the aesthetic of
communism
is death
August 2, 2024
Tag: poetry
Hope bubbles up from underneath,
a primal origin originating in
a barren womb, pushing
against my solar plexus,
seat of the soul,
and the urge
to run
lifts
me up
toward a free floating expression
of liberty through this tiny city
with a thousand thousand
foreign eyes, every sign
a teletype narrative
for the Indian,
the Muslim,
the African,
the Chinese,
the Mexican,
a
smug
farewell
to the White man
from the Jews in the statehouse,
and I have the urge to hide
my hair, flowing river
of the beautiful
White woman,
corona
of
fertility,
emblem of
ancient slavery,
women with shapes like mine,
skin like mine, eyes like mine,
chained to the wall by
black and brown
savages,
men
whose
descendants run wild over Europe, Australia,
the British Isles, Canada, the United States,
an infection in the veins of the world,
borne on the shoulders of every
White man, woman, and child
whose ancestors were
conquerors,
builders,
visionaries,
plowed down
into the very soil
like bones and flesh and
failing memory by parasites
who have never fed their children
by the labor of their own hands,
and
yet I run
for sheer joy,
buoyed up by what I know:
that if God is truth, I walk with God,
real truth, only truth, outside the Bible,
outside the Evangelicals and the Catholics
and the Methodists and the Lutherans,
the truth that so long as one
human on earth knows
the truth, speaks
the truth, lives
in the light
of
truth,
there is hope.
May 23, 2024
You are a predator.
Eat like a predator.
Carbohydrates are cheap filler for livestock.
Are you livestock?
Feast or famine.
Eat meat and fat from the bone.
Grazing is for cows.
Are you a cow?
Fast.
Seed oil is for machines.
Are you a machine?
Eat or be eaten.
Sidestep the parasites.
Feed yourself.
Heal yourself.
Food causes disease.
Food cures disease.
Are you the trembling rootless seed
of the conquered?
Or are you the towering inheritor
of the conquerors?
Do you know yourself, body and mind?
Or does the "expert" rule over you
from dawn to dusk, fork to plate,
inch to pound?
They
Divide you by deception,
Deceive you by distraction,
Distract you by digestion.
Your exterior shape is a reflection of
your interior dysregulation,
disharmony, dislocation
of body from mind.
To whom did you sacrifice your sovereignty?
Master and mastery, learn the difference.
Stand upright, unbowed, beside your people.
Embrace duty and obligation.
Free your birthright to roam, to make a home,
to honor, to defend.
Start where you are,
be conscious,
be aware,
notice,
speak up,
lower your eyes to no man,
humble yourself only to nature.
Know yourself.
Know your people.
June 1, 2024
The parasites drown out our internal
songs because they can't crush
them, can't extinguish them.
If we're quiet enough and faithful
enough, we can still hear them.
June 16, 2024
"Our blood is our nation."
I took those words with me this morning.
I kept them in the pocket of the rain jacket I wear every day, with the hood on, zipped up to my chin to hide my hair, the emblem of White womanhood that I shaved off once a month for seventeen years, like a ritual, when I was a Lefty tormented by "gender dysphoria," hair that has now grown out long and luxurious, a gift to my husband, a magnet to the black and brown men who cat call, follow me down the street, reach out to grab me, who take it personally when I ignore their "good morning, honey," as I walk five blocks to the bus stop at 6am to labor for the Jew, to support my family, to survive.
In fact, I'm keeping those words.
Our blood is our nation.
I hope you don't mind.
July 9, 2024
When a machine dictates your life
You are a part of the machine
Apart
Of the machine
To escape deeper into the matrix
The unattended machinery
We are a migratory species
Nature is the progenitor
Left alone
We are created
A part of the mystery
In a flight of birds
August 2, 2024
Hi tide in my heart and mind
for a word
Fixate
yielding only to go on
alone
without remorse
to feel the sun
on my skin
and together we will laugh
like dragonflies at
the emperor's new clothes.
August 2, 2024
You have an obligation to discern truth from falsehood.
You have an obligation to speak the truth.
Truth is interconnected (nature -> family), a web of threads that must (must?) form a shape.
A shape opposite and parallel to falsehood, to substitution.
You can follow the threads. You can feel the shape.
Is this the shape of God?
If so, can anyone discern this shape? Can we discern any other truth, any other shape?
(A poem has a shape too, a whole shape, self contained. A poem is a sigil. Is truth too a sigil?)
Can modern people recognize truth? Can they differentiate truth from falsehood? Do they believe truth exists?
Does the shape of truth determine the shape of falsehood? Opposition, equal force.
If so, by discerning falsehood we can infer truth.
August 2, 2024
i feel my way around my words
in the dark, grasping for
a shape familiar not
to me but to some
prehistoric
noticer
who
illuminated
the whole enterprise
at once and beheld the interior
landscape of the human
soul, the biological
data structure
caressed
eternally
by
wavelets
of electrical impulses,
a template replicated like
the tolling of a great
bell into the brain
cases of a billion
billion hungry
apes,
and
played he the sounds that moved mountains,
a choreographed epitaph to an eagle's nest,
a watery pan flute symphony
How narrow the angle of reflection must have been!
that gave voice to the voiceless echo netted
in a palm mapped to our divergent path,
marooned in isolated silence, tapping away
tap tap
a telegraphic plea
deal negotiated in bad
faith for we are implored
still!
to listen not speak
and find our inward gaze opposed
by our inward gaze until we yield in defeat
peace by loss
the final sacrifice a lidless eye blind to all
we encompass that encompasses us and
i feel my way around my words
in the dark, grasping for
shapes my ancestors
recognized and
named and
walked
with,
shapes
unknown to us
in this beguiled era
where death groans
beneath the weight of life
we've heaped upon it,
where the only act
of creation left
to us is to
discern
truth
from
falsehood,
where our legacy
becomes a key fixed
to a lock that no longer turns
do we kneel
to those who whisper in the dark,
do we grant them sanctuary
by our absence,
do we concede without grappling
the message left behind by
that sinewy piercer,
ask!
you remnants,
ask!
his flightless bones mark for us a trail
burned into the night sky by
upward falling stars,
for if he saw
them
he
must
too have seen
us!
we,
his descendants tamed by wicked noise,
must cast aside the tools that disarm us:
the false history,
the false names,
the false burdens,
and wield once more the mystery
that belongs to us as the stamp
of our nature dictates,
pass through fear
as through
a veil
of
flame,
and return as conquerors,
our gaze fixed on a horizon
none yet can dream of,
and
i feel my way around my words
in the dark, grasping for
a manifold shape
i might
recognize
should i lay claim to it,
i might
illuminate
should i rise above the
sacrificial sleight of hand,
i might restore
to us
should i remember
as those dancing dead remember,
should i join my song to his and
break this fever dream,
should i yield only as they yielded,
to truth,
should i persist, endure,
hold fast to this thorny path,
unbroken as we are
unbroken,
still.
July 8, 2024
I thought serendipity was a dragon.
Now I wonder if it's God.
Or is it a lush garden where quiet minds go to rest?
Premise: the universe is an equation.
(I dislike negations. I avoid using negations.)
Action, reaction.
Reflection.
Focus.
Shift
the
angle
of dispersion
by a single degree and arms
open to encompass your desires.
Swing and a miss!
Monkey bars decode no drama
thinner than a fingernail
slipped beneath
the edge
of
the
horizon.
I lift my eyes.
Breakthrough
cloud cover parts to reveal green leaves
and a street sign, the rushing by of
could haves and never weres.
I turn to you, and we meet
once more, where
we are, one,
doubled,
and
let joy
call us home.
June 9, 2024
