tryna get together some spoken word for my Creative Writing class. I hate speaking in front of people. My voice is manly and shaky. I hate how I sound. anyways here’s an excerpt.
the windows are shut.
what is an ending?
spilled milk, broken cage,
something sharp and blood covered
the answer to whether you can remember the yellow house and forget the ashes
or dress yourself in charred lampshade indefinitely.
I woke up to watch you drink directly from the sun and now
I am begging you to run away with me.
scatter yourself into dandelion chunks, drift somewhere
winter was a mutual drowning,
where the wailing claw of reality
has left a crust on the rim of every champagne glass.
This was an expensive year for both of us.
the future stumbles indoors and cannot recognize his own brilliance
the past gave us teeth and
when he comes knocking,
prepare to bite down.
Words, even if they come from the soul, hide the soul,
as fog rising off the sea covers the sea,
the coast, the fish, the pearls.
It is noble work to build coherent philosophical discourses,
but they do block out the sun of truth.
See God’s qualities as an ocean.
This world is foam on the purity of that.
Brush it away and look through the alphabet to essence,
as you do the hair covering your beloved’s eyes.
Here is the mystery:
This intricate, astonishing world is proof
of God’s presence even as it covers the beauty.
One flake from the wall of a gold mine
does not give much idea what it is like
when the sun shines down inside
and turns the air and the workers golden.
–Word Fog, Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi
So tired of arguing with my mother about religion.
what is this? what what what.
so beautiful. Rumi is always beautiful. always contemplating changing my religion to rejoicing Sufism.
A spirit that lives in this world
and does not wear the shirt of love,
such an existence is a deep disgrace.
Be foolishly in love,
because love is all there is.
There is no way into presence
except through a love exchange.
If someone asks, But what is love?
answer, Dissolving the will.
True freedom comes to those
who have escaped the questions
of freewill and fate.
Love is an emperor.
The two worlds play across him.
He barely notices their tumbling game.
Love and lover live in eternity.
Other desires are substitutes
for that way of being.
How long do you lay embracing a corpse?
Love rather the soul, which cannot be held.
Anything born in spring dies in the fall,
but love is not seasonal.
With wine pressed from grapes,
expect a hangover.
But this love path has no expectations.
You are uneasy riding the body?
Dismount. Travel lighter.
Wings will be given.
Be clear like a mirror
Be clean of pictures and the worry
that comes with images.
Gaze into what is not ashamed
or afraid of any truth.
Contain all human faces in your own
without any judgment of them.
Be pure emptiness.
What is inside that? you ask.
Silence is all I can say.
Lovers have some secrets
That they keep.
Conversation at work with an old man
Him: How old do you think I am?
Me: I don’t know… 25?
Him: (laughs) I’m ninety eight
Me: WOW, well then you’re doing pretty good!
Him: Yup, my wife and I have been married for sixty-nine years.
Me: … how old do you think I am?
Him: (stares me up and down) Twenties?
Me: Yup I’m 21.
Him: So you’re not married hmm?
Me: Heck no. I call that ‘The Trap’
Him: (laughs delightedly)
so decided to take a 2 AM trip to Detroit Lakes with my friend… but ten minutes out of Fargo he says, “hey have you ever been to Buffalo State Park?” and I was thinking the stars would be amazing so I begged him to take me there instead.
And I was right, the stars were phenomenal to the point where I could not stop smiling. The weather was perfect. No wind, very few mosquitoes, and warm enough with the blanket I brought. Glad I didn’t just go to bed like I had intended.
“In fact, I am aware of the fake entities in my life.
I know that I can clear
them if I wanted to in a moment …
But all this hollowness needs my sincerity.”
things are capable of changing
ice to water to smoke
over the course of a year
my heart has unfolded
the way a garden worships
rebuilding itself from multiple
a winter that has
gone on far too long
I can’t think where my
demons have gotten to
perhaps swatted dead
like flies while I’ve
less than twelve months
to finally be able to awaken
into a dark blue that is
only deepening with
time traveler. The past is looking more and more surreal every day.
you ever find yourself crying on an examination table to a doctor who insists you’re only sad because it’s winter?
you ever find yourself unable to even disagree because your confidence level is zero and you have de-evolved to something almost unrecognizable to anyone who knew you before?
Submit to love without thinking,
as the sun this morning rose recklessly
extinguishing our star-candle minds.
“The day that I am crazy for your love,
I’ll be such a madman that even demons can not compare.
What a blink of your eyelashes does to my heart,
Even the stroke of the pen of the master of the Divan can not compare.”