He always says he needs a muse and looks at me accusingly but you can’t be in a dysfunctional spiral with your muse and expect her to stay pure. My muse is always pure because he stays at a distance I can only cover by longing.
He always says he needs a muse and looks at me accusingly but you can’t be in a dysfunctional spiral with your muse and expect her to stay pure. My muse is always pure because he stays at a distance I can only cover by longing.
aaronearllivingston.bandcamp.com
Heads
I wrote two sentences in two texts to two different people today in which I used conjugations of the (slang?) verb “to head (out)” twice and thought it marginally poetic both times. It’s what’s up today.
Swahili woman posing with arms akimbo, flamboyantly dressed in printed kangas and turban and wearing jewelry, Zanzibar
i like puzzles.
blue black purple black red black green
be busy again
being yourself
learn to laugh at all the things
you once did to be better at you
than you
who i surround myself with
can be a funny
but not altogether bad
joke
black girls come in many different colors
and sort them
selves
(note: it’s been awhile since i picked up where i left off. actually, i’ve been conflicted about posting a poem for a couple of days because i’ve written two more “a” poems since i started this alphabet project, and now i’m all up in “b” and can’t figure out if mybootleg ocd wants me to keep going in order to keep the order or to fix the order that is now messed up because of the new poems. i went with this one tonight because the other two felt so new i couldn’t bear to let them go yet.)
get in where you fit in.
Our strategy should be not only to confront the empire, but to lay siege to it. To deprive it of oxygen. To shame it. To mock it. With our art, our music, our literature, our stubbornness, our joy, our brilliance, our sheer relentlessness – and our ability to tell our own stories. Stories that are different from the ones we’re being brainwashed to believe. The corporate revolution will collapse if we refuse to buy what they are selling – their ideas, their version of history, their wars, their weapons, their notion of inevitability. Remember this: We be many and they be few. They need us more than we need them. Another world is not only possible, she is on her way. On a quiet day, I can hear her breathing.
– Arundhati Roy (via tooroughfingersoftheworld)
(via aaronearll)
how you figure.
sad fish.
I saw a woman crying in her car the other day. I wondered if anyone’s ever seen me cry in my car, and if it made them think of whether or not anyone’s ever seen them cry behind the wheel. I wondered if she’d lost someone, or something, or if she just thought she had. I wonder if I’ll ever get it back. I wonder if I really lost it. I suspect melodrama, but only within. Her pain seemed real and just in a way mine usually does not. Did she suck it up? Grin and bear it? When she got where she was going, could anyone tell where she’d been?
