There is heat the heart of your child bleeds out,
an angel with a watering can that dances in Oboes, clear, intentional.
There is a fading of rose lined against your cheeks.
There is emerald dust rubbed on your pillow.
There is running water lapping the backs of your calves,
a distant white noise, ignored at the walls of our end.
There is a storm that hides in the mountains, shaking, terrible
and a consistent reliance on suffering and dissonance.
And, harmonics, scintillating shrines from your eyes.
There are diamonds refracting light into multi-colored suns.
There are beasts that believe in clover Gods, deep astral projections.
There are proud horns that proclaim Heaven in utter joy,
cherubs and seraphim, lined in ribbons.
There are gifts that have no beauty, no utility, and ultimately no place.
There are fruit that break us free from the ferocious underlining of dreams,
a bathing of water, replenished in disarray.
It was between my eyes,
that you reside.
Touched, pure, forever.
Lightening streaked the sky as you sit, clothed in oil and honey,
with the waves of the gate’s ocean inches away from your feet.
No words were spoken of death, my own was painted in blacks and blocks,
a type of green that speaks in the Prophet’s tongue.
Promises, your voice, benevolent crosses stressing my way home.
Your face was all I saw, gifts in generous givings.
By way of maps and by way of candlelights,
in curses, in blessings,
I push forward.
You push forward.
Kathleen Wells: What do you say to the fact that Hamas is listed on the United States State Department terrorist list? So they’re characterized as terrorist?
Noam Chomsky: Yeah, they are. Because they do things we don’t like. The terrorist list has been a historic joke, in fact, a sick joke. So take a look at the history of the terrorist list. Up until 1982, Iraq — Saddam Hussein’s Iraq — was on the terrorist list.
In 1982, the Reagan administration removed Iraq from the terrorist list. Why? Because they were moving to support Iraq, and, in fact, the Reagan administration and, in fact, the first Bush administration strongly supported Iraq right through its worst – Saddam, right through his worst atrocities. In fact, they tried to … they succeeded, in fact, in preventing even criticism of condemnation of the worst atrocities, like the Halabja massacre — and others. So they removed Iraq from the terrorist list because they wanted to support one of the worst monsters and terrorists in the region, namely Saddam Hussein.
And since there was an empty position on the terrorist list, they had to fill it, so they added Cuba. Cuba’s probably the target of more terrorism than any country in the world, back from the Kennedy years. Right? In fact, just at that time, there had been a rash of major terrorist acts against Cuba. So Cuba was added to the terrorist list to replace Saddam Hussein, who was removed because the U.S. wanted to support him. Now, you take a look through the terrorist list, yeah, that’s the way it is. So, for example, Hezbollah is on the terrorist list. Well, you know, probably it’s carried out terrorist acts, but by the standards of the U.S. and Israel, they’re barely visible. The main reason why Hezbollah is on the terrorist list is because it resisted Israeli occupation of Southern Lebanon and, in fact, drove Israel out of Southern Lebanon after 22 years of occupation — that’s called terrorism. In fact, Lebanon has a national holiday, May 25th, which is called Liberation Day. That’s the national holiday in Lebanon commemorating, celebrating the Israeli withdrawal from southern Lebanon in year 2000, and largely under Hezbollah attack.
“I do not consider myself less ignorant than most people. I have been and still am a seeker, but I have ceased to question stars and books; I have begun to listen to the teachings my blood whispers to me.”—Demian - Hermann Hesse
Lazy smiles and a mess of hair that
looked so beautiful against your
unruly eyes, young suns,
burning yellow like southern flowers
and home cooked traditions.
With all the
“Yes, ma’ams” and the “No, ma’ams”.
And, all the damned
ya’lls and droppin’ the g off of any old word.
You’re bright and absolutely lovely,
like sweet tea with bare feet on green grass.
You once told me, with tears in your eyes and
your mother’s casket mere inches away,
that “ain’t nothin’ last”. And, you’re right.
Ain’t a damned thing last.
It’s terrifying really. The sensation, the desire to write for hours. At times I feel as if I could, yet I cut it’s stem, forcing the flower and its growth to an end.
Scared, tired, evasive, I put my pen down and ferment in happiness and loneliness. In anger and in empathy, listening to music, waves as blue as it is yellow. Or as dark as it is shining.
I feel in love, close to the sensation of living past existing, and I step cautiously back, deliberately.
Enough to be out of sight, but close enough to view the reaching waves, knowing that, at times I am utterly and childishly consumed in it.
Your words become cerulean.
Garments the color of sky.
Hands, a carbuncle reflection,
fiery, an Assyrian flash of iron.
Your beak, your intrusions nuzzled in intimacy
that resembles war’s brutal cinematic ways,
left my heart in oxidation, bruised, charred, yet loved.
For what it’s worth, this warmth, drifting together
timeless, familiar, and all too similar, towards
words, so effortlessly worded, fluttering, lapping
oceans that whisper prayers that ease and
prayers that bring shimmering peace.
And if I knew how to throw a football, I would have never played any music.
And if never got my heart broken, I would sing “blah blah fucking nothing.”
And if you didn’t fuck my ex-girlfriend, I would still owe you three-thousand dollars.
And if I never lived in that van I wouldn’t have met Chris or Steve or James, Alex or Middagh.
And if I never worked in a basement I would have never moved out of my house.
And if I had a big emo band or dropped out of college, I would have never met you, man.
Nothing compares in its likeness,
To its death, a glory unfounded
We live in frayed edges, a river front, sitting;
Waves. Sitting. Knees close to chin, arms wrapped.
Waves. Sitting, as if waiting.
Dilapidated through life’s own beauty.
Lone horseman, a satchel. Born into
Andante, a Barranquilla!
Para que pueda ahogarse.
This child at his side rides syncopated. A distortion in
heavy drumming against a melody of acoustic guitars.
The rider cries in human grief;
Guitars, sharp outside the Caribbean city.
It feigns human indifference but, in absolute reality,
sharp daggers, an image not unlike its likeness, a glory unfounded
shows the child’s future.
“Does anyone doubt that once a society ceases to be able to afford schools, public transit, paved roads, libraries and street lights — or once it chooses not to be able to afford those things in pursuit of imperial priorities and the maintenance of a vast Surveillance and National Security State — that a very serious problem has arisen, that things have gone seriously awry, that imperial collapse, by definition, is an imminent inevitability?”—What collapsing empire looks like - Glenn Greenwald (via kateoplis)
And the tree spoke to her, as her palm rested on its frighteningly twisted trunk, ashed face and deep wrinkles.
and it said “Girl, take off your shoes.” and she did.
and it said, “Girl, take off your shoes, and leave your hands on my face. Feel with your roots, my roots beneath the dirt and sand. And feel how they spin, like how you spin: intimately beneath the surface. And feel how I dive into the earth for comfort, in this darkness, and I reach for a light, with the tips of my greens, and I taste the blue of the sky— and I taste the blue, the blue in you. And here, here you are with the palms of your hands the palms of your fingers— the tips, the tips, and your fingers— tips. Look, how I have prints— you have prints. Which like art, identify me and identify you so carefully. But, here, you are, touching my face, and with your roots, feeling for my roots— and we are both bare, and feel how we bleed, both, beneath the ground.”
and she said, “Tree, take off your bark, for I am you— and you are me. And we both bleed a polar blood that spills into the hills as rain. And look, how we flow into the rivers, which then drip into the sea. Tree, take off your bark, for I am you— and you are me, and we both drip, drip, drip into the sea.”