change…

Better known as my better half-there’s like 50, and 50 more wishing, so I will speak on their behalf.

Get a raft and 2 paddles, only joking…

 

Hit the gravel, I’ve been stolen

And broke,

and sold to someone across the ocean.

 

Care to follow?

 

I am indifferent to the rubble that builds up in the back.

Trash-talk bins full, you can see them through the window.

Its the truth, its fact.

 

I would stop and look to find the bottom of the bottle, but there is too much shit to get into,

-so I just swallow, rules of the model.

 

I am different to the same.

We are all the same in the fact that we are different.

 

The light seems to be dim though;

The ideas seem to be diminished.

And then its finished.

 

There are no definitive features on the face of society, only a blur of melting pot steam.  

Seems we have all lost a lot, seems we are all bursting at the seams.  

 

I see it.

Agree?

 

 

September 6, 2012

Everyday New

A new life; new walls, new people, all involved.

 

Walk small, walk tall, and most of all don’t fall.

 

All inside, now clean it out.

All about, now go without.

What have we left?

 

Just one phone call-

 

We had a small portion of a six pack left and a moderate buzz, which was more like a hangover.

 

Whatever it is we will throw it away.

 

Like a new day.

Like a new tomorrow.

On a new track.

Hold back.

 

Burn the rest.

Burn it to the filter.

Burnt out.

The rest is filler.

 

The fire smoldered until vanquished by lack of accelerant.  The light was heaven sent, yet I was spent in a moonlit residence.

 

A different location, more pretty girls.

Locomotive at the station.

A different world, we notice

We notice more.

 

Choo-Choo.

 

A new life just ten blocks up and down.

Homeward bound, lost and found-to hear the sound of a familiar voice.

 

She cried when she left, I left with that…

I cried before and held my breath.

 

I tried but couldn’t die.

 

Friends lost in sorrow, we borrow…

We mourn, we are bored.

We take all in suspicious tolerance and then ignore.

 

That day was so bright, we almost couldn’t let go, but you had to.

You had to.

The grass is greener.

You had to.

 

And then you did.

 

There is nothing new under the sun; there is no originality, only authenticity, especially in this city.

Sadness and smiles have been around all the while.

This is not special.

 

Yet, we hardly notice things we hardly notice.

 

The sunshine was brighter in the loss, Bosnian (the language) seemed fathomable and old-fashioned-she said, “Fuck off Mother.”  I said, “I am not your brother, I am just here for the money.”  She said, “Lovely, now get back to work, Honey.”  I think we had it mixed up a bit, but I kept working. I looked at her crossly as I picked up the broom.

 

And then…

 

I took off.

Like a rocket.

Punch.

On to the next big everyday situation.

 

July 30, 2012

Read this in September 2007

A door shuts.

She walks up.

Look, stare.

No big deal.

The temperature is nice, but it holds no entendre.  

Shuffling towards one another, precarious bags in hand.

The last time.

The only time.

The most important thing to remember.

This time.

Scanning the horizon for a comet; hoping, praying that this moment you share is eternity.  

What was it like again?

Like:

The calls.

The empty promises.

5 years of love.

We maligned each other, both, but what of it now?

It is really unimportant, because we are a single subject.

Experiences are better when they are experienced with a loved one, but I doubt it counts when leaving relations.  

Hint:

Hint of depravity; a social entity with no other facet.

Black and white; straight-line logic.

Weed out the grey-

This is the only way.

What happens today, happens.

Haven’t checked the planner in weeks, time keeps moving on and no one notices.  

What we feel:

It stays.

We don’t.

You envision what might happen, but after that moment there is nothing.

Left with just that.

-Just that and a thought-

Rigidly stuck to a plan, over and out.

We talk, yeah…

10-4, over and out.

We used to touch, take in, and cop feels.

Now that is in a field, buried under years of dust, dirt, and debris.

All stuff.

What was.

All that lot of what doesn’t really change or affect, the change in effect.

Effective, but… f u c k it.

All that confidence for nothing, this can’t be trained.  

An Eternal embrace, and then its over.

A car rolls out, and away in the distance.

You are in a car of your own but its crashing.  That car is your mental status.

You stand, taking in the sound, sight, and smell of things.

Hold your breath in deep, sigh, its a nice night anyway.

The sun may look beautiful, the sky may be a brilliant blue.  Evening.  Clouds, many colors of the spectrum float above an all important sinking orb.

It has no meaning to you.

It has no meaning to you.

You think of one thing.

We may not be this close again.

Distant, like traveling abroad, but there is a line.

Still, the line is drawn.

Stated.

Overstated.

Underestimated.

Lost it.

Nothing could make it better.

You can’t fix the best.

-Winning the lottery, even success-

Nothing is better.

The loss is deeper than either.

You were a king, looking over your land-missing all the wonderful assets that rested just below your perch.

Laughing, you drank and disparaged your own, only to be lost and alone without them.

Criticizing the smallest flaw, but praying for its return after being bettered for aesthetics.

The insignificance of normalcy; detailed happenings that will play out, over and over again in your head.

As a pall-bearer walking toward stones, as the last conversation unfolds.  There will be a taste in your mouth. That is when you will know something is happening.

You understand.

In the pit of your stomach.

Now you understand.

On the verge of vomit.

The traces of trash, and ash, of self you left strewn about the room.

They loom.

Just things you don’t forget.

Tears stop, and after, your grace is replaced by a void.

Shadows that were, will hang at dusk and exist at sunrise as you were.

Sitting there, reminding you, waiting.

Lights-out will be a solemn and silent affair when it is realized that you are not there.

The walks we took, it is just me.

The places we would frequent, it is just me.

The movies, the books, and the lakes we sat, now, truly, it is just me.

So far from home, but you are at yours.

Eyes-look at the eyes.

Hard to focus on the details again.

Blackened sockets.

Squinting-shaking, failed attempt at holding it together.

Deep breaths again, wishing for pure-raw yet tamed emotion.

Animal instincts, but animals don’t  shed tears.

Green eyes, lit brilliantly with curiosity and surprise outlined with a fine dark pencil.

Clear and honest inside.

Waitress-“You are who you are.”

Me-“I know.”

She witnessed.

Something you don’t see regularly.

And it is goodbye.

Like I will be right back.

Scary movie.

Like see you later.

Abduction in the early 90’s.

Lay together in the sack.

Special features.

Quick retriever.

What we had, be happy for.

At times forget.

Everyone tells you things are better off.

But you can’t forget.

Everyone doesn’t deal with this daily.

Time flies when you are having fun, but the clock doesn’t run when what we had is done.

Solitude, solid chair, Big Ter, fixated, and agitated.

Excited, every minute.

Inching closer.

Closer to the inevitable.

I hope we don’t die, never to meet again.

My friend.

My friend.

I have done nothing like this before.

They call, they say they miss what we had.

Its different, as much as we don’t want to realize.

The change is noticed and what is noted most is melancholy.

The phone keeps ringing.

Fit for folly.

Smile, ride out on the punch line.

Nothing to smile about, apparently, close to a breakdown.

A smile is a frown if it is practiced.

Watching movies on the couch, playing solitaire in thought.

We used to lie together, love, fight, discuss, and borrow each other to never give back.

But you do take that with you when you leave.

But what you got might make you sore.

Even remembering as you walk through the grocery store, like she was right here, recently.

Chores to keep eating.

No longer yours.

No escape.

Might make it hard to swallow.

Might make the memories flood in.

New friends, new times, new experiences, but what about us?

The end is like the beginning; like before we didn’t meet, like after we don’t meet again.

What is to miss if it didn’t exist?

And I miss this moment, and the next, and the next, and the next….

And you…

And I remember the color of the car driving out and away with you in it.  I could smell fall coming as the wind blew against my   face.  I knew I was in for a cold winter.  I thought…