Tag Archives: relationships

Cooking up the truth!

I hear eloquent excuses whispered in dimly lit corners. Shadows flicker and colors fade to velvet and glass creating mirror images of ancient travelers.

I ignore vernacular reasons sang with a distracting rhythm. Concrete and steel reverberate staccato sounds so fast there’s no time to object, just shake your head and move out into the open air where fresh perspectives leave your head shaking.

I listen to factors that make a man stand tall holding his faults accountable. Clear skies and consciences drift transparent in fields of green. Remorse and regret peel back the truth of what tomorrow will bring. Like the morning dew doesn’t change the flowers I see, patience reveals the withering glory.

If we are what we eat, the we become what we hear. Listening carefully is akin to the tongues wisdom. For a word lasts longer than a meal, and the nourishment absorbed depends on the quality of the listener, as well as the chef.

Shattered

Shattered dreams of hope lay slumped in gray. No longer can a dream lift spirits under the weight of the myst. So from here I will rise and walk broken towards a light to fuse my fears into anger. Then, and only then can I smile again feeling the pain of others clothed in my humanity for all to fear.

For I survived the fall and rose to my knees scarred and numb. I slithered across the dank carpet of decay seeking a shard of light, but all I found were memories and broken pieces of yesterday void of reflection.

From my knees I can feel the power of the earth chanting to my feet. Rise, rise to the occasion, face the oppression and walk proud. Walk proud of the scars that legends are made of, because one day they’ll be stories and songs sang by beautiful voices about how I groaned to the heavens for one chance at revenge.

I embody the human spirit for you. I kneel before my own greatness so your back can strengthen in my darkness. We don’t need light to shine. The moon is not as vain as the sun, but guides lost souls to the dawn of a new day.

Voices

Entangled in an audible nightmare
Where my mind can’t see
Why my brain just stares.

Take my life, my limbs even
But leave my mind to me
And the sanity I’ve Been given.

Firm ground slithers
From under my thoughts
As the air withers.

And suddenly the noise is white
While trees smile and faces grow
Into a darkness void of night.

Island

Now, more than ever, you must be an island. The wind and waves are foul. The warmth is a false blanket for shivering in the rain. Storms come and go, and even though the sun will shine again, it will be on debris.

I listen to the thunder and the crashing of waves intently. All I hear is noise. You can’t learn from wind and water fighting to be heard, all you ever get is wet and cold.

This is separate from chaos or anarchy. They have a purpose, a goal to attain. This storm lacks the elements to become nothing more than a nuisance. Nothing can become of noise without a coherent voice.

It’s not enough to stay indoors and create a drama from what unfolds behind sliding glass doors and vomit into the glow of a glass brain. You have to free your mind from that fish bowl.

Step away, find an anchor on high ground where the noise is distant. Find that place where you can see the storm for what it is. Stay above the fray and when you feel the spray of the crashing foam, move higher. Stay on firm ground.

As time passes and the storm subsides you can watch the different elements and how they recede or sweep away the debris. Once you know how the storm develops, devastates, and departs you’ll know better how to fortify your island.

From this point forward you won’t be fooled by soft breezes or passing clouds. You’ll see right through the surf into the churning froth underneath. And when the storm comes you’ll be prepared for the truth. It’s just weather. Blue skies and sunshine are alway glimmering above the tantrums of nature.

I am an island. I am is more than a statement. I am is a manifesto that I created the land I stand on and although forces beyond me may revolve around this earth, this place is mine and nothing can shake my resolve that truth is like the sun, ever present and undying even when it’s clouded by the nature of others.

Homeboy

To all my brothers and sisters out there; just know that poverty is an idea they made up to keep us in our place because we see things differently. Not better or worse, cause we don’t give a fuck what you do or have. We only care for ours.

We have to get past the idea that govt, religion, or schools are gonna bring us together; we are together everyday of our lives and most days are good, without those institutions. They’re the ones that divided the world up to suit their needs anyway.

Looking at poverty on a horizontal scale, rather than vertical gives me perspective. I’m not at the bottom of any hierarchy. I’m not to the left of any curve. I’m here, with my folks livin, lovin, and strugglin as was meant to be. Your place is of no concern to me, I’m an American to the point I’m free and peaceful till someone or something challenges that, all that other shit is just fodder to keep lesser men feeling good about their insecurities.

Government owns society. Is culture an escape from society? Ask yourself that question. They try to promote that multicultural shit so they could get ahead of us being left alone. They hand out a few dollars and state cheese trying to make you feel like you’re in debt, bitch your economy would fall if you weren’t handing out something.

The bureaucracy surrounding public assistance reaches out deep into every sector of our economy. You got these haters out there talking about drug testing or community service. Go ahead and take your vouchers and milk then see how far your class warfare will get you. You’ll see millions more in them freebee lines, cause most of them folks handing that shit out lost that connection between their hands and their heads long ago, if they ever had it.

It’s our poverty that reveals your greed. You dig up our huts to reveal past truths about a culture you ain’t part of to demonstrate your status as wealthy. There ain’t no connection bitch. You don’t know what cold feels like when there’s no heat to be found or hunger when the next meal has to be found.

Poverty is a concept you made up to make the common man believe he was somewhat less, but you marvel at our ingenuity in museums and history books. You dig deep into archives with dollars and delusional dignity trying to find a connection to a struggle you were never part of.

Well I’m back where I belong from that middle class myth of the “American Dream”; I’m awake now to the lies and deceit. Down here folks don’t live off another mans work and no man lives off theirs. If someone lends you a hand you shake it and smile and that’s all you accept when it’s your turn.

This is “The American” they’ll be digging up in 1000 years. This is the man those weak ass wannabes will be going through family lineage to find an attachment to for posterity Just so they can say “I came from the working class.”, bitch you came from ignorance and wouldn’t have lasted a day with my folks.

Everyone wants better for their children or the next generation. What is better? Is it finding enough comfort to judge others? Is it gathering more things to keep boredom at bay? Is it having enough money to buy your way through some perceived tough time? For me it’s demonstrating that dignity isn’t tied to the economy and respect doesn’t wear clothes or drive cars, it takes pride in itself regardless of what others believe. Stand on your own two feet, even if someone helps you up because you’re always a human like everyone else.

Universal Guardian

Miles and minutes are the twins of time and space. The distance they wedge between our bodies can’t deceive the space between our spirits, that is the illusion.

It’s out there, we’re out there everywhere
Not a single space unoccupied
And all we see is air, because memory can be the curtain of fools

Within each of us are the collective echoes of all that is, it has to be denied to walk with now. This battle for the seed, the soul, is guarded by the spirit of mankind, which knows no time or space, it’s infinite and eternal.

Remembering can be a function or reaction. The space between the two is where the spirit lives. Like a sentry guarding a tomb it stands silently, eternally vigilant walking unseen, yet reverberating within us. Our soul can be stolen, but our spirit belongs to the universe, waiting for nothing.

Walk with your heart wide open to the possibility that biology is a collection of historical facts, lineage is an evolutionary illusion, the spirit is where time and space have no quarter. It knows no boundaries, because you thought.

A Brush With Life

If pictures can paint a thousand words, our words can paint a million pictures, so speak your mind carefully. Remember that your heart and mind beat as one in a delicate balance.

The art of life is free within the confines of our physical world, but our thought, our dreams, are a world without boundaries. A gallery of wonder revealed within every vessel of hope. Create with your mind and paint your spirit with the rainbow of light.

Death looms for most, a release for a few, and a new beginning for others. The patina of time glimmers on fading memories like water colors running on canvas. A landscape of light melding into a blur of colors washing what was coherent. This is why the light within the tunnel is surrounded by darkness, we become the color.

Be your own portrait, don’t be painted by time or circumstance. Everyone’s an artist. Some with their hands, others with their minds. The difference in the medium is irrelevant, it’s the one who choses their brush carefully and let’s their heart move their hands that creates beauty.