Sometimes i wish

i could throw myself into some situation stuffed with the harsh realities of life. One much colder than my own. War or famine. A impoverished, crime infested country.

I wonder what discoveries about philosophy I'd find. New outlooks on life, I want to know what more are out there. Drastic stretched philosophies beyond the borders of what I can dream of. What discoveries would i find about the human mind.

But that's why artist who have lived those lives keep record. Those philosophers. So that people like me may have knowledge of what can be found within those environments without having to experience them.

But we also have a responsibility to experience those things ourselves. As artist. That we may write and build a truer philosophy, unpainted by the vision of someone else.

i often wonder how high the heights of philosophy from African slaves rose. Or jews. Or.. enslavement, what does that reveal in us? In our minds?

But the language from within that can be so cryptic to me, like trying to find someone in fog. I believe I truly miss the light of their poems and letters.

you know what I think of when i think about design?

I think of the cluttered ad boards @ my school. 

Raped by stacks upon stacks of, often rushed and needlessly designed,

ads. Spilled on top of one another. I think of the rows of bill boards like

loud forests packed onto the side of the highways. Or the movie posters

piled upon each other on the face of gritty landscapes like orgies

in greasy gas station stalls.

skill in art is a lot like skill in martial arts- the discipline's are all relative. There are only great artists/fighters: the winner is they who puts the most effort into their craft.

IS SUICIDE

an option?

it was a word with one syllable

"Hey!"

"Good afternoon."

"Jesus Christ! It's pouring pretty nasty"

"..."

"Phew! I'm so glad these bus stops have the little roof things over'em, that newspaper wasn't cutting it, know what i mean? Is that spot free?"

"Free?"

"Yea, mind if I sit down?"

"No. I don't mind"

"Thanx!"

"Did you bring it?"

"Bring...oh! Dammit, i forgot"

"..."

"Haha, c'mon! I'm just messin with you, course I brung it. I haven't had fun like this in a while y'know? I feel like a secrete agent! But I've never been much good with acting"

"I see"

"awww, don't look so serious, I was just joking, I'll get back into character. Seriously tho, I'm pretty bad at acting. oh! M'name's Daniel by the way, but he probably already told you that"

"He?"

"Haha, sorry forgot. no names"

"I already know your name"

"Oh ok cool. So what's yours"

"That is of little importance"

"o..k. So what's in the briefcase?"

"My part of our bargain. Whatever you want"

"Haha, ok ok, so you're going to trade me this... Oh, it's in my backpack, g'me a second"

"..."

"Ok! So you're going to trade me this 'deed' for anything I want?"

"Yes"

"Man, you really got that whole monotone voice theng down, no facial expression and ev'rytheng. Hmmmm, ok so how much money is in that brief case or is that what I'm suppose to tell you and then you give me however much I say?"

"Is money truly what you want to sell this world for?"

"So, there's no money in the case?"

"What resides in this briefcase are the contents of whatever you want in exchange and only that"

"Even though I haven't told you what it is yet?"

"How can I give you what you want if you haven't told me what it is first?" 

"What? Wait. no. you don't get what I'm saying. This game is confusing"

"What is it that you're saying?"

"So l'me get this straight. Whatever I tell you I want in exchange for this 'deed' will be in that briefcase?"

"Yes"

"Christ, alright! Heh, this is fun, let's see..hmmm, i waaant...wait! So anything I want?!"

"Whatever is of this earth"

"Earthly plane, riiight. And what does that mean?"  

"Whether it be man, machine, human emotion-"

"Wait! wait! Ok, so.. you're confusing me"

"What are you confused about?"

"What? You said man, emotion? What is that, like a magic trick"

"If that is what you would like to call it"

"Holyshit! This really is like some government conspiracy thing! You're really are some kinda secret agent, aren't you? What're you, gunna pull out some long lost relative or somethin?"

"Is that what you truly want?"

"Haha, this is cool! Ok, ok, fine I'll play along. sorry man, I'm having a hard time keeping up this act, it's been a long day"

"Is their some human you would like to have?"

"Human? Yeesh, you guys need to brushup on those communication skills. so..ummm... let's see. Hmmm..funny. Now I can't think of anyone that's disappeared out of my life suddenly, no one close to me at least. Sept for my mom"

"Is that what you want in exchange?"

"But she didn't leave leave, she, y'know? died"

"As I've told you many times already, whatever you ask for will be within this briefcase"

"Hey, watch it! That's my mom, that shit's not funny" 

"I have no intent to humor you. I know nothing of humor"

"So, what? You got like some personal artifact of hers that I don't have? Shit, you guys know everything"

"Is some personal artifact what you would like instead of your deceased mother?"

"No! Ofcourse I want my fucking mom back, geez"

"Very well"

"I told you man! It's not funny, if you open up that briefcase...what's that noise? What's that sound?"

"..."

"Oh my God! Open up the fucking briefcase and show me what you got mumbling under there! I swear to god, you guys recorded a conversation?! OPEN IT!"

"Ofcourse."

"..."

"..."

"fuck, fuck, FUCK! FUCK! CLOSE IT! SHIT! Holyshit!"

"That is what you asked for"

"..."

"Is it not?"

"..."

"Why are you getting up to leave? Our exchange has not yet been completed, 'Daniel' "

"You sick bastard. That was the weirdest FUCKING thing I've ever seen!"

"I believe that was your deceased mother"

"Fuck you! That wasn't my mom, that was some...some... kinda weird...creature...shit. I don't know what the fuck that was! That 'thing' barely looked human. What the FUCK is this? how did- how did it even- And it was crawling out of your briefcase. What the FUCK dude?! That's like, physically impossible. It was crawling out of...fuck. That small little briefcase" 

"That is of little importance to me. I complied with your request and gave you your deceased mother. And that is how deceased humans look. I have given you what you requested. I still require the contract to complete our exchange"

"This thing?"

"Yes"

"This...this isn't...I don't feel right about this man. I thought you were with the government or something. Some kinda stupid joke man, I'm outta here"

"I know nothing of humor. I know nothing of games. As I've told you already. But i have given you what you ask for, your mother in deceased form, yet you have not completed your end of the bargain. In the result that you refuse to comply with your agreement, I am forced to forfeit your life"

"Fuck you!"

"..."

"uh! Hey! I can't breathe! How are you doing this?! I can't breath!"

"Will you complete the transaction?"

"..."

"..."

"Yes! Ok!"

"Very well"

"Awww, how the hell did you do that? You didn't even touch me"

"I can do anything"

"..."

"you may sit beside me if you wish"

"What am I, crazy? You just tried to fucking kill me!"

"I will not hurt you if you comply with your end of the agreement"

"But...ok. I'll take a seat. Just give me a second. I just wanna, think about this"

"Would you like me to retract the gift of your mother?"

"What?! No! I don't want my mom to die again"

"But she is already deceased"

"Can you at least alter her appearance into a normal one"

"You mean, to look like you"

"Not 'like' me but you know what I mean"

"Very well. She will be waiting for you when you arrive home"

"Uh...ok"

"You may hand it over"

"So...is this really a deed to the world?"

"That is true. And i don't know how it wound up in your hands, but i assure you it will be much 'safer' in mine"

"Should I.. do this?"

"Why does it matter? Some say this world will end in fire anyway or destroyed in some form or another"

"here's a good question. What are you? Who sent you?"

"You should already know the answer to that question"

"That old man? The one who gave this thing to me, he sent you?"

"I know nothing of this 'old man' you speak of"

"I don't...i don't feel right about this. I own the world! I should just keep it!"

"Would you like me to retract your mother"

"No! I told you! I just...don't feel right"

"That is of little importance to me"

"Hello?! I'm 'selling' the fucking world! I shouldn't be ok with it"

"But you have your mother"

"You don't get it..."

"What do I not 'get' Daniel?"

"No! Forget it..."

"..."

"What are you?"

"That is of little importance"

"But if you're not human, why do you look human?"

"This was chosen as the only form humans can understand"

"Hope you're comfortable in that human skin?"

"No more than you are in those human 'clothes' "

"I still don't feel right about this. I mean what are you? Are you an angel?"

"Angel?"

"Yea"

"Would that make you feel better?"

"..."

"If I told you 'what' I was, you're mind would not be able to comprehend it. So it would be healthier for you to believe I am one "

"What? But you don't have any wings. can you fly?"

"alot better than you can"

"I can't believe that old man owned the world? I just though he was some crazy bum"

"The 'old man' who gave this to you. What was his name?"

"A..Adam"

"Yes. He was a...curious human"

"He said he lost his wife a long time ago...is that what he got when he gave this to me?"

"Yes. He was a.. curious human"

"..."

"Ahhh...are those human tears? I've never seen them before"

"I don't want to sell the world... this must be how the world ends"

"I see. You think this is the first time I have done this. But I assure you, I have done this hundreds of times before. Your world has lived beneath my lenses for longer than you know"

"Are you immortal?"

"Immortal?"

"y'know? Live forever?"

"That would require time. A concept that seems to only exists amongst man, if that is the case, then no. I am not- from your expression just now I can see you can't comprehend such an existence, so i'll say that I do posses characteristics of your immortal"

"so.. you are immortal?"

"Yes"

"I want to be immortal. Like you"

"If I am immortal. I am immortal because I chose to be. I can be anything I want and so can you."

"What? I don't get it"

"I see. That is why they are in such a state."

"What?"

"You men think it impossible. When what I reveal to you is true. And regardless of what you chose, because it is truth, your opinions and emotions will never change that. Surely, that is 'immortal' if immortal is what you seek. But that is of little importance. What is important, is you perceive these things are all impossible. Only accessible in dreams. You perceive them as pure and callow frivolities, untouched by a world full of grotesque, worthless beings, wandering forlorn" 

"I don't get it! I can't-I can't achieve immortality, it's impossible"

"Very well. If immortality is what you desire, then I shall retract your mother and after our conversation is finished, I will transform you into a thought. Surviving in the limitless space of the ionosphere, sure to wander its vastness in solitude where there exist no God, no universe, no human race, no earthly life, no heaven, no hell, no relative or companion forever--not only a thought, but the only thought within existence of human knowledge, amongst a sea of vast emptiness Inextinguishable and indestructible." 

"No! No! I want my mom man, c'mon! Stop doing that! But, if I sell this to you, will I, y'know, burn in hell?"

"Will that make you feel better?"

"..."

"your answer"

"Yes"

"..."

"Answer me!"

"Very well"

"Here take it!"

"Goodbye"

"Wait! Wait! Jesus christ! Wait! What the fuck are you?"

"You have asked me this many times before and i have answered that it is beyond your comprehension, for, if human thought were capable of comprehending my form, it would collapse into itself. The closest I can come to describing my form without destroying your fragile, feeble minds, is by saying that i am not here"

"I don't get it! What does that mean?!"

"When you search for me after this conversation is over with, as you're sure to do, you will not find me. for i am the manifestation of man's inescapable fate, albeit his idiocy and this recital shortend to the point of risking moronity, our meeting will haunt you for the rest of your existence. Goodbye. For 'I' will never see you again"

"Wait! Where you go?! Wait! Come back!...who are you? This all wrong! It wasn't suppose to happen like this! It was just suppose to be a fucking joke. What do I do now...?"

The Decision

Somehow, she'd managed to marry all three of them. Without their knowledge. And after they found out, some how, she was such a muse, that none of them could live without her.

Neither the musician, the painter, nor the poet.

All three of them sat around a table and stared at the gun.

So this is how the decision was going to be made.

It was hot. And next to the revolver laid two bullets. Winking back at them in that goddamned afternoon heat.

All three of them were down to their shorts. With t-shrits tightly wrapped around their heads to catch the sweat leaking from their tar black dreads. The anxiety didn't help.

Anya spit his tobacco onto the dusty wooden floor. Sweat trickled down the cheek and armpit. And melted the crack of his ass.

Chukwu lifted his foot and wiggled off his shoe. Then pulled an old, crooked cigarette from out his sock. And lit it with his last match.

"Fuck," he said quietly, which turned to a yell in the silence.

Then he looked out the window.

"One window. One cigarette. One match. One bullet.-"

"One gun!" Aziza cut-in, snatching the gun and bullet from off the table.

He started loading it.
Chukwu looked to Anya. And on another exhale said,

"Anya, how old are you today?"

"27"

"You know, if you die today, your artwork will be famous"

"Why's that?"

"I dunno. That's just what happens when you have artwork and die at the age of 27"

Anya looked to Aziza, who in-turn looked to Chukwu.

Aziza growled.

"Fuck that! Can we just get this fucking over with?! It's bad enough I'm spending my last few precious moments on this God-forsaken planet in an old shack with you two nuts. And I'm hot!"

Aziza heaved out a heavy sigh as if he were a coffee filter, filtering out the pacifism and retaining the anger.

Anya turned his attention back to Chukwu,

"Well, I'm a poet"

There was silence.

"No matter what age I die at, my work will be famous. Just so long as I die first!"

And then they both laughed hard.

"I hate your poems" Aziza snarled, "Their always too long!"

"What about my stories?"

"I hate your stories" Chukwu cut-in, "Their always too short"

"Oh.."

Anya was lost for words. So he looked defeated and spat again. This time in a jug housed near the door way entrance.

Chukwu leaned back and his chair croaked.

That's when Aziza slammed the gun on the table.

"Fuck! Guys, we doin this?"

"Yes. Yes. Let's start" Chukwu said, pulling forward from his lean.

And it was silent for a moment.

Then Aziza lifted the revolver as if it weighed a ton, and held it shakily to his head.

"O.K." He whispered.

The barrel pressed hard against the wet head wrap, squeezing out a few drops of cold sweat. Then he narrowed his eyes to the blades of sunlight spotting the table from the window.

"O.K." He said again.

And then he squinted his eyes and began analyzing that sunlight.

Chukwu sighed.

"OK. OK?! Give't'ere kid"

"Huh?"


"The gun. Hand it over. It's going to take you forever to pull that damn trigger. This shit could take all day. And I'm hot!"

Aziza stared at him with a questioning look. Forcing Chukwu to reach over that table and yank it out his hand.

Chukwu settled back in his seat and gave the revolver a once over. Then he took a hit.

"Here we go."

and pressed hard against his temple.




It took a half an hour but they finally came down to a decision.

Anya exited out the back room of the old starving artist cafe.
From his white t-shirt to the crinkled, cargo shorts taped to his thighs, he was drenched in sweat.
A dirty cigarette dangled between his lips. Hanging on the brink of extinction.

He walked down the stairs, past the mundane patrons, past the hand waving clerk, and out the door.

It was five pm in the city
The sun was bright.
And the heat wave stuck him like a hot knife.
It showered him, almost mercilessly, with heat and more sweat.
Anya scrunched his face up as if he were on the toilet.
Anya sat down at a broken table and pulled out a wod of old newspapers from his back pants pocket. and discarded the bundle in a trash can beside him.

Then he opened a notebook, pulled a pen creased between the pages, and stared at it. His cigarette had gone out.

There was half lit cigarette staring at him from an ash trey. Anya picked it out of the ash and pressed it to the tip of his cigarette until it began to glow.

He hid himself behind things like books and chess, and opera and poetry. He was the shell of an idea he once had as a kid and got stuck. There was a brief pause, at that moment, where he sat there holding on to the half-lit cigarette.

The two people who understood him most in this world, were now gone.

"Oh no..."

He whispered like something trapped and dying.

But Anya had more inspiration for his poetry now. So he sat and smoked until he was ready to write some more. Then he began scribbling nonsense on the lined sheets of notebook paper.

i ENVY people 

who can laugh at themselves so easily. With nerves of steel. It's like they can see something I can't see. They see past all the blury and fuzziness that clouds my eyes and makes me question everything I see.

Been a while since I kissed this page.

But i feel like the older I get the more I realize how ignorant i am. I write because somehow, I feel like that makes me smarter... what does it all mean?

Time spent over a friends house

A small family
In a small house
Who argue with one another
All day long
In the language of love

The world comes to an end everyday in this house
But I don't care
As long I can escape reality
While I'm here

The phone rings
The door knocks
The voice slaps and stings
Even though their not abundant
They can't find me here

Besides

There's a certain reverence
For chaos
That insults the mind's goal
for perfection...I'm home.

The story of a hero, woulda, coulda, shoulda, and something...

Anxiety

screaming

permeating from my mind

fear

In the after math of seeing her there

He beat her

You should've seen it!

No

You shouldn't have seen it

Because I felt like I had to do something

And I didn't do anything

Not because of what I should have been feeling

That heroism infection?

Duty?

But out of fear of rejection

I felt like committing verbal suicide

But then it went away and I just watched him take away her pride

And now I wanted to take away her painI

wanted to do something

Anything

Anyone else would have done something right?

Someone should have done something, right?

Anything

From a fight to a slight pat

The tv ad told me to stop him from doing that

I even watched her beaten to an inch of her life

In this movie I saw a week ago

And now

He was beating her in the front of a pickup truck

After they'd prepared to go

I had to do something

I was going to do something

But I didn't do anything

Accept turn my head

Ofcourse there were reasons

Other than the obvious

"normally these things don't turn out right

She makes accusations

He accuses

She accuses..."

Neither accusations are made on each other

Because sometimes

Her love is young...or old

And both have outgrown heroes

And can only see toads

And you'd rather be a hero than a villain

Right?

Then again

Just like love

Real-life heroes are contrary to their popular twins

And don't think of all the shit I just said to begin

Either they don't think

Or ignore it

And in the end

Watching a woman being beaten taught me something

Real-life villains just want to be heroes

And heroes in real-life are idiots

A-thugadie

A thugadie
and speak his mind
before the action
of his verbs

Wears the bling
atop his heart
to cover up
it's lack of curve

Lips move
but grill confines
Words in lust
And mouth to fame

Puts his mind in chrome on rims
which shine a spark
in eye of fame

A thugadie
and keep his mind
pressed on waist
to unfurl glock

Though heart
can see
himself a bird
The eyes are dressed
in morning walks

The End of the World

I never knew I would grow up to become one of those people

Who act outside the common conception?

And therefore stared at like a bad taste in the mouth

That I would contemplate stuff like the sun rising at night

Or hate stereotypes to the point of becoming one

I was free

And wordless

I still am free

Sometimes worldless

Other times

While I'm typing on my laptop even

I feel this.. this world form over me

As if hoping to evolve while my back is turned

It starts when I turn my head to the site of them approaching

They don't necessarily have to spark diolague with me

Just sit around

Converse with one another

And that's when I'm reminded of the role I decided on indecisively

But this is only fact in the mysterious world thats taken form

When I find myself in it:

Fact is fiction

Up is down

My music is different

I look different

I even talk different

I look at myself in conversation and say

"That's not how I talk!"

I methodically question my ethical belief systems

and role as a human being in society

What I consider right

Who I consider attractive

The way I'm moved and what is love

My conscious is cleaved away from bone and flesh

As if painted on

The sky falls

Fire reigns from the heavens

The earth trembles

Planets collide

The cosmos tear

And then they walk away

The world vanishes

And I continue typing on my laptop...

Last night was spent
with 2 Jews, 2 Christians, an aetheist,
and one question mark.

you can imagine how that conversation went.

This morning
I woke with an ember in my chest
and spent the rest of the day]
trying to pull it out

after-sex poetry...

conversation on everything but...

conversation is a sheet we throw over ourselves

to cover the hand gestures and whole body movements 

converstion is a dragoon to gaurd the reconnaissance missions from secrete hand gestures and whole body movements

conversation on everything but...

..said, my inspiration.

i have a friend whose mostly made of 

paint.

she was made when art was struck by lightning at

 ten.

because she's also electricity

her being can paralyze 

but it's cool in jolts

when the batteries are low

she can be your best friend

She once saved my life when i almost died

Her whisper shocked my heart alive

So i could go 

and exercise

Though 

i think 

i'll sleep 

til i see her again

sometimes we smoke 

and talk about our saviors

of times 

back when

and maybe later

one time

i watched art 

burn into her hand

when asked

she said it was in her nature

 

unnoticed

is her powerful voice

she'll speak

And often 

rearrange a choice 

or her mother's limbs 

with some minor anatomy

but it's breathe taking to note such force 

And watchout! 

when she gets excited

so much wattage 

uninvited

since i'm water

i don't burn much

so when she speaks

i try and catch parts

before they burn walls

never slighted

coming back home...
back to my life
my back to a chair
My friends in back of me
a winding road in front of me
I take it everyday

and so now I sit on the train
after my mystic experience
on the mountain top
where we discussed dreams
and talked annoyances

REHAB

day 3...
immediately battling off the old perceptions
is this what it means to go through withdrawal?

I stand
the only soul left in the middle of a battlefield
their bodies lay at my feet
dead
another next to it

one still happens to alive!
I spring to action!
it's only a matter of seconds...
before it's dead too
with much relief

but that was just one problem
only a precursor
for the battle soon to come
there will be more

a horn sounds!
i look up toward the hills
and that's when i see them
more perceptions charging in for battle
hundreds
maybe thousands

at that moment i start convulsing
falling to the earth and
vomiting her name and being
over all my executions

ok. that's it.
unless something comes to interrupt this battle
i think i'm done for...

ManBoy

This is the story of the old man boy
A boy born with the face of an old man

He lived at home with a parent
But paid the bills
Tried to buy adolescent issues
But his face made them shrill

So he took on adult worries
As such
He packed his clothes
His worries
And his problems
And threw'em in a suitcase
And went to live on his own

He owned his own business
Owned his own home
Owned his own car

And the key to a heart

And made a promise
From that thing
he would never part

For it was the one thing
That his face didn't shape

But what didn't shape
Were the adult choices he had to make...

TO BECONTINUED...

Brothers

The night a cowboy was born
an Angel's prayer lost its virginity
A foreign feeling found immunity
As
in his brother's care
the cowboy born discovered his new world
with mischeif and naievity

And his brother
an urban artist jazz child
quite shooken
By a birth from his mother
finally slept past night's edge
While his younger brother
stuffed
teathered
coffee-stein paged
books
full of societal normms
under his brother's bed
and painted societies walls
with graffiti

And so his brother woke
under red morn
to find a cowboy sleeping
emancipated by a half-soul made whole
from the dispell of a life
absent a cowboy younger brother
and their meeting

The jazz child
hides the cowboy in a fridge
to sleep for an expected eternity
and leaves
to toil fields
with the rest of their
dysfunctional family
spawned from an arranged marriage
between low self-esteem and pride
facilitated by a shotgun wedding
the trigger
held by maturity

Meanwhile
the cowboy sleeps
holding in his eyes
the other half of a jazz child's soul
Content
but anticipating his rise
His dreams
showing moments of happiness
fun
freedom
and the absent face of his mother
prideBrothers