Friday, 4 March 2011


Something more, something warm, uncontained,in the air, pushing against the wind to refresh this body. Friction generates movement through this world of obstinate obstacles, barriers we worship and bolster and valorize in textbooks.
Disrupting that discourse is the stuff of freedom, step aside the stream and watch it run dry as it can no longer bleed us, we see dust, wipe away tears and keep driving forward to chase away the blades of order

The weather, the elements, exhaust themselves as resources for now, so I search in vain for the idea original, swinging from the rafters in my head, leaping from each to the next, shouting out for chaos to invest the crowd with youth, These labors have atrophied faculties fast and early. What means can reclaim the joy that is rightfully ours?
Joy is resistance, especially in pain, our voices form the weapons that wage love upon the oppressor in me; the bigot, the abuser, chased down by lust, we dance down the road of corrupted principles, our tongues lashing but not killing, creating spaces of flourishing color and shape, this ignites the fire in my head, feeling beyond closed lip brushing to reach…
something more, something warm,
uncontained by columns or stories blocking or walls blocking our way from this tomb, smashing through EVERYTHING; Terror, Hate, Ignorance, Unlearn through Verse and Have Heart that IDEAS REMAIN BULLETPROOF, These ARE our lives, survive through the trials and legislate through poetry, without seeking expectation of acknowledgement , reference or footnote. Revolution has no bibliography,History breathes, pauses,
spits out the unprepared, so seek nourishment and stand full facing uncertainty. This is our legacy, our birthright, surrounded by violence, beyond the false choices presented, uncontained.

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