Friday, January 30, 2009
The stinking filth under my fingernails,
dirt coiled beneath them,
so I bite them lower.
In public I curl them into small balls,
into small fists wrapped tightly together,
hiding them from eyes.
I bite and bite until they sting,
I tear at the skin until its red and raw,
The hurt lets me know I'm alive.
I remember when I first started,
Sitting in the library in second Grade,
bored and uninterested in learning.
I began to nibble, and spit the chips to the floor,
I felt the pain of fingernails cut too short,
they bled for the first time.
No longer stinking filth underneath,
but dry blood crusting the edges,
embarrassment still coating my face.
I bite them not out of nerves but out of boredom,
I bite them sometimes to feel the sting,
All because life is living itself around me.
I am not living,
No Not Yet.
What a filthy habit I have.
I walked in,
Black Shirt, Black Slacks, Black Tie, Black Coat,
The feeling of remorse on my face,
The feeling of "I'm Sorry" and "My Sincerest Condolences."
I held you in my arms,
you hurt more than I could imagine,
I try to find soothing words,
There are none.
Your mother is gone and there's nothing I can do.
"She would never want me to quit,"
I cut out, I am no good at these things,
"She loved me so much."
The cruelest of places are when you are settled,
Right before you're going to sleep,
Sitting up at night wondering, thinking, pondering,
life and its mysterious happenings,
nothing but why's, why me's, and why her,
My heart sleeps with you on those nights,
May a part of me lay restless to soothe you to sleep,
May your God be generous in giving you peace,
In giving those you love peace.
We Used to play ball together, and joke,
You had a fire about you, you played hard,
Continue to play hard, because life's hard,
It doesn't recognize winners and losers,
just those willing to fight until the end,
and those willing to give up without incident.
You said there were no words to describe it,
There still are none.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Strays
the pressure so inviting,
to crush our skulls.
Fearless are we who seek the bottom,
the lowest rung of civilization,
the essence of truth,
I have seen the sun and all hands reach to grasp it,
They have seen the sun and all hands reach to grasp it.
The river flows in drops,
through the cracks in old hands,
weathered and calloused.
Fear engulfs their young eyes,
terror embraces their expressions,
"Love No Longer Lives Here"
In shadows we dance and sing,
In filth we dance and sing,
In the dawn we dance and sing.
Each hair torn individually from my brow,
from the top of my head.
If you see her ask her about me,
Does she even think of me anymore?
"Cattle die
kinsmen die
all men are mortal.
Words of praise
will never perish
nor a noble name."
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
A Clenched Fist Becomes An Open Hand
Below is the transcribed version of Barak Obama's Inauguration Address. I saw it on TV (while sitting in a dentists chair having my teeth cleaned) and felt kind of "meh" about it. I rewatched it on youtube and read along. It's words carry a thousand pounds more weight than they did when I first heard it live. Enjoy!
I stand here today humbled by the task before us, grateful for the trust you have bestowed, mindful of the sacrifices borne by our ancestors. I thank President Bush for his service to our nation, as well as the generosity and cooperation he has shown throughout this transition.
Forty-four Americans have now taken the presidential oath. The words have been spoken during rising tides of prosperity and the still waters of peace. Yet, every so often the oath is taken amidst gathering clouds and raging storms. At these moments,
So it has been. So it must be with this generation of Americans.
That we are in the midst of crisis is now well understood. Our nation is at war, against a far-reaching network of violence and hatred. Our economy is badly weakened, a consequence of greed and irresponsibility on the part of some, but also our collective failure to make hard choices and prepare the nation for a new age. Homes have been lost; jobs shed; businesses shuttered. Our health care is too costly; our schools fail too many; and each day brings further evidence that the ways we use energy strengthen our adversaries and threaten our planet.
These are the indicators of crisis, subject to data and statistics. Less measurable but no less profound is a sapping of confidence across our land - a nagging fear that
Today I say to you that the challenges we face are real. They are serious and they are many.
They will not be met easily or in a short span of time. But know this,
On this day, we come to proclaim an end to the petty grievances and false promises, the recriminations and worn out dogmas, that for far too long have strangled our politics.
We remain a young nation, but in the words of Scripture, the time has come to set aside childish things. The time has come to reaffirm our enduring spirit; to choose our better history; to carry forward that precious gift, that noble idea, passed on from generation to generation: the God-given promise that all are equal, all are free, and all deserve a chance to pursue their full measure of happiness.
To the people of poor nations, we pledge to work alongside you to make your farms flourish and let clean waters flow; to nourish starved bodies and feed hungry minds. And to those nations like ours that enjoy relative plenty, we say we can no longer afford indifference to suffering outside our borders; nor can we consume the world's resources without regard to effect. For the world has changed, and we must change with it.
As we consider the road that unfolds before us, we remember with humble gratitude those brave Americans who, at this very hour, patrol far-off deserts and distant mountains. They have something to tell us today, just as the fallen heroes who lie in
We honor them not only because they are guardians of our liberty, but because they embody the spirit of service; a willingness to find meaning in something greater than themselves. And yet, at this moment - a moment that will define a generation - it is precisely this spirit that must inhabit us all.
For as much as government can do and must do, it is ultimately the faith and determination of the American people upon which this nation relies. It is the kindness to take in a stranger when the levees break, the selflessness of workers who would rather cut their hours than see a friend lose their job which sees us through our darkest hours. It is the firefighter's courage to storm a stairway filled with smoke, but also a parent's willingness to nurture a child, that finally decides our fate.
Our challenges may be new. The instruments with which we meet them may be new. But those values upon which our success depends - hard work and honesty, courage and fair play, tolerance and curiosity, loyalty and patriotism - these things are old. These things are true. They have been the quiet force of progress throughout our history. What is demanded then is a return to these truths. What is required of us now is a new era of responsibility - a recognition, on the part of every American, that we have duties to ourselves, our nation, and the world, duties that we do not grudgingly accept but rather seize gladly, firm in the knowledge that there is nothing so satisfying to the spirit, so defining of our character, than giving our all to a difficult task.
This is the price and the promise of citizenship. This is the source of our confidence - the knowledge that God calls on us to shape an uncertain destiny.
This is the meaning of our liberty and our creed - why men and women and children of every race and every faith can join in celebration across this magnificent mall, and why a man whose father less than sixty years ago might not have been served at a local restaurant can now stand before you to take a most sacred oath.
Monday, January 19, 2009
That Itch...
In other news, Goya is Colossus and according to Tom Petty Nirvana was like a Sickle to Wheat.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
No sun to support growth,
No water to revive life,
No love to nurture,
No faith to speak of.
Here a Flower Grows,
against a concrete wall,
in a pile of sawdust,
with a will to blossom,
and the grit to endure.
Here a Flower Grows,
my stem be strong so I may stand,
my pedals be bright so I may shine,
my thorns be sharp so I may defend,
the life I protect on my own.
I am the Garage Flower,
No sun will shine on me,
No water will grant me life,
No soil to call my home,
I will survive on my will to blossom,
and grit to endure alone.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
"Might a tempest relieve me of sound and sight.
Might I unearth the hatchet and put it to proper use.
My hand is poised and in fury.
Only thunder gives me rest
Dare me to Breathe, when I can't catch my breath, Sway my tempers balance."
And that’s where you left us, skin melting, face down in those ditches, inhaling mud. Let it be bliss. Let it be a malfunction. Hanging from the meat hooks of evolution, here’s where we reside. A statement with no validity or meaning, wrapped in sugar coated terminology just to appease our own lust for inhumanity. Your fists are all still in the air. The sky is raining shrapnel and feeding us our own intestines. As I choke and spit the blood that is now caked to this coat, I gasp, “we will all see the will of truth upon us.” Leave skin hanging from the reeds in the mire. And the sun sets to empty lungs and quiet tongues. Man is the pawn.
The Great Worm...Shai Hulud. We will all learn that we have judged ourselves from the onset of our existence. Why should the end be any different?