anti.escapism

When faced with our personal demons, from trauma to social anxiety to depression, insecurity, prejudice and fear, can we escape the diverse traps of escapism in a technology driven world? can we recognize when we are hiding in niche markets and pockets that insulate us from harm, the circles and titles and roles and degrees that fit our personas so comfortably well? how do we move from our comfortably numb microcosms and social media spaces into something more vulnerable and maybe terrifying? let us arm ourselves with mindfulness. let us push toward self-awareness and awareness of those around us. let us appreciate differences of opinions and perceptions, which are forged from differences of experiences. let us be curious rather than defensive. following the paths of those before us, whom we hope to emulate, whose stories provide outcome studies we can see and touch! that to be vulnerable…to step out of our comfort zones…to let ourselves go into process and come out from behind our narratives, into space where we can feel and change and grow… may we drop our guards, our personas, our designated roles for a sec…let us stand a chance at a greater authenticity. a greater connection with something bigger than ourselves, and a stronger relationship not only with our community but our society, our humanity. The outcome may prove irresistible! A greater personal sense of autonomy and spiritual freedom in an increasingly material world.

unfriendship

they streamline their friends like an org making layoffs. they do not for a second bother with how it could feel to be unfriended. you thought you were enough of a companion to be allowed in the sacred space of reposts and detritus like body shaming humor and emoticon hell. you thought saying happy birthday on their birthday in 2015 made a fair enough splash on the double helix steam. there are no goodbyes online anymore. put on an old beatles record and howl at the moon. find twenty new friends to replace them by noon.

do not be confused

Today is your day to kick ass. Even if someone’s got you imprisoned, even yourself in your own mind, but even then you can ask for a book cause that is your right. If whoever has you locked down won’t let you read,  try and exploit the weakness in their rigidity, all the way to your freedom. Today is Friday and your chance to shed the skin of the past and come out all bright and shiny and new. People will notice you if you simply show up. I like to walk somewhere, under the sun, walk a mile or two and find a cafe and sit and watch and think and write. Maybe let a friend know I will be there, so they can come see me if they want. Today is your day to kick ass. Don’t let social media hold you back. Get back to your sacred expression. In whatever form. Respect yourself and they will respect you, too.

If you get tired, by all means meander, online or off, but come back to yourself and your connection with what only you know and let it speak. Make that fashionable statement only you can make, whether its how you dress how you walk how you talk how you write how you sketch how you  skate how you run how you gesture how you preach how you teach how you fight how you give how you help how you see how you feel how you deal. Be you. Be free. Be real.
– K

the crime scene is permanent

Her great eyes fall on us

while we are looking

the medium
the monster

we give our all
to thank her
for the ocean

lackluster commentary
washes up on the shore

the droppings
of opinion
hit and run
hit and run

the crime scene
is permanent

she spreads us
lost and luster
thin sometimes

in a minute hand’s
wide circling
lenient spin
sometimes

we do it
to ourselves

the hours
artfully wasted
the body
hardly moves

text necking in our photo
editing booths

manipulating
the age off our faces

pixel worship
while life gets scarier
out there

help me
i have forgotten
what’s real

i don’t wanna regret
all this screen time
like some washed up
porn star

even that
must be real

god let me fall back
laughing in your arms

at a bar
at a laundromat
smoking reds

caring

painful good

The rains came and washed us all away, and it was painful good. The sheets were in the streets and offline. The beats were pushing out your feet as you walked to work and back, the rhythms had to find their way into the greater sound. The image of what we once were working toward dematerialized again, and it was painful good.

Will you lunge at me all the while and try to fade me to your shade, boy oh boy, can I stand there and stand this. Let’s reduce the whole equation to a single interaction and then may I stretch and remark how my bones are brittle and my tendons torn apart and, boy oh boy, let me politely tell you how it feels, so painful good. Can we scream secondary to the silent psychosis ripping down the spinal cord?

Without saying anything, can i stand letting you miss me entirely? In your all caps demeanor. Your bold face. Project jaw. Maybe we have been online too much, can we waterproof the devices and take them in the shower? I wanna exfoliate your facebook. Into another decade. A dimension floated out upon an ocean shelf. Waiting for the tectonic plate shift. Fuck all and painful good.

Should I forgive the foggy weed, too much tar baby tar, sheets of white snow blanketing your septum. You could have showered more and shaved. I see you in the star wars. The acid razed the ego. I took the kids by their little hands, the orphans hung out their shingles in a palm. Then we all stuffed in there, creaking chairs in the dark, buttered popcorn and wrinkling plastic chipped off the corners by a fingernail, straws drawn like bows across the plastic. Waiting for what.

Make them hum again. Some easy screen in some hood, and painful good. Predictable lazy guesswork again and again and again.  Firestorm; the white light is infected. I went to suck the foam off my latte and got puss. I had to retreat to google plus. They might love me there, I thought. They would love you, too. So little did we know. The painful good in all of it, all.

temples

the temples

I wasn’t on anything, I was just on . 
I was circumstantial.

You told me and you told me again and you told me one more time, and sure I heard you but why would that change anything? I was still gonna hit the streets late at night and up to no good. Your social was not my social, even if we both had ice cream. I cannot even relate, and you think just cause we are related I ought to, like it was good form, I oughta conform to your standard. The whole attitude was circumstantial. And the circumstance was the influence you had over me, waving it like a badge in my face, demanding, demanding!

Laughter.
Clasping of hands behind head.
Pulling elbows in tight against the ears.
The temples.

And if you were to hit the streets with me, what would that be like? Can I imagine it, or will you come into my thoughts with a big fat roll of duct tape and mark my internal off like a crime scene? I don’t care if you consider all my lifestyle, irrelevant. What am I gonna tell you, anyway, as you lean upon your own misunderstanding? What I care about, is whether you care how I feel when you cast away all I have become and am becoming…

With a letter
with a look
with a social media
snub.

Hey you! I can dream for us, can’t I? I can dream we can meet on equal terms on soft ground some day. Over easy at the diner in nobody’s home town. WIth no control over the music in the atmosphere. They might be playing dubstep in 20 years. No more Sinatra. You might need a cane to walk. Ageism tossed in there with the hash browns. But will you stay closed off at the end of a smoke? Not in my dream. In my dream

I will be holding
you tight. Rubbing your
temples to
sleep.

hong kong song

they would not they
could not contain
the iron the
train

as traveled
the trax of
desire

the furnace
the fire
turned red

and blew through
the stead
of the home
of the old

selfie

katya by katya

ragged
guard