Mad World

Photo By: T. Lux Feininger 

We’re on fire,

On the cusp of a great war pulsing with cosmic dissonance.

Noises off,

Noises cluster fuck into a beautiful rage,

A punk rock symphony.

Mother Earth moans into the fruitfulness of our existence,

Beckoning for a revolution with her furrowed brows

Dear Whomever

Photo by: Weisses Rauschen 

Give my regards to the little darling
who lays in the petals
and dreams of cheshire grins
and moonlit melodies

Little Bee

Rich is the honey

That drips from the honeycomb

Sweet nectar

Collected

By the busying bees

Induce me with your aged wisdom

Show me the field where life began

Where treasured gold sits warmly

Sings cooly

Dances freely

Breathes fully

Mundane

Morph No. 2 (Cloud) Jo Ann Callis

Mundane, baby, my life is a Monday, baby.

....................

..........

.....

...

Forever waiting for the four days that follow

And while I pace

and pace the floor  

The space between my thoughts grows wide

Surely this life is something to be had

but all that I find are musty smells,

and the faint memories of things that have been or could have been

but were somehow lost in between tomorrow's expectations and today’s carefully formulated calculations

...

.....

..........

......................

Mundane, baby, my life is a Monday, baby.

CocoRosie "Lost Girls" (official video)

Jingle jangle, the cosmos are on fire...

Creatures of a Shared Universe

You move like silk laced in the petals of your own solitude;

Delicate flower, colored with beauty, wilted to imperfection.

Hush child of the Earth. The dirt underneath your brittle nails, the grooves that dance upon the palms of your hand, the stains that paint your wounded heart, are stories to be cherished, stories to be shared.

Link by link, offer me your chains, and I will offer you my ears.

The ink that bleeds throughout the ocean of your veins scribes a history worthy of more than just curiosity’s humble intent.

To not be ok is ok.

The sky can be as black as tar, your apathy as hollow as caves, but there’s a universe out There that keeps expanding and contracting.

Explosive as a bang, quiet as a whimper.

It inhales and exhales with you, deep as the breaths rooted in your gut.

You are not alone, but secluded in peace with the great company of the stars, the soft whispers of the wind, and the other paired eyes that also glance upon the night.
I am here with you.

Guera, or: White Girl

I lay outside with the hopes that my pale skin will be colored in rich to fit my ancestry,

That the golden rays will ignite the match that rests in the boroughs of my belly and fill me full with text from a History that I may call mine too.

Paint me smooth, with broad brush strokes layered on with intricate details.

Paint me with a palette that’s dripping with a

Deep

Deep

Soil of abundance.

I lay outside for the afternoon,

For the summer,

Until El Sol and La Luna

Greet one another in a moment’s soft shallow breath,

Until my skin color fades across the spectrum with a subtly that’s quiet enough to startle you.

Until my Mexican me is no longer noticed at first glance.

Until I am guera

And I have to prove that despite not looking and not speaking

that I am still a part,

Some part,

Any part of the greater whole.

That I want,

No,

Need

To be a part,

Some part,

Any part of the greater whole

The whole that’s pieced together in a mosaic that

Sings,

Sings

When held up to the light

A kaleidoscope

Of me’s,

And you’s,

And we’s,

A kaleidoscope

Of us.

Mija,

Lay outside for the warmth that hugs your heart

For the creased line across the sun that starts just near the West

And dips low only to be welcomed by the peak at the East.

Lay outside to dance with Mother Earth barefoot

And free.

Lay outside not because you aren’t enough,

Lay outside because you’re more than enough

More than guera.