you said: punctuation is uncomfortable shoes

When you are so hungry that you’ll eat flour
delighted that the paste formed from your saliva tastes like a pastry
you can be confident that you have devised strategic rituals of survival.

Yellow light pulls through grayscale clouds
filtered above red, white, and blue institutions.
My thought of your death makes me think I need to get my affairs in order.

This isn’t the first attempt at this pattern of
push
pull.

Our bodies rotate, pivot and grind
undefined and repressed inside grooves
well-worn by culture, values and greed.

wanderlust

I am untethered without my weekly confessions and ritual of expression.
I miss that feeling of being exhumed without judgement.

This wanting to “have it all” feels nostalgic, a manufactured desire.

I never asked you to be a model of hyper-essentialism. It’s the struggle and consequence of choice and I can, on good days, appreciate all the “sacrifices” you made for yourself. It has provided benefits to some and a vision for others.

Your regret is not worth repenting especially when your privilege has already confessed for you.

letters and soda

“I want all that boring old shit like letters and sodas.” Fuck and Run – Liz Phair

When I imagined the future, I failed to envision a world that censors state lawmakers from saying the word “vagina,” more specifically because they referenced their own vagina when pleading to maintain the right to have an abortion. My future was based on an assumption that there would be some evolution and general social dignity.

Our politics are getting very personal. Can you handle this intimacy?

I am growing ever more annoyed by heterosexual men whose lips are mum than from the to-be-expected cliched responses of misogynists.

To quote Begin the Begin, “Silence means security.” A security maintained by restriction is ultimately vulnerable. If men who love women continue to be mute, their sexuality and their sexual agency will be as equally depressing.

Like rape, this political repression is about power not sex. Seductive patriarchal fantasy and prescriptive subjection create more than fifty shades of grey when it comes to how we all resist domination. Your silence is your implicit consent. Until I hear otherwise, I won’t know that you don’t agree with the assumed benefits you’ve been reaping all these millennia.

Happy Father’s Day – indeed.

sounds of summer

Your thoughts beat deep inside my heart. They have inspired new rhythms of intentionality.

Meter is to frequency as desire is to action. I will tell you exactly what I want.

artist: Paul Karslake

Joy has left a bruise on my soul.

I suggest we explore each other’s allusive referents and leave innuendo behind. Do not carry more than you can hold.

We are not taught to use metaphors when we resist. How many ways have we submitted to a point of view that does not reflect our reality?

To me, the ocean represents both jouissance and intransigence. The ineffable feelings of wanting to yield to pleasure but remaining in control is signified as each wave crashes upon itself. Resistance produces pleasure.

I want to do dangerous things; it is summer.

Exhaling sounds requires breath. Make me conscious of each exclamation.

divine recognition

Breaking patterns requires recognition.

Moving beyond perceived comforts of knowing
is my current revolution.

I desire perspectives
that evoke epiphanies.

Penetrate my sense of ingenuity
to shift my expressions.

I want a divine awakening.