the sieve and the sand

the way he moves
he is no ordinary man
he is male
from glossy magazines
air brushed topless perfection
ignominous beauty
he is a top chart pop song
catchy sexy
and like a radio tune,
he is on constant replay
he is got the appeal of a high on demand commodity and
the confidence of a high price tag-
he is a wave of heat
brainwashed and out of control,
i want to buy naughty lingerie
and master the complex art of classy slutterie-
his eyes, his cheeky smile have me screaming for his name,
Abs?Brad?Carnal?Daniel?Etc…
my nails turn into claws
for a night or two
on his altar, i will lay the gifts
of my body,
and if he wants to i’ll throw in
my heart soul and pride
i just want to be closer
and if he be cloud, i’d be rain
i want to see
his machinery at work, give it a running
my skin is already ablaze
i am a decadent pretty pretty please
but who made up the rules
we are on opposite shores
if he’d just close his eyes, there is nothing we
couldn’t do-
i’d be the award in his hand at the VMA-
his acceptance speech and
his afternight party

In a not so different space
under a blinding light
we revealed ourselves with ease
we hummed our truths about God’s plan
and raised our glasses to an incandescent bond
that we knew could go out any time

night after night
we’d meet to share the hurt, the happy, the ugly in our minds
we’d light up, flicker, and light up again
we’d dust ashes off our faces and make choices:
to live unquestioning or rekindled
night after night
we were born and born again

we swore off
regret
despair
doubt
confusion
loathing

be it in a pond or the big sea
we swore we would swim a beautiful swim
we wouldn’t live small lives
floundering pitfully drearily
and when the going gets tough
we wouldn’t run the way robbers and murders do;
without looking back-
we’d give all we have to give
and let it be

we may lose few more hair, gray the rest and
grow dizzy with loneliness
we’d still hold onto our souls and
quietly stand in his warm light

back then
thinking of God was our happiness
but as we lived life
our grace wore off, and one day
we found ourselves at an insurmountable distance away from God
i bewildered with a gradual fear of Him,
and you, my friend, unraveling and feeling
too small, too resentful to stand in his presence,
we each found reasons and excuses
why couldn’t be what he had hoped we’d be

yet a part of us lingers on
hopelessly searching
through the winding alleys of our past
for the God we knew
but perhaps if we had accepted who
we were becoming,
imperfect shadowy puerile and messy
we would have found God still
unchanged and accessible

while walking through a park, a feeble light peeked through
trembling branches, and like that
strange thoughts came to my mind
“if someone had believed in me would i
be less lacking, fragile, nervous,…

would I have the confidence to be
a woman
a wife or
a human being

[life is erasing me before I even get
to say "ah, I'm alive"]

would i be greedier or stronger
believing that there is a space for me to be,
a higher place to climb, a hand to reach out to

instead of fearfully catching my breath
throughout the day

would i be more loving
would i be more grounded”

[but mind and heart reason trying to assuage each other]

they were probably like me
busy in their thoughts
caught up in their…
Desires? Hopes? Problems?
but What about me?

[I do not wish to count the nails on my coffin or tally their faults to
justify my own failings.
But where does it leave me?
between the hammer and the anvil?
or am i the hand that pummels and plunders?]

who am I not seeing
who am i not believing in
who am i encouraging
who do i approve of
or are we forever teetering around the same spots,
giving and receiving scars, learning how to fall on our knees or
how to sweep our feet with someone’s else pride

[I've built myself inside empty rooms
I grew up cold
but more of snow than ice,
I am self aware]
***

Summary of thoughts:
is a full stomach a happy stomach?
Not according to scientists/doctors and other know-it-all
so always leave a little space
and remember the heart is just another organ
do you ever hear the brain complaining?
as for the metaphorical heart, well, …
oh never mind
i lost track again
i rarely know what i truly mean
i must be disingenuous at heart
or just scatterbrained or both
but as they aptly say/describe
cats meow
dogs bark
cows moo
lions roar
pigs grunt
etc…
but what do humans do?
they carry all different sounds
thus have no true sound
so i’m done hissing my truth,
and hence leave you with filtered untruths
or something like that

no matter what generation we disavow
youth is a terrifying tide of a thousand light years of turpitude
prowling and laughing
crying and whining

from pier to anchor
electric lamps to small towns
we’re full of imperfect ideas
into a tunnel we stare at shadows
dreaming of the day, we’ll wake up into
a light, worship and be true

Out of harms way
we’ll empty our cups and welcome the flow of the universe
we’ll not settle scores and further spread ourselves thin
or thicken ourselves with selfish pursuits

The world will not grate on our spirits or oversee our minds-
we’ll not revere in delusion
we’ll reach out to the love watering our roots

We’re ageing children, the feathers on our wings keep falling out
but we’ll be what we were meant to be
at the end of our lines
we will billow into the sky and soak up the warm light

So what if the last ten years seem like a waste
to the onlooking eyes, i know what i’ve gained
i have gained a life worth living
perhaps not in a concrete worldly way
but i know now that life is a blessing not a right
I was lost and unbirthed to the world for some time
but I have come to, and even though occasionally
I drift in and out of light,
shapeless and hurting, I somehow feel like I’m unfurling
and growing.

[There are all sorts of years in one's life filled with pivotal moments of despair,
claritity, new found joy, doubts and surrender,
but...]

if not for the upstairs neighbor’s cries of orgasms, stopping me to a dead halt, I…
if not for the valentine’s rose red, the blood red red, the red riding hood red, I…
no matter… the lady moaned in an appartment where an another lady used to scream
from her husband’s beating, where a little girl’s eyes spoke of sadness and resignation
where drunk college girls roared till dawn throwing beer bottles on my patio, and
where an immigrant lady laundered and dried clothes on a balcony,
no matter… we’re from the same source but of different glue

[you can trust the ladder, but don't kid yourself the altitude will sicken your heart]

Adorning air of martyrs to dress up all the empty afternoons
with all the Sunday mass minded folks creeping me out
with their cryptic smiles, false nearness
bombarding me with grievous questions and realizations
how long the future, how much the mileage
with all the ex-lovers lining up in a queue

[Foolin' myself, I stay away]

you went out from the front door
while i rushed out through the back door
you’re good looking, but
without Jesus in your mind
you’re bubbles of light floating
shrinking bursting up in the air
but one of these days, you’re will take up God
you will call me up to your waterfront to
revise me, pull me up, build me back
the pain you sewed in my heart will dissolve
so don’t you throw away your heaven’s pennies

[things are better when you're gone,
most of the time...]

I’m waiting for you to lie that I did good today
that I’ve lived just the right way
that you understand all my detours
papa, look at the sad urgency in my eyes
I do not wish to be a pitiful child anymore
so come out, come out
break away from your cold indifference
i’m almost out of the maze
but i’m waiting
for the warmth that I never got from you
I’m not sure when i started waiting for you
but come out
tell me those words of affection
so that I may move on
I do not wish to seek others to fill your absence anymore
papa, do you even remember me
or did you simply fast-forward your life and past me ?
I have things on my mind, you see… lofty things
but papa did you know…dreams when they’re stronger than you,
they destroy you, they lash out,
and burn you out when you try to let them go
it’s not enough to have an ambition
sometimes you need a vision to carry it through
but I have no guts to pull it through
my confidence I stared at it go in the distance to where you’re
papa, in the morning light I die
on the street, on my way to make a livin
I die, in the evening
in his arms I die
so come out, come out
I do not wish to blame you for the way I’m anymore
I’m ready to say goodbye
just show your face to me one last time
so i may no longer scan through crowds looking for you
and wonder in agony whether I can even recognize you
papa we cannot go back
but the child you left is still waiting on that sandy beach
where you promised to build sandcastles with her
I wish i could get rid of her cries that nothing console
she is stuck, and I’m stuck with her
so papa, please come out, come out
let me be the one who abandons

sometimes we understand
sometimes we’re young
hearty and poop-pants full
sometimes we’re old with mossy feet,
lonely and lacking
sometimes we need someone to share rain drips with
sometimes we wait for things to make sense
sometimes we connect the dots or feel and see
that we’re unique but branded
that we’re neither dispossessed nor free
sometimes we’re full- we tolerate,we endure
sometimes we’re empty- we drain, we harm
sometimes we wonder if we’re good or good enough
if we’re alive or alive enough
doubts and insecurities afflict us
meadows and moonshines overwhelm us
we run,we hide
we wear different faces
we make excuses
we cut corners
sometimes we’re strong- we confront, we overcome
sometimes we’re blessed- we shine, we rise
we make decisions to occupy the hours
we build
we invite
we love
we suffer
we hold onto memories
we start all over
we forget
we think we choose
the roles we play
the rules we follow
the chances we betray
but when we finally realize
we’re not much of anything
to worry, to fuss so much
it’s already late
we’re out of time

My cat merlot sings when I’m not around
she calls me names
her heinous gaze reminds me of you
and like a beaten child I quiver in a corner
where you left echoes of your solistices
slowly I bury myself in visions of you
your voice resonates
you’re like a hyphen between the piles of my small-fry years
keeping my soul afloat

While I was looking fey and shuttered
longing for cobblestone streets and
lanterns of warm orangey hues
you fed on ashes and brumes
eyeing everybody else
squashed torn up and hateful
but stars kept getting brighter
and the night darker
you screamed, I drank rhum
you cried, I scratched your skin
I couldn’t prove that I love you
or knew any worthwhile trade

On my way to a different place
you snacked on my will instead
I felt your hand breaking me
down into domino pieces
[but was love such a terror
that it should send me rolling down on the ground
piece by piece]
so I grabbed my luck and ran
only to later find myself holding you up like
an oriflamme of love and hate
[no wonder my cat merlot sings when I'm not around]

I pray to satisfy that habit
and quieten that impulse
that sends me home rolling with bricks
self, I’m not a railway for your venial faults
I hail from a family of fidgeters
and clumsy dressers
I live without thorns
I’ve shed my fervor and feverish hopes
after all the things I have seen
my spirit is worse for wear,and
my soul is a derelict gallery
yet I pray despite my mild beliefs
and unanswered questions

I’m a matter-of-fact person
an unpolished minimalist
but I have yet to let go of God
for when i go home
I close my eyes to every pretend soul shiner in town
lit the fire inside and
throw away all the blown up situations
that do not go anywhere
every day I hear how the world is going down the hole
how I engineer destruction around the planet
how my greed enable others to exploit and oppress
how my uncanny knack for all things mediocre affect the atmosphere
how my lack of resolution is robbing the ground we all stand on
how my apathetic disregard for others is what will do me in the end
and soon,I hear, darkness will grind the last inspired minds until
all the world is channelled through the fetid cave of a mad clown gobling up
our mashed up bones and marrow

drained and severely unkind, no longer a man,
I turn to the source of good
trying to recapture that image of God
underneath the filth I’ve become
I pray so that I may not be defined by the absence
of God

I have swum across the waves for sometimes now
and it is the saddest thing when you look away
ugliness reels its head
You stay besides me
thinking of me
loyalty keeps burning
where love has left
a few honest words
would provide the necessary hurt
but the ideal man you’re trying be
won’t leave me alone
your gentleness is a wicked thing
it is wringing life out of me
and I have to do myself the unkindness
of letting you go

I know I’m better off
I have thought of all the words to say
I have said them before
I have trodden this path before
it just does not get any easier
but this time I’m sharpening my nails
ready to scratch over the surface of this breakup
so get off your horse
don’t try to be so perfect
don’t back down
I need to find out what was real
the depth of what we lost, of what we never had
and of what we will never be
before I can walk away

long before our
hypertensive phase
philosophically close
and butt naked in the summer heat
we peed rainbows
and understood the sincerity of our mustaches
like worn out travelers climbing up towers of mud
we cultivated a mystic and ate stones for fun
we called on heaven at will
angels knew us by name

Buddha smiled and
sat us on his lap and rocked our fears to sleep
Jesus walked us to a home we didn’t know we had
we marveled, but strings attached to our feet tripped us
and we rolled back down the ravine,
into our lovers loving embrace
but suddenly life had dried to a haze
we tumbled in confusion
inarticulate, dysphoric and crazy
until someone stuffed us with pills
quieting us down,but

sometimes when our eyes meet
memories break a trail through our inertia, and
we can hear seraphim sing, and
feel the peace we felt then
when our heads rested against Buddha’s belly,
and feel Jesus’ s warmth when he showed us our home

sometimes we think we’re the sane ones
sometimes we know we’re the lucky ones
we count our blessings more than our pills

track that stranger down
cover his eyes
shape smiles on his face
nothing is strong enough to distort
his innocence and fluidity of spirit
you can throw many lies
set off vapors of ferocity and guile
he will heal
he swallows the whale in the room
he knows his name, heart and vertigo

when a cloud of dust settles
he brawls with anxiety and panic
he seeks a space to unearth the sublime
the universe is large, he is tiny
on this territory of tears
but he moves his spine
shakes his legs
and draw exhilaration in

for better or worse
the wheel turns
he faces the sky, the ground
and for a little while he can see himself move with the world
feeling its beauty and misery

sometimes a woman picks him off the ground and
he comes up radiating the strongest light
he feels safe
about that silver line
shivering in the sky
and when winter calls him back home
he takes that memory and wraps it tightly around his heart
a warm blanket for all that is ahead
for the days when he will wake up, and break down on the floor
for the days when he will need to fight all the terrible things on his mind

Motherland

A string of pathos
loathing
sadness
irreality/absurdity
On the up hand
tenderness
humor
empathy

Introspection

I have been on a voyage (and slowly coming through)
searching for a place to be and fly higher
longing for reprieve and harmony
while feeling toyed with invisible forces
stranded without direction
falling into the narrow
losing sight of what is
with only a fiery energy within calling me back to myself
So, I have been away
in between worlds
in between jobs
but this time I might just come into being
hummer my ego and expand
build a home of true embrace and connectedness

Gratitude

Opening myself
to a landscape so pure [gratitude]
[a silencing kick to the ego]
realizing that we all have our own gifts
energy and enthusiastic beauty
[Praise to the universe
May we all be blessed, and radiate joy
and hope for others]

a String of Thoughts I

Porn:
under the bed
a stack of cathodic whores and stallions
with cataclysmic charms and vices
to propel his sail into minutes of sulfurous lonely passions

shamelessness:
Friday night club
Huddled together
Pain shimmers
and If Jesus had been Jesusina
he’d wipe his tears and snots with Jesusina’s skirt

Redemption:
she is so rough she doesn’t mind
when fate calls on her
she does not rally around trust
someone got away with her innocence
she breaks
she hates
she leaves trails
exhaling in a fog
regrets that aren’t hers
a contagious distress
aftershocks from a childhood poison
her light is done and gone
but she sings right
right to everything she has
true to the sounds in her soul
she bends and screams
pushing pain back an inch
she can hear her own voice
brimming with rage
she feels powerful under
the same sky she breaks
and hates under
and that’s how she knows that someday she’ll hold herself up
roll down the valley
pick up a stone
and defeat that giant on top of her world

I move along
harvesting fruits of my youth
pulling weeds off my back
Quietly resisting the itch to
pull my heart between my teeth
tune to the echo of eternity within
but my blood hummers like a debt I owe
and Nothing covers me

On my one-way journey
I dance an inch above the ice
lie on grassy mountains
hum with birds
howl with wolves
feed off the surrounding glow, and
in a flow of wonder or sadness
in hues of blue
I dig through the sky till all the light comes through

To the bitter end
I water the fool within
watch her restlessness grow
trying to decipher shadows and sounds
and grate the pavement on her passage

So it is
when black crows caw for my flesh
my bones will grow bigger and
fill the frame of happiness

I’d scrape your knees and elbows
feed your dog meat behind your back
spit in your best friend’s coffee
and still come short to your petty misery

There was a time I was eager to please you
and you pleased yourself with my soul
robbed me of my candor on top of my meager money
now you holler at me on the street and
call me your little-no-one

So don’t say I left you with nothing
my marrow is still fresh on your lips

Yet you still thirst after a puddle of tears
like some thirst after god or happiness
but not today
I will not cry, pain is what holds me together
one day, far away in time,I will sit down and cry
remove stitches and acknowledge my past

he drew lines
[I am not happy, but I am not any less alive]
said I owed him loads of money
I offered my skin in the mirror
or heaven in my blood
but he said, he didn’t need any …

he would not crown my love
[some people get unhappy trying to get happy]
‘said I brought him misfortune
folks from my past stood heavily on my eyelids
they said I needed a little lesson
[sometimes,you just need to live with your eyes closed]

for years, I dug a tunnel to him
but he threw sandbags around his heart
‘said love is a thief and it’d cost him his sanity
[don't wait to be found]
my friends said breathe soon you’ll wake up
with grey in your hair

I looked to the sky for meaning
birds told me what to hope for
‘said you wade in the water or you drown
[don't wait to be understood]

but I don’t believe what anyone says anymore
I once saw happiness flying with pigs
‘said it’ll come down for me one day
I laughed and let it go
[even pain knows when to stay away]

Dandelion and crossbow, shape of an eternal queen
in a constant brawl against the forces of blah
gesticulating her lack of remission, she was born by comparison
with a disclaimer of all she could be
a poster child for mercurialness and incompleteness,
colorful and blind, hopeful and loud, sultry and brave

Life attendees throw words like spires
in a swift race for her light and desire
before another season comes and withers her
she who isn’t herself yet, she who is dust motes
whirling in a morning sky
half-shy still, she’s got a halo that kills
like a well-kept feline
she hops to places she does not know
diffusing soft light, and

in a tarzanic fervor swings on electrical umbilical cords
landing her static heart green with moss before a cosmic plug
her wiring need repair, her lights are going out
her dreams in hover, all her imperfections and compulsions
roll up a red carpet, in total resignation, to
an organic culture she cannot fully encompass

I had sworn to never re-read stuff I have written, yet at around 3:30 am, I found myself doing just that. Only to realize the outlandish fact that it’s been three years since I have joined S&S Much to my shock and dismay (given the non-committal side of me ) you’re slowly turning into the freakin’ love of my life which is troubling to say the least (but in a good way).

So having (somewhat) known you guys for some time, I think confessions are in order:

# I have never told anyone about the fact that I write at S&S (nobody has actually read any of the stuff I’ve written-possibly because I have yet to like any of my scribblings- I am just glad/surprised you put up with it)

# I am secretly convinced that none of you actually exist (like I have never thought of you as actual human beings- you sort of exist in a parallel dimension)

# My shadow personality is like Foma Fomich (“The Village of Stepan-chikovo”), tyrannical, self-important, master of the universe, full of crazy antics [except my universe has a population of exactly 1, thus having no human beings/servants to malign or demonstrate my moral and religious superiority to (although I have no clear life guidelines/morals/ethics to speak of, I still insist that they're the best), I am simply absurd]. In short, like Fomich, I am a person who lacks awareness and is not able to understand the disparity between what he actually is and what he believes he is* (I am paraphrasing someone from a blog I don’t quite remember the name of.)

# Candy is to me what fresh blood is to vampires

# I have imagined & written tons of recipes/scenarios for some of the Disney’ s characters ( I think Tweety could turn into a quite tasty stew for Sylvester, and let’s not talk about Road Runner, I have contemplated kidnapping executives of the Disney Corp and forcing them to produce multiple cartoon (cooking )shows where Coyote Rock catches, cooks and eats Road Runner in a souffle, or as a summer barbecue or kebabs over sautéed rice (ah, the choices… Don’t judge me, I think it is only fair- those creatures had it coming).

That’s it, I have no more confessions/trivial facts to share. Actually, I could have written this in an email, but I decided to trespass on the wonderful space reserved for poetry because that’s how I roll, I am a Rebel without a cause(what am i saying ?! oh the shame, the shame, it’s not 1955 anymore).

Signed
FreakyNewchild

“He was not born to shame.
Upon his brow shame is ashamed to sit.”

..when the outside breathes close to my window, and that the door squeaks
and the friends we don’t want any more invite themselves into our days
Behind curtains, dissolving in … I know I am in trouble
(each season gets harder climbing besides you)
my fingertips run words on your skin hoping to
trace and connect oceans of lights together in a gentle beat
But, you close your eyes floating in the distance
Tossed out into the mountainous region of your heart, I spiral into dizzying patterns
the headwind hits hard and I need control
over someone like you (looking for balance and perfection)
safe behind sturdy fences.

I would like to go there
flowers in my hair
climb that wall too tall for me
hear the angels whisper again
Someone is waiting for me
to grow out of rain and loneliness
but I am a pterodactyl lost in the scorches
and ridges of existence

Violent mornings of birds chirping, scattered nail clippings
and mid days of doodling, cafeteria nightmare of pointless chatter
and incessant chewing and gulping, and afternoon worn-down faces and
listless corpses, then sunset’s corrupting leisure of beer drinking, corrosive seduction, and self-abandonment up to the midnight burps (a Cinderella’s reminder to not bring any stranger home or their STD s ), echoing mama’s “your body is a temple”, thus stumbling back home, and halfheartedly munching on the thought-resolution that “Nobody will fill my emptiness with crap!” And all is well and good until another morning comes out pointing at the zombie in the mirror, and insisting on selling its soul at auction to somebody else who could do better with it.

When I was 17 my heart was gray
then came stilettos, cigarettes butts
and love at arm’s length.
I lived life as if it was real
But things don’t really change
I still lie alone besides a railroad
breathing in sunset clouds and
whispering to myself “dream go slow”

Bring in the buzz, and the death too
at the foot of our homes
swimming knives
merry whores
lift my dress up
pray Buddha pray
beads roll under your thumb
like chanting bellybuttons
hammering
gauging
love
Y?
Kill the buzz, and the death too