Imagine what else would be possible if we were free from this place where everything is altered to look perfect.
You know this place.
The who-cares-if-the-strawberries-aren’t-sweet-as-long-as-their-bright-red-waxy-cover-glistens-brightlyin-the-sun place.
The place where there is no sustenance
Tyranny of the base
Soon there is going to be an ark.
I have two visions of it
Two potential outcomes
1. We win.
2. The ark is some rich person’s warship
That second outcome could very well be what our kings are preparing for.
We win though.
The Real McCoy
I listen to McCoy Tyner and I know, anything is possible.
Something shifts within me that breaks all boundaries.
Something within sings as his piano keys crash on my turbulent ocean.
And where I go exists outside of capitalism.
And where I go exists outside of sexism.
And where I go exists outside of racism.
And where I go exists outside of speciesism.
It’s the patriarchy.
It forces its way in, and
Replicates itself until its lover can no longer recognize herself.
Don’t forget yourself.
All contracts can be renegotiated.
A Choice Between Validation and Preservation.
She survived, you know.
She summoned Llorona to find her.
She knew she was the kind of child kings try to steal and transform to be just like them.
She chose preservation.
Sometimes I feel scattered and pulled in a bunch of different directions.
I work on this, I think.
I work on that, I read, and I think some more.
I know my time here is limited.
How long will it be till all of the pieces are pulled and packaged together,
Will I be dead and gone before this happens?
Have I wasted my time here?
Who will re-member me?
And then something for a brief moment shifts in my brain.
A question pops in,
Does the night sky feel scattered?
Re-member your inner artist today and let it speak. It is a peaceful being that resides in you that can take all the seeds of all your emotions and create something new for you. A new garden designed by your wise mind for new contemplations. Call your bones to wake and create.