liberation and love.

first, i really just have to laugh at myself for a bit, having last LOOKED at this blog almost one full sun-revolution ago. ok, i'm over it.

i've been thinking of my intention of having this sort-of secret space in the blogosphere--in some ways, as an avenue to process my own ish through word-play and rememories, in others, as a public-private pact [public in the sense that this is truf y'all cuz it's on the internets and private because who is really reading this anyways] that yes, despite going back to school to do something more meaningful with my life than cross out commas, many moons ago i claimed the pen as my burnt offering to the all-that-has-been to bring me to this point. i have not been writing as much "poetry" lately, which sometimes feels like i have given up on santa claus or something. i have been working exponentially more, and writing less, which means my self has been strained. lately i would also rather knit than wit [har har so clever], in some ways to be able to witness the very thing i am creating in my hands--something i can control, something that will actually be useful to someone [let's be real. poems can only keep you so warm in basement apartments]. and the times i reserve to write have been more for personal process than poetry, which i don't think is interesting to anyone but myself. at least i ain't the type to put that ish out there.

but here i am, five days into not having five jobs, or school, or the family weight that has been a blessed burden lately, and i've been feeling the need to tap fingertip against the keys. although i am a couple of months into a new line of work, now that all my energy and commitment is being poured into it, i know i need to create a space to reflect and think critically of what i'm really trying to build. it's funny, only know i am connecting the dots that i am truly doing what i set out to do: i went back to school so i could help build one. i know i am getting swept up by all this talk of budgets and logic models and needs assessments and performance outcomes and deliverables; how do i connect my day-do-day nonsense with my greater vision of transforming young peoples' lives? how do i do that with the inherent tension of working with school systems? how do i not back down from my politics while recognizing that if i spit my mouf off i may alienate the very people at the table with me? is that in itself compromising my beliefs? maybe the day i stop questioning these things is the day i sell my soul. for now, i accept my hypocrises and choose to work through them. this work will only go so far as i push myself, albeit into uncomfortable and unfamiliar places. i will make mistakes, and i will let people down, myself included. but i will never stop there.

much thanks to the spirits [and sushi!!] 'round the table last night for reminding me of all of this. and to the folks of the experimental station for living out their ideals of creating independent cultural infrastructure and reminding me i can do the same, albeit with the behemoth that is our public education system [as well as the unnamed spiritual force that is currently putting a roof over my new org's heads and is responsible for the dozens of boxes in my office large enough to put me, my desk and pc sitting upright in any one of them]. in some ways, because of these oddities, and because of the [yeah-i'll-say-it] educational privileges that i come from i can do what i want. but i have to be sure to truly connect this work to greater struggles. to not just stick young people on this "pipeline" or "conveyor belt" of supports, the way some people call it. this isn't about deficits, but opportunities to build relationships, to change the 'normal' of poverty and violence and low-performing schools. this is not just changing habits and expectations, this is liberation and love. as ridiculous as that sounds, that's what i'll stand and fall for.

motto.

In the dark times, will there also be singing?
Yes, there will be singing.
About the dark times.

impulse control.

admittedly, he has begun to express feelings
of forgetting to write down
the id on the chalkboard.
think of it as a to-do list:
milk, vegetables, eggs,
pick up dry cleaning,
find better ways to cope. at our
core, we are all animals. like darwin
we shall overcome this
by putting newly encountered species
on our dinner plates.
why? it is the unconscious driving approach.
the secrets of the scientific method
are a by-product of digestions. the to-do:
pleasure, aggression. you do it once, you do it
three times. sometimes it helps you escape,
sometimes you can get lonely at sea.
all we can do is adjust, try to quietly shift
with the wind.
even if it means
a split infinitive.

resetting your wrist(watch).

sunday morning, one minute past mass, or 9:31 (which sounds just a little more reasonable). here we go again, the lucky ones to have brumbled past the black-hole hold of the earth spinning round the sun on its axis, we the ones as the closest fists to the sun. we the ones with closed fists, we who won over by thems run over the unlucky dogs again, who's gonna clean up the mess, who's always got caught by the sludge in the bucket, a lucky moment to remember you love the rain. if it's even only a shower. you who never knows the temperature of this water, but will adjust accordingly, even if it always means fiddling with the knobs. could be jet lag, could be old age.

four days in, and each morning i'm brunching.

ago.

the day begins as we end / our dreams
sprawled out on sweaty sheets,
letting go of fistfuls of memories
like scraps of coloured paper
flung off a rooftop,
a thin line
between those things
we celebrate
and those
we grieve.

it takes a phone call
answered or not
our palms face up
or buried in our laps
wrapping ribbons
of our past lives
around our present together,
our palms are trying
to tell us something.

this day is running around
itself / a premonition

glowing like a crimson-lit room
from across an alley, maybe
I was just there or years before
could have flicked on the lights
slipped two-by-two
through a train turnstile
or tossed a cigarette off
a roof,
shoulders shifting
towards or away from someone.

the day ends as we begin
in parallel REMs
asks itself
a shared apartment
or am I him, bubbling up
on a patio in the back
or getting caught in conversations
never spoken out loud,
he texts she texts
LOL whatevers

nobody laughs anymore,
only chats that they are laughing.

sister let yourself cry.
sister sometimes
it takes three days
to roll away a boulder
pressing down
on your lungs, sometimes it’s okay
to walk away from a tomb. trace
thumbprints on your palms
as if tokens from an apartment
you should have left long ago. place
them gently over veiled eyes. sometimes
we walk in circles but don’t get stepped on,
instead bend the days that begin and end
with the same attempts at poking
a needle through thread

don’t wait
for routine, for things to happen
in threes, or love songs on the radio
that wail like elegies wind sometimes shifts
in more than in four directions—
make it easy. start with Level I processing.
how do you feel about that. 4:53 a.m. leaves
rustle but are not yet morning.
mourning.
the second act is ripe with symbolism but unimportant.
for now
get through the night fumbling for quarters.
there are intruders on the premises, there is
nowhere to hide. you are getting stopped for no reason.
ain't no walk thru Buttercup
Park. collect flashlights,
jars, buttons, broken paperweights. who knows what

we really need from the outside world.
stand on chairs. look at the Big Picture. amazing awaits.
ends, beginnings, they all look the same.
dusk, dawn,
we are all still running. us, apartments, maybe
it means nothing at all. believe in things
because they exist, but don’t forget
to grieve. that's deep. us through them—
see us frantically buried.