actualize_epiphanies's Xanga

Monday, February 18, 2008

Mon, 18 Feb 2008 04:20:48 GMT

sometimes it seems
as if all of heavy history's weight
is placed upon the shoulders of knowledge.

Sunday, May 13, 2007

Sun, 13 May 2007 19:20:19 GMT

for the curious:
"it's summertime and the living is easy."

sweeping kansas summer sky and all existence feels itself flying on the very wings of the wind. brilliantly booming lightning storms a week or a day away; breezes lightly rustling the lengths of a few dresses bring not a scent of rain. an evening ripe to capture the raw power of man-made electricity.

"there's something happening here, what it is ain't exactly clear..."

ponder how to capture what escapes boundaries of sound and space with mere words. mind soaked and seeping of fresh knowledge, at first there is only a reeling, ringing dizziness. the senses are stunned at absolute freedom in thought; distractions no longer more than a nuisance. nothing deemed worthy of detracting from a pure and renewed state of mind.

...

the lines fill, brim with eager anticipation and wait to spill into a single space. cool people and calm exteriors do not betray beating--no, bursting--hearts holding hidden treasures. one step closer to security; don't let it get to you, man. they only want to hold a nazi party. let them play their game. not everyone is blessed with the will to follow a spark towards conscious awareness. humour their reality a short while.

dancing steps into a concrete concert hall constructed to withstand an F5, surely not built for acoustics, but from its center come the sounds of musical perfection: well-thought, well-played intelligent music. the band kinski must be the four lead members of some sort of kick-ass electric orchestra. (a definite add to my pandora. and projectplaylist. and life soundtrack.) rock on sister, your bow-work is so goddamn intriguing. slow friends are missing out on this phenomenon; most are seated, eyes fixated. the floor is quiet, relatively--heads trained on the indefinably operatic opener.

"i get by with a little help from my friends."

trembling at this point. mind racing in time with blood's beat. a trek for water to murder time through the set change. friends finally in tow and negotiated good seats. now they want drinks. Schnell! Schnell! slow docile sheeple crowd themselves around the scattered meccas of consumerism. pause unwillingly in line, wondering at how united meditation with environment is achieved with a greasy pizza held mid-way to mouth. sicken a little that couples can't stifle the need to spend on twin sets of t-shirts (cheaper online. oh well, let the posers pay for that expensive-looking light show. an exception here for new wardrobe staples purchased way prior to stage time; oh yeah, and kinski schwag.)

don't you understand what we're trying to make happen here?! if you're lost, kindly step out of the way for others with knowledge of the path. please, it's time to fucking hurry.

"lend me your ears..."

introspection is a dangerous thing. it twists and turns, not completely conscious and thus uncontrolled. deep meditative exercise is necessary daily, and still distractions force the unconscious into the mind's deep corners. all around there are signs of people feeding a personal I, Me, My schema. where's that fat security bitch on a power trip? ponder that some just stand there, sullen sodden stones. these are songs of revolution! patriots should be stomping out the rhythms of songs for the good fight. ambivalence and avoidant-agression in the few of this multitude infringe on attempts at a collective carpe diem.

certain herbaceous plantlife has calming, restorative effects. nearly two songs in, and this is no time to worry about drones. is this an imagined lag? sounds hit the ears twice and lock into a new synchronity. someone's not singing these melodies correctly; drunk mumbling muffles the impact of a vocalist eager to play. schism helps establish a basic level of communication as the screens slowly come to life. knowledge from previous experience prepares for rosetta stoned--just look and listen. silently lips form words; important bursts of sound tear forth at gripping verse. the crowd can no longer compete with the men molding both music and moment.

anticipation for right in two turns to disbelief at its actualization. defying limits of beauty and wisdom; simple in its truth. a skilled mind and hands wield the drums that strike power into this mantra while a twirling ouroboros graces the screens ... wings/tenthousanddays unspeakably truthful, and yet still some refuse even an ounce of reverence. laser lights guide the inner eye to focus; sympathy turns to empathy for those willing to explore their own hearts: a shared pounding at the gate of heaven for all inspiring figures gone before. (a tear perhaps, or two, for a personal hero's passing.)

"feel inspired to, fathom the power to, witness the beauty to..."

the familiar virtuousic opening notes of lateralus energize active participants in this consciousness-experiment; pushing towards awareness, all are caught up and lifted with the sheer force of sound in this attempt to spiral out. eyes riveted by the scene, mind opens wide ...

"pull your head on out your head, please, and give a listen."

vicarious may truly rival all other attempts at visual impact. white noise and green laser lights enclose the stage; justin and adam stare out as if caged. the band a visual parody of themselves--idolized, pedastalized entertainers calling the fans out on their bullshit: a life vicarious and falsely lived. a song not without hope: the information imparted forces a meaningful impetus to action for reflective listeners.

"some say the end is near..."

a single expectant shout from seating--aenima!; an immediate reply--f-a-n-tastic. (could he have heard ... me?) nothing more pertinent now than this farseeing, decade-old song; the world cannot abide this life of illness longer. fret for warming trends, fret for carbon emissions, fret for violent consumption and violent storms, fret for careless ambivalence, fret for all this trash, fret for recylables discarded thoughtlessly in the grass.

Tuesday, May 01, 2007

Tue, 01 May 2007 16:31:46 GMT

ah, i remember the golden days...

Friday, March 09, 2007

Fri, 09 Mar 2007 16:07:40 GMT

Alice Walker, "Once" (1968)

I
Green lawn
a picket fence
flowers--
My friend smiles
she had heard
that Southern
jails
were drab.

Looking up I see
a strong arm
raised
the Law
Someone in America
is being
protected
(from me.)

In the morning
there was
a man in grey
but the sky
was blue.

II
"Look at that
nigger with those
white foks!"
        My dark
Arrogant friend
turns calmly, curiously
helpfully,
    "Where?" he
                asks.

It was the fifth
arrest
In as many
        days
How glad I am
that I can
look
surprised
      still.

III
Running down
Atlanta
        streets
With my sign
I see heads
        turn
Eyes
        goggle
"a nice girl
        like her!"

A Negro cook
assures
    her mistress--

But I had seen
the fingers
near her eyes
        wet with
        tears.

IV
One day in
Georgia
Working around
the Negro section
My friend got a
letter
in
the mail
--the letter
said
      "I hope you're
having a good
time
fucking all
      the niggers."

"Sweet," I winced.
      "Who
      wrote it?"

"mother."
        she
                said.

That day she sat
        a long time
a little black girl
in pigtails
on her lap

Her eyes were very
Quiet.

She used to tell the big colored ladies
her light eyes just
the same
"I am alone
my mother died."
Though no other
letter
came.

V
It is true--
I've always loved
the daring
        ones
Like the black young
man
Who tried
to crash
All barriers
at once,
        wanted to
swim
At a white
beach (in Alabama)
Nude.

VI
Peter always
thought
the only
way to
"enlighten"
southern towns
was to
introduce
        himself
to
the county
sheriff
        first thing.

Another thing
Peter wanted--
was to be
cremated
        but we
couldn't
        find him
when he needed it.
But he was just a yid
    seventeen.

VII
I
never liked
white folks
really
it
happened quite
suddenly
one
day
A pair of
amber
eyes
I
think
he
had.

VIII
I don't think
    integration
        entered
        into it
        officer

You see
        there was
        this little
    Negro
    girl
Standing here
    alone
        and her
    mother
        went into
      that store
        there
then--
        there came by
this little boy
        here
without his
        mother
& eating
        an
ice cream cone
--see there it is--
        strawberry

Anyhow

        and the little
        girl was
        hungry
        and
        stronger
        than
        the little
        boy--

Who is too
        fat
        really,

        anyway.

IX
Someone said
        to
      me.
that
        if
        the South
rises
       again
it will do so
       "from
       the grave."

Someone
       else said
if the South
rises
       again
he would
       step on
                   it."

Dick Gregory
       said that
       if the
       South
       rises
       again
       there is
       a
       secret
       plan.

But I say--
       if the
       South
rises
       again
It will not
       do
       so
in my presence.

X
"but I don'
really
       give a fuck
Who
       my daughter
       marries--"
the lady
was
adorable--
it was in a
tavern
i remember
her daughter
sat there
beside her
tugging
at
her arm
sixteen--
very shy
       and
very pim
       pled.

XI
Then there
Was the charming
       half-wit
who told
the judge
re: indecent exposure
"but when I
step out
of the
tub
I look
       Good--
just because
my skin
is black
don't mean
it ain't
pretty
       you old bastard!)
what will we
finally do
with
prejudice

some people like
to take a walk
after a bath.

XII
"look, honey"
said
the
blond
amply
boobed
babe
in the
green
       g
string

"i like you
sure
i ain't
prejudiced

but the
lord didn't
give me
legs
like these
because
he
wanted
to see'm
dangling
from a
poplar!"

"But they're so
       much
prettier
than mine.

Would you really mind?"
he asked
wanting her to dance.

XIII
I remember
seeing
a little girl,
dreaming--perhaps,
hit by
a
van truck
"That nigger was
in the way!" the
man
       said
       to
understanding cops.

       But was she?
       She was
       just eight
       her mother
       said
       and little
       for
       her age.

XIV
then there was
the
picture of
the
bleak-eyed
little black
girl
waving the
american
flag
holding it
gingerly
with
the very
tips
of her
fingers.

Tuesday, March 06, 2007

Tue, 06 Mar 2007 01:15:03 GMT

in one hour of fox (at least what i could stand), i heard:

a republican strategist give cynical "props" to the new york times

and

ann coulter claim that the word "faggot" has nothing to do with sexual identity...it's just a "sophomoric" school yard taunt. she's pro-gay, didn't you know, just anti-gay marriage. "along with all blacks, i don't know why all gays aren't republican."

....oh, you crazy bitch--claiming all knowledge when you hold none.

Thursday, February 22, 2007

Thu, 22 Feb 2007 03:38:02 GMT

i don't usually post things like this...

WHY I FIGHT FOR PEACE

by Cloy Richards USMC
Because I can't forget no matter how hard I try.
They told us we were taking out advancing Iraqi forces,
But when we went to check out the bodies
they were nothing but women and children
desperately fleeing their homes because
they wanted to get out of the city
before we attacked in the morning.

Because my little brother, who is my job to protect,
decided to join the California National Guard
to get some money for college and
they promised he wouldn't go to Iraq.
instead three months after enlisting
he was sent to Iraq for one year.

Because every single one of the Marines I served with,
the really brave warriors, even when some friends and people
they looked up to got killed or lost an arm or leg,
they wouldn't cry, they just kept fighting.
They completed their mission.

Because I'm tired of drinking, bouncing from job to job
and contemplating suicide to end the pain.
Because every time I see a child,
I think of the thousands I've slaughtered.
Because every time I see a young soldier,
I think of the thousands Bush has slaughtered.

Because every time I look in the mirror
I see a casualty of the war.
Because I have a lot of lives I have to make up for,
the lives I have taken and
Because it's right; that's why I fight.
Because of soldiers with wounds you can't see.

Sunday, February 04, 2007

Sun, 04 Feb 2007 02:52:10 GMT

...found this poem/prose written sometime last year, penciled perpendicular to the lines of notebook paper:

i want to think sideways thoughts
that transcend the need for orderly lines of text. i reject
the idea of talking points as absurd. you cannot hold a discussion that is scripted.
socratic dialogue is impossible when one fails to think and respond. my cat is smarter than these animals on fox news.
he has learned to keep silent, an open silence that begs education. i want to feel
easy like summertime and smile in any sadness.
i could become divine if i stepped out of my humanity.
i try everyday; i think my best friend tries too.
i hope she does.
but i know we're stuck, at least for now. and that's a beautiful thing as well.
i can stop my randomness--breathe and stretch this skin.
i cannot go so far that i am lost; i am eternally found. here, i am safe and subtle in
my meaning.

Friday, January 19, 2007

Fri, 19 Jan 2007 03:55:48 GMT

it's hard to accept
failure.
perfection only mocks me.
i am comfortable
here
in reality
--although i struggle daily to accept this notion.
stop a moment. be
quiet, breathe.

(hi) zen.

i don't need things.

and time does exist, but it's limited to relativity.
for eternity
time is meaningless.

the simplest way to relax is to smile and breathe.

namaste.

Wednesday, January 17, 2007

Wed, 17 Jan 2007 20:16:53 GMT

i see the principle
become practice:
purpose in not being
the victim;
to not let the weakminded
strongarms
proclaim victory over
the perceived meek.
i am the strongwilled irish woman.
i'll forgo the imperial luck of the english for
the purposeful suffering of my motherland.

Wednesday, January 10, 2007

Wed, 10 Jan 2007 01:31:38 GMT

can't wait to get back to lawrence!

can wait for school to start.