Wednesday, July 22, 2009

a fragile form

no matter what my unstable mind conceives:
my hands will always shake,
my bones continue to break.
my lips won't stop quivering and
my eyes can't stop wandering.
the walls of my heart are made from stone
ive been constructing my own personal babel
from the shattered pieces of eden.
words have all worn out their meaning
may the blood running down my arm be atonement enough.

Monday, June 22, 2009

joshua's modern petition

i've heard it said that the end will come like a thief in the night but i never thought i'd live to tell of it. it came like a swift wind and it was met with open arms. no cohesive resistance was formed by a disillusioned and pacified generation. left mesmerized by flashing images, we are slowly wasting away in our favorite recliners listening to someone tell us the ten steps to fix our broken marriage while our spouse asks to borrow a pen to sign the divorce papers. we are a society of sleepwalking children conditioned to reach for our security blanket at the first sign of conflict. the size of the battle does not matter because we have no war worth fighting. bullets left littering distant deserts are mere substance of myth, some vague recollection from something we were read as kids. we are not armed with guns and grenades at the front lines, instead we fight the evil at the check out lines equipped with coupons and tabloids. the blood spilled on normandy's sand slowly drifts out to sea where the sharks feast on the lost memories. this has evolved into an organism whose sole purpose is to perpetuate its own existence. all foundations are eroding under the weight of fear. marx may be buried under london's streets but the grave cannot keep him at bay. while we sleep the bible belt is altered beyond recognition. they slip in undetected and craftily rearrange the words, "the republic so loved the proletariat that it took complete control and whosoever believeth in it will not die but have everlasting life." we are tolerating ourselves into destruction. our hope lies in this universalized morality to see us through. if this is progress may the sun and the moon become as paralytics in the expanse.

Monday, June 15, 2009

a compressed life placed in a shrinking space

line up and wait patiently. time is irrelevant now. this is the march that transcends borders, an indiscriminate procession that only requires the breath in your lungs. some limp wounded, some stumble blind. some are brave and walk alone. some claim to see through the clouds and some jostle to lead the parade. some run fearlessly to the edge, some dig their heals into the soft soil. i am only a passenger on this spinning merry-go-round. for now i walk on its back but soon i will be under its skin. nothing will be left but the evidence that i was anything but invincible. the end result is all the same. the sky may fall but it will never rust.

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

id rather hear about her day than kiss anyway

what is a mile? it's the basic makeup of measurements, the building block from which we construct our understanding of distance. everyone knows what a mile is but yet it has this very abstract definition. according to the system it's exactly 5280 feet. that doesn't seem too far, in fact it's only 63360 inches. simply the distance between here and there, from the grocery store to your house. what a small world. sometimes this world does feel like that age old cliche that the dolls at disneyland are created to sing about all day and all night. but sometimes our perspective changes and we can feel like tiny little vessels trying to stay afloat in the vast ocean of life. what happens when miles start to feel more like an incomprehensible and unattainable distance? a goal so lofty it seems childish and a waste of time to even dwell on such things. what happens when love finds you unexpectedly and then just as mysteriously and quickly as it entered, it exits? hundreds of miles away. so many inches, it would make any mathematician who dared calculate it mad. what then? that's when we have to ask, what is love? it's the very blueprint of who we are. it's what motivates and inspires us at our very core. everyone knows what love is, yet it has this very abstract definition. according to the system it's an emotion that we are sold and would do anything for. it's a timeless feeling we are taught to search desperately for because we are told we need it to amount to anything. it's a measure of our own worth. but when love is put to the test we see what it's really made of. that's when love expresses its truest form. it sheds its pretty, romanticized exterior. all the little butterflies die and cupid takes his place back in the pages of fairy tales. this is reality but this is where love exposes its most raw and beautiful anatomy. it becomes an action. it becomes a prayer. it becomes a gentle whisper. it becomes a lonely tear. it becomes that emptiness inside left only from giving your whole heart to another. it becomes an aching in your soul too hard to explain. it becomes a bridge and it becomes a purpose. it becomes what it was intended to be. so although it may be strained and somber, love will never give up. it lives deep within our hearts and it will never let go.

Thursday, March 19, 2009

the difference between swimming and drowning is in the decision

beneath the placid surface i float. suspended below the dark water, where i find my rest. this is peace. this is silence. no sound but the soft rolling and crashing of the waves above. i am removed and i am free. a beautiful isolation. nothing will find me here, though try they may i am lost beyond rescue. i have out evolved the need for guilt or pain. emotion is nothing but an extra weight that will tie you to land. sorrow and hope were born to the same mother. sorrow murdered hope because it was sick of being ignored. and sorrow became obsolete because blood speaks louder than words. some may call this an escape, but i call it an empire. and nothing is real here in my kingdom, all is a shifting shadow, an illusion of what really exists. but substance has no value in this timeless landscape and apathy covers over a multitude of convictions. but the currents are changing and this present darkness is an ominous sign. panic and insecurity have stirred the water and the pressure is thickening. i look desperately for something to cling to. i plunge my fingers into the ground but the sand offers no stability. the sharks have begun to circle as they follow the fresh scent of fear. this is my impartial judge, sent with a mouth full of standards to test my deeds. and his bite is absolute. my motivation has tracked me down and i have nowhere to turn. maybe next time i will re-think my definition of home. consequence or no consequence this is remorse

Saturday, January 24, 2009

we the people

i sit beneath the glowing neon sign, that hangs in the window, as it flickers twice and then extinguishes itself. the day is done and the people are heading home to be with their wives and kids. to feed their dogs and watch their tv shows. to eat their warm dinners and sleep in their warm beds. to put aside their responsibilities and rest their weary souls until another day begins. their day is done and mine is just beginning. my shift has just started. and right on time the men in uniforms show up and tell me to get on my way. i don't resist and i slowly gather my few earthly possessions. i don't blame them, it's their job and im used to it by now. history has a funny way of repeating itself. most cultures have those "dark centuries" that they try to brush under the mat. the continually occurring theme of the native people of the land being forced out. but the government never fails to make up for the inconvenience by so graciously giving the indigenous back a little land that was already theirs. the australian aborigines have the outback. the native americans have reserves. african slaves were actually taken away from their homeland to be given a "home" on a distant plantation. and here i am today, the same kind of unwanted resident, told to vacate the premises and roam my native land as a foreigner, we are just pushed aside in a more socially acceptable way. history has a funny way of repeating itself. we are the displaced. we are the down-and-out. we are abandoned. we are vagabonds. we are homeless. and i know that stare all too well. the judgmental glance and disgusted look from passing strangers. therapists dress it up as xenophobia, it's curiosity, it's sympathy, it's harmless. but really none of it bothers me, it's a stale stereotype, it's nothing more than the product of a conditioned society. but that's how i want it anyway. when no one can find beauty in you, it becomes effortless to see beauty everywhere you look. in a warm smile, in a handshake, in a genuine conversation, in a good laugh. if only they knew about the life we lead while they dream safe and sound in their homes. by day this place belongs to them but by night this city is ours and these still streets bear our names. the cool breeze whispers our freedom. just like the knights of old rode their majestic horses out to save the damsel in distress, so we too ride the midnight subway through the land to protect and to conquer. it may not be as romantic as the medieval tales of history but this train is our ever valiant steed and this city is out beautiful damsel. we are the watchmen. we are the night guards. we are the explorers, charting a new course. each night we take one step deeper into the dark places nobody else would dare to go. just living a simple, yet fulfilled life. and we aren't always looking for great pity, we may just have a little more to offer. history has a funny way of repeating itself. jesus of nazareth was a wanderer, expecting nothing and giving everything. ghandi was a nomadic preacher of love and hope. siddhartha gautama became a vagrant wanting nothing more than knowledge and asking for nothing more than a listening ear. history has a funny way of repeating itself. as the sun rises we hand the keys to the city back to the general populace as we say goodnight. take care of her for us, we will back tonight.