Alright

Interactive energy

Over miles she calls to me

Come dance with me and smile back

This body in this body

Not a life

I’m alive

Separate, not forgotten

Distant child of peace

Constant wells of whole seashells

Broken and part of the beach

I’m alive

Not a life

A lie

I’ll not alight

Ode to the greatest number

The only number, one

Stardust old as anything

Life breath given from the sun

Not a life

I’m alive

A lie

I’ll not alight

I live alive

A love I live

Awake we find happiness

Elated we play all day

Breaking waves stir the shallows

Memory of mother’s bay

I’m alive

Not a life

A lie

I’ll not alight

I live alive

A love I live

I love our light

Alright

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a/e

If I listen, must I blindly adhere?
If I look, must I pretend to see?
You and I both pray on my fear
As the “a”  starts to look like and “e”

Naysayers

Through the eyes of Isla, we see that Isla view
And when we see as Isla sees, there’s more for us to do
The life of teenage lovers who love untill life is done
Namaste in bed all day. We see that we are one

I can change your heart
You can change my mind
I know just where to start
Who knows just what we’ll find

All you naysayers sound like horses
We’ll be more than fine
I’ve got a long roll of tape
for the mouths of equine
This message is mine
Stars, we must shine
All you naysayers sound like horses

The perfect little scar lines paint memories in skin
These bruises mother uses to teach us where to begin
Nurses say go slowly. But we’re peeling off the plaster casts
It’s time to run. Yeah, let’s have fun. Who knows how long this life will last

I can change your heart
You can change my mind
I know just where to start
Who knows just what we’ll find

All you naysayers sound like horses
We’ll be more than fine
I’ve got a long roll of tape
for the mouths of equine
This message is mine
Stars, we must shine
All you naysayers sound like horses

Memory Lane: Lauralan Dr

The street is called Lauralan Dr, but my memories preceed memories of the street. The very end of the street is covered over with brush. The road just before this is dirt, patchy with many potholes. It hurts to walk on it. but there, in the middle of this space of road is..
Nap-time at daycare –
Me: I can’t sleep.
Adult: You at least need to try.
Me: I’m not tired.
Adult: Then lay down and pretend to sleep.
Me (Out within seconds)
Further up the road…
Recess –
My grandfather’s magnifying glass. A pyramid-shaped handle connecting off-centered to a metal frame which wrapped a rectangular lens. Burning leaves with sunlight by holding the magnifying glass at the right angle and distance. A cloudy day – no sun – nothing to do. Twist the handle off. The frame comes apart and the lens comes out. Don’t break it. It is valuable. It is a relic left from the life of a person who could not leave new ones. I don’t want to or feel unable to play with my peers. I liked to draw. But I have no paper out here. Drawing future cities. At Granny’s house. There is a TV show about drawing. The man who hosts the show is always drawing these incredible futuristic cities. Drawing gets me praise. I am smarter than other kids. My answer to “What will you be when you grow up?” is “Architect”. I’m told this will mean I can draw for a job. My grandparents love me – my mother’s parents and my father’s mother. I don’t remember father’s father, but I pray to him. In a way, I ask God to hand over the spiritual phone and God does. I believe my grandfather looks over us and I have conversations with him, imagining his side of the conversations. I recognize the fact that I am different as an inescapable truth. It is a part of being me. My family loves me. This is all I need.

I can draw a map to Lauralan Dr, but this road is no longer home. The only place this road, the road detailed ever so slightly above still exists is in its incomplete state in my head.

 

Response to Street Lit Writing Prompt (06.16.18)

The last person with whom I spoke was a friend in Street Lit. He was asking for clarification on this writing prompt.  The last person who really spoke to me was Jimi Hendrix: “When the power of love overcomes the love of power the world will know peace.” “But how do we go about empowering love?”, I ask through a wormhole. I’ve yet to receive a response. But I’m looking. I have to keep looking. I’ve always tried to be the change I want to see in the world, trying to spread love, making the world better in my own small way. But damn it, I want to make the world better in a big way. I think we need it.

Speaking Human

I know I don’t speak human very well. I’m kind of goofy, whether I try to be or not. I learned from a young age to steer into the skid. People find me peculiar, so why not pretend like I’m intentionally peculiar? Why not be peculiar intentionally? I make jokes because I want people to be happy and because people tend to not take me seriously anyway. It is easier to pretend I’m joking than to try to defend a thoughtless comment. I tend to live with my head in the clouds. This has led to some alienation throughout my life. I felt like an outcast throughout most of my childhood. As much as I’ve grown, as much as I’ve learned to love myself, those memories are always just below the surface. On occasion, a new friend will take my presented confidence combined with my joking as an attempt to cause offense, to get a rise out of them. I don’t aim to cause offense. I aim to inspire happiness and spread love. I’ve gotten better at speaking human, but still tend to insight undesired responses. If you happen to encounter me throughout the day, please understand that I love you and want you to be happy.

“Brother”

A friend recently told me I should refrain from calling “black” people “brother”. I tend to call males with whom I encounter “brother”. I think some people hear the word as “black man” (“Hey, black man. How are you, black man?”). This would certainly seem to hold the potential to create division, but I use it as means of expressing kinship. It says, “We are in this together”. I suppose, to some males of African dissent, I am not viewed as “Brother” because I do not face the same discrimination they do. It is offensive because my claim that we are in this together does not seem justified. To others, the use of the word, may seem belittling. It classifies the individual as a brother rather than my brother. Of course this is all speculation. I have never been a “black” person and don’t know that I have the experience to truly understand the offense this word would seem to cause some. I try to do as little harm as possible in any case I find myself. So, is it the greater good to avoid calling only people of African ancestry “Brother”? What would it mean to treat these people differently solely as a result of the color of their skin? It would mean I would have to start treating them as “Black” first. I try to see people as people. That is not to say that I am color-blind. But rather, I believe we have more similarities than we have differences. It is not my skin color or my ancestry that defines me. I’d like to think my fellow humans see things in a similar way. Any rules for interacting with certain people as a result of something as superficial as skin color would seem to work to create illogical division. This is kind of the opposite of my intent. Perhaps the greater good would be to stop using the word as means of showing unity all-together. I can’t give one name to my family of African dissent and another to every other member of my family. Perhaps my real meaning behind the word is namaste, I recognize you as a beautiful part of God – en theos. But I don’t want to force my spiritual perspectives on anyone. It there a word, a title, a name that just means “I love you and appreciate you and would not want any harm to come to”? I would use that word every day.

dīvide et imperā

I tried watching the first episode of “Dear White People” on Netflix yesterday. I couldn’t finish it. I found it painful. I watched as this beautiful woman of African dissent spoke in generalizations about people of European dissent. She said “white” people were patting themselves on the back for letting “black” people even attend the same school as them. “White” people in this world were painted as out of touch and in denial about racial inequalities. And even though main character Samantha White’s radio show was broadcast by a campus radio station, I couldn’t help but feel as though she were talking to and about me and to and about anyone who looks like me. I suppose one could say it is good that I felt discomfort in the first 7 minutes of this episode. Perhaps the goal of this kind of conversation is to get people like me to more readily recognize social inequalities people of African dissent face in the United States. At the same time, when you address all of us, you assume not one of us is currently willing to recognize these inequalities. If all of the effort put forth in recent decades has not inspired a single “white” person to see these social inequalities, what makes you think your words on your radio show will sway them? Of course Samantha White is only a character. As I couldn’t get past the first 7 minutes of the first episode, I cannot claim to have a solid understanding the writers’, directors’, creators’ vision and message. I just don’t want to be painted as the villain as a result of the color of my skin. Then again, maybe the issue is I just don’t know what else I can do to break the cycle. There is so much division in our country. There are so many voices saying the color of our skin defines us. And we are so entrenched in this belief, we never even stop to realize these labels of “black” and “white” are not incredibly accurate.

During a lunch break at work last week, I witnessed a coworker of mine passing around a cartoon for everyone to see. Her tone became somewhat apologetic when she showed me:


After laughing about it with other coworkers, she told me she wan’t sure if it was funny. I’ve heard this co-worker speak generally about “white” people on other occasions. But to lump us all together is not only inaccurate, it is harmful. It creates greater division. And who benefits from division of the lower classes? “Divide and rule (or divide and conquer, from Latin dīvide et imperā) in politics and sociology is gaining and maintaining power by breaking up larger concentrations of power into pieces that individually have less power than the one implementing the strategy.” (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Divide_and_rule). After those 7 minutes of “Dear White People”, I put on youtube video – an interview with a comedian. I’ll admit, my first thought when I saw the interviewer was a young female of African dissent was “Oh no”. I anticipated, because of the color of her skin and the color of mine, that she would begin accusing me racism, entitlement, and thievery. I realized within a couple seconds how foolish such an assumption was. It is amazing how easily influenced we are by these superficial labels. This is a call to action: Please do not let these arbitrary demographic details define us. Division only works to keep us subservient.

This Ring

This ring has no owner
Poison – made of led
Given to me by my father
It stains my finger green
And I was challenged with the task of passing it on
I’m starting to think I may bury it instead
To make someone else my property
To shackle her to me
To package up our offspring and carry them in our pouches
Only to have them resent us as the gain their own autonomy
I may just bury this ring instead
And break the spell sent down by my father’s father’s father