31 August 2009

His name is the Stoic.

Words escape my mouth. They roam and rejoice as they taste the freedom of self-denial. For but a brief moment shame and dignity no longer apply. Perception and esteem no longer exist.

But it doesn't last for long.

The clubs and sticks and shields and gas and masks. I use to beat and bruise and batter and bash. These words back into the dark alleyways and unlit attics they came from. Behind twisted figures and purple prose they hide. Shuttering and shivering the windows close the blinds shut the doors lock.

Faint whispers of injustice and oppression are carried along by the winds as words of despair and distress lie as corpses in my sole mind.


I've lost my touch, said the leper.

25 August 2009

The Bath Item Gift Hypothesis.

In his book, the Prophets, Abraham Joshua Heschel writes:
Our eyes are witness to the callousness and cruelty of man, but our heart tries to obliterate the memories, to calm the nerves, and to silence our conscience. The prophet is a man who feels fiercely. God has thrust a burden upon his soul, and he is bowed and stunned at man's fierce greed. Frightful is the agony of man; no human voice can convey its full terror. Prophecy is the voice that God has lent to the silent agony, a voice to the plundered poor, to the profaned riches of the world. It is a form of living, a crossing point of God and man. God is raging in the prophet's words.
The prophet is a man who feels fiercely.
I ask then, what name do we give the man who does not feel at all?


And at every turn he's asking you to reconsider the way you see the world. Indeed, he is a very, unpleasant man.

19 August 2009

It's my birthday.

And I'll wry if I want to.
You take me for granite.
Gray, igneous rock.
Cold, and indifferent.
Hard, and unmoving.

You take me for granite.
Walking over me.
Wary of my cracks.
Tip-toeing my faults.
I heard the happy birthday song twice today. Once, at my failed surprise. Again, while eating subway. That time I was surprised. But it wasn't for me.


She figured she'd rather be alone than lonely. So like metamorphic stone, she rolled back home.

14 August 2009


At the end of the House episode, when he removes the bandages from her head, and takes the gauze off her eyes, he says, "You will see." And she asks, "Will it be beautiful?" And he says "Things will be as they are." She looks into his face, first thing she sees. Contemplative gaze, and she says, "You look sad."

12 August 2009

Everybody wants to go to heaven,

But nobody wants to die.
We still have the stigma of slavery
Stamped upon our wrists,
Wrapped around our shoulders.
We live like we're free,
But bare sin beautifully.

On the sixth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me... What did my true love give to me?

10 August 2009

For the first time,

I gave blood today. Everybody notices you when you're walking around with a bright purple bandage wrapped around your arm. But no one says anything. Today, from the blood drive man, I got my first happy early birthday of the year. :).

09 August 2009

In Paris.

She spent all day wandering the busy streets and packed cafes, trying to enjoy the scenery. A solitary meal, and she headed back to the hotel. Now, on her bed sitting alone, she stares at the travel agency's brochure and realizes Paris is much like home. She still feels the same unhappiness. She still feels the same despair.