some shots of me

~and poetry

because you see

I can be here in this moment

and forget the past

let all the ugly breathe it’s last

Take a long, long time to admire –

the future us, will sigh at the plumpness in our skin

-I take a thousand moments to look for the fleeting is fast

so quickly we are frail and thin

ever is the wage of sin

where once we had forever

all we have is ticking time

only ever in the now can you can be mine

but now we always are apart

unbreak my heart, re-start

go back

to where you were when they made you snap–

please, because, yes

-that is how the moments pass

photographs and tears and laughs

and memories we barely grasp

but trust -our flesh and our blood

was called forth from the word

and our hearts were the wells used for the ink

our bones– these images on repeat

what we get, we can’t see

all above

and more beneath

poetry is not enough

but never was it meant to be

neither is -only these- images of me

(I fall to the ground like a wingless)

You are my Samurai

I need your protection, need your protection…*

Blend this moment with the deathbed.

Reckon up the children of men.

Transform your injurers into your benefactors.

Walk the great streets that reek melancholy.

Surrender is no more and heaven tides alongside minds who deserve to die fuck you
Surrender is fuck you
in the rain at the grave cold rain and lightening back dropping kick stopping Fuck you surrender is fuck you

The polarity shifts to An implied understanding.

Negotiation successful.

What your broken plaything is -As to my birth, I am.

She has no name.

I have no name.

A woman is more dangerous than a loaded pistol

A doomsday angel

Snuffing a cigarette
Before the curtain is called

Predators wearing spittle grins
A gaping hole left by them

You thought your love would save her

Change her,

chain her to your bed

but it breaked her Instead

Pretty Wise

Surrender is

ice cold crow ca-caw caw

fire in the chakra

Evening tide

Sunsets wide

Surrender is my alibi

Into your hands deliver eyes

of Ra

How Can an Angel Break My Heart?

Scorched and tumbling earth

You are the muse’s favorite

You are an angel

and I am blind

We are irreconcilable

though compasses align

Hot syrup from the spoon is anodyne

*Italics by Die Antwoord

Sophia's Bubbles, Detail, Mark Ryden

Definitely ancient tongue

God’s plan is never done,

day is won but night is come – canines, vulpines, lupines

lurking in the shadows up the hill

Baying at whose hearts are beating still against their ribs

when blood runs chill, sensing unseen force is sleeping,

Like a dragon in a cave, hoarding gold, our future keeping

secrets leveled at the dooms day broadcast on repeat

“warning, warning” trick or treat Monsters wear a mask

To lead the sheep, to bedroom suites,

a side of meat

She’s incomplete and he is offering complete

discretion His profession is aggression and oppression

Thinks she is in love but is mistaken,

The weakness in her knees is caused by spiritual starvation

like cataclysmic tragedies happening interdimensionally,

and global catastrophe: shifting tectonic plates

tsunamis, forests burning, poison lakes

Her psyche crying out for Psyche’s sake

So Zephyrus and Jupiter can come and take

Away the pain

and make the ties that bind and never break away

freedom swaddled in restraint -

so We have free will

but are bound by fate

Sophia's Bubbles by Mark Ryden

Got a mouth full of

Second hand smoke, child

Broken to mild

Figure out today while

You smile and I

Free fall fly with hand grenades

Packed inside a secret suitcase

In case

I need to move quick

Shrapnel bits

Picked over by the crow

Woe

To reap what I sow

So destiny is so slow

Wanna know what I know

Oh no

You stay here, grow

I’ll go

I got this

Born with

witches mark

Stark hills burn

Tides turn

Lessons learned

Go back to where

Everything is gone

Verses of the song

Lost in refrain

Edges of my brain

Caught in the lightening caught in the rain

Bring me your blood

Bring me your love

Bring me a cigarette

Bring me a dove

Tie the blind tight

In the light I see God

A firing squad

That’s the way I see  *any* high culture / dominant culture and the sub-culture reaction to it *can* sometimes be avoidance…And definitely we see a very successful avoidance by American sub-cultures of American dominant culture by maintaining different language groups.

So culture is really interesting in terms of language. Why? Because, as Tan puts it, “all the forms of standard English that I had learned in school and through books, [were] the forms of English I did not use at home with my mother. (3) It is when Tan’s mother is in the room listening to her polished mean-girl vernacular that Tan’s loyalty switches to the American sub-culture group, which for Tan *is* her dominant power-structure culture. So we can see that high culture has a large investment in making people feel crappy about their (sub-) culture, because to that group, quite often that is where their loyalty lies, inherently, deep in their breast, unexplainably. For example, I literally know no N(on)N(ative)S(peaker) who doesn’t go into their native tongue when feeling passionate about something.

I’m personally quite disillusioned with language and think it’s a virus from space (a’la William Burroughs) but it certainly is a good trick for the ego to get hung up on, this idea that language is something that informs who we are, well, it certainly defines for our ego who the ego would like to think it is, and I think high-culture / dominant power structure culture is quite busy manufacturing little toys like language groups for ego to get hung up on because it ensures that so long as there are these *obvious* differences among us that we will be quite too busy to notice the *obvious* samenesses.

So race and ethnicity fit into the dominant power structure culture’s nefarious plans to keep us divided and separated as well. The high culture, the dominant power structure culture is all about defining life and humanity at this really surface, flimsy, arbitrary, level based on the concepts of “ISMS” and most detrimentally “nationalism” because EGO loves to be loved. It rejoices to be part of a group and our high culture gets that, so whether a person accepts the American culture as their own, or whether they identify against American culture or somewhere in the middle, like many of us, we are allowing our ego to compartmentalize ourselves and other HUMAN BEINGS ~ and linguists, btw, the smartest people among us, say, that that is just so, so silly.

America was not founded on religious freedom. We all know that by now. It was for the Puritans to have their own freedom, but they didn’t cotton to none other than their own. Our government officials bow and fawn to the British throne, always have, always will.

Americans, and by that I mean people who physically occupy the 50 states, are two inches away at any given time to having the boot in their face for the rest of their days. Then it doesn’t really matter what culture anyone’s ego subscribes to.

So culture in general is just like a little script I suppose for us to read off of…and since we all have one we have to pay attention and know when it’s our time to read I guess. And in that regard it is unavoidable that every individual American’s relationship with ego-based American high- culture, dominant power structure culture is going to be dependent upon the different experience one’s ego has with a set of sub-cultures.

Primarily speaking the dominant power structures in America would seem to have set most of the high culture; however, we have seen throughout history that sub-culture can rise to status of pop culture and usurp Manhattan as the center of American culture, for a little while at least. For instance, the Harlem renaissance, the Beat Poets, hippie culture, etc., are all examples of fringe, sub-culture elbowing it’s way in to the mainstream and taking center stage for long enough for the world to take notice.

Furthermore, American culture is not relegated as we all know to just being in America. A recent complaint I read on a Middle Eastern blogger’s Web site pontificated on the detrimental effects that “Desperate Housewives” playing on Middle Eastern television sets is having on the Islamic culture, particularly the youth. And when we hear those words, “Islamic culture” as Americans we automatically think of them as being part of a sub-culture, but indeed to much of the world, Islam is high culture / dominant power structure culture and interestingly enough, for many people, there is little in the way of our imagination to understanding what that Islamic culture could possibly even be. We might be able to try and define Islamic culture by thinking what it is not, American culture, Chinese culture, Vietnamese culture, etc..  That is the point of this ego-based system. We cannot define what is a culture, we are much more able to define what it is not, and even then it becomes murky.

Mr. Constant makes it                                                                                                                                                         Clear                                                                                                                                                                                    Not to care ‘bout                                                                                                                                                      What is there                                                                                                                                                               T.S. Eliot had no doubt That choice was illusion                                                                                                     Turned inside out                                                                                                                     Angel Island Poetry                                                                                                      Reminding me

people suck                                                                                                 &no one’s free                                                                                                                     Troia brings me to my knees                                                                                              I’m writing my thesis on Tariq Ali                                                                                                     lately it occurs to me                                                                                             I’ll never be Carolyn Cassady                                                                                           me and Ms Cowen Have too much in common: not just Allen

original paintings Acrylic on 8X10 printer paper w ransom note style courier new font; Video filming, production, directing, reading, editing by LaLa. Sentence by Wallace Stevens.