[Tangential] 021005

...

I am not
I am not
I am not the "yellowed belly" of your rednecked frontier forefathers.
I am not the bastard son of a woman who done gone and made herself the arbiter of colonial goodwill and demonic cleansing.

.
.
.

Because I am the true, the immaculate, the wholly consequential;
I am a person who believes that what he believes is irreversibly monumental,
that one man cannot do the work of a million,
but that same man who
uses his voice, who
voices his feelings, who
feels the weight of his brothers, sisters, fathers, mothers, peers, and predecessors
and waits for the right time to incite the force of a million,
that one man can be worth more than a million
worth more than a million,
worth more than a million other men.

if only he valued his own word,
he could give birth to more than a million men with words more valuable than his.

but tragically,
emphatically,
we live in a day in an age where Roe v Wade has lain the foundations for choice to be made.
to make possible the abortion of an unborn idea,
to make plausible the uprooting of the seeds of our mind before they have been delivered back to their earthened makers, before they may grow into Amazonian forces of knowledge, before its branches may fill libraries upon libraries and become living proof of the will of a million.

I believe that an avalanche begins with a snowball,
that an inferno originates from a spark,
that the eye of a perfect storm always sheds but a single tear whose puddled end echoes with waves of unrestrained fury.

I am one in a million.
I am one of a million.
I am one for a million.

...

Inspiration from oppression

021005::

The Last Poets @ Jack Adams Hall, SFSU.
...

Have you ever walked into a room and felt greatness fall into step behind you? or sat and listened to a man speak his heart and feel chilled by his criticisms because you don't truly understand them? Ever feel uncomfortable with the thought that another man's belief is more powerful than yours?

Today
I was humbled, truly humbled. And once humbled, I felt inspiration and a hint of consciousness. I felt chilled by words that certainly weren't meant to be warm; they were ice cold and yet lit fires under the asses of those not down with revolution.

"In all history, it is the poet and philosopher who always starts shit; then everyone starts thinking and that's when revolution begins."

I felt proud to be a writer,
I felt proud to be a poet,
I felt proud to be a philosopher,
even with my semi-arbitary musings of microscopic and cult detail. Even with my niche of claimed knowledge, I am empowered.

"If you can't speak about your beliefs, then you need not speak at all."

I felt proud to be one who believes in his own words, who would rather speak his truths than silence his dreams.
I felt and feel proud to bear the title of thinker, dreamer, idealist, and perhaps revolutionary-in-waiting. Though, I hope judgment and criticism soon catch up to my soaring horizons.
Call me stoopid, but I feel momentum; I feel anxiousness enthralled by excitement-heavy remnants of despair, and it makes me smile.
Indeed,
today I am proud.

"You hear that? 'We are in alliance with our own self-destruction.'"

"Siddhartha: 'I can think, I can wait, and I can fast.' If you can do all those things, then you can do anything. But if you need your cell phone and your car and all that, yallre fucked."

The Last Poets. Indeed, they were one of the first to make me claim Yang over Yin in a neverending war of words, despite it being fought in ivory libraries atop checkerboard soapbox with the 1st Amendment privelige of wigged aristocrats.

And yet truly, I can't refrain from asking: do we simply claim struggle for the inherent right to rally against it? Are we necessarily immune to judging too quickly and unfairly, especially when that which we judge inherently draws energy from us?

It is time that I included statements along with my questions, answers to my own queries. Only then might I truly be able to compare myself with likeminded people. Set my own standard, and I'll have foundation.

All in all, seriously not a bad day.

PS Hello Rikki, who takes a Black Studies class in hip hop and politics and works at the bookstore wearing black, green and her hair swept over her left eye. Your lips shimmer.

[Tangential] 020805

020805.
...
Seven words.

i would like to say hello.
but
before you even bother to mention your day, i know.
i know that you will say those very things that will tear my walls down and claw my heart out.
i know plenty well what kind of hell you'll drag me into.
and all with your words.
seven of them,
magnificent in their malice,
all lined up like a firing squad in mid-electric slide, waiting for that heavy based heart to drop, that crisp snared sanity to snap;
trigger cocked, moot point blank,
voice waiting to do damage like a rusted tuskeegee musket in mid-thrust, its single eye dwarfing the entire field of my still healing vision.
frankly, you blind me with every shot,
sniping at my senses with confusion wrapped in crimson caliber,
you pierce my treasured chest with the hawkeyed zest of a right-winged ringside manager.
you're very aware of the adage: distance makes the heart grow fonder;
i wonder
how close should i get so i might earn resentment? shall i latch onto your words in hope that liberty bells might crack my porcelain eggshelled pride?
every statement of love's processes crosses my mind with a double-edged entendre:
you love me not but desire me still;
you covet another but willfully smother me with remnant passions
all while fashioning your sleeveless heart in the cloak of wishful thinking,
as if glass slippers would silence the sound made by severing my heartstrings;
as if the faltering power of your crystal ball gave credence to use desparate sorcery to conquer all of my faculties,
as if
as if you reached into my thoughts and tried to read my mind,
as if you understood my soul and tried to direct my dreams,
as if you calculated the benefits of whispering untold secrets with seductively cold steam.

you truly must be joking
because there's no use in the 'what if,' the 'i wish';
because if anything, you deserve not to know.

[Tangential] 020705

...
Phantasm.

objective affection lies blindly trying to balance the scales of justice so that one woman's beauty might be seen in all its unmatched glory.

glory lies waiting in her every unspoken movement;
euphoria emits with a single glance of her jewel encrusted eyes.
orchids bloom at every angle cast by her shadow, as if the dawning of the first sunrise of the universe was encased in her silhouette.

she is one among none: a being beyond prize beyond object beyond all things of the earth; she is that which inspires men to wage wars simply to bask in brilliance personified.

Though, the question remains: what, pray tell, inspires one such as she?

Memo.

Memo.

"I feel that these songs capture you. By that I mean that when I hear and connect with these songs, I think of a person such as yourself being connected to them somehow. But really, there's a limited selection of songs here; there's no way I can know all the different types of music that would be YOU. I'd like for you to tell me that. Though, with this little disc (and some blind confidence), I think I have a good grasp. Correct me if I'm wrong ;/.

I'd like to know what comes to your mind as you hear and internalize these songs. What images cross your complex mind? Where do you feel them the most? How far do they go? In one ear, out the other? Deep into the untouched reaches of the heart? I am super curious how you would react.

Because, really I think that you exemplify what it means to be feminine. I don't mean that to be synonymous with 'weak' or 'fragile' but referring to the 'effusive beauty' and 'reserved power' inherent to most women I know. Perhaps 'glory in waiting' might describe it.

You could call this an experiment to see what makes you listen, an attempt to move you into bliss, for the sake of finding out exactly what does, what doesn't.

I want to know what makes your time stop and your mind melt and your body float. I want to know what will make your spirit move so beautifully that it blinds the world with its furious purity.

I want to be there when it happens. I want to make it happen.

Pathways to the soul are often travelled through the doorway of the mind; I'm just checking to see if I have the right key.

Or does the hostess open from the inside?"

...