In retrospect I'd inspect elements that led me to neglect
and I'd tell you you're the best and I'm not perfect
memories I collect of brief moments in secret
Never for the fore, am I cheap or is it my stature you abhor?
I was second in the first place, it left me sore
Sour I grew but I always needed more...
More of you, more of your presence
Searching for myself in you, unfurning your essence
How I enjoyed taking whiffs at your scent
How rich I felt with a few cents
Just near you and your calm excellence
Just to talk to you and say nothing at all
Just that it is you I adore
But I fail to succeed to make you mine
My wits were shy, I should've known it would always be that other guy
I kiss your absence and embrace the thoughts of you... I die. It kills me that even as time flies you cannot rhyme with I
...in this; when I say "I" you should sigh and say: "I am You"
But The demands I cannot provide and so I dive into the sea of opportunity
I calculate the odds of love, I go as an integer hoping for duality
And I find that everybody belongs to everybody but me .. I die.
And live again.
train of thought or loosely structured essay? it could be either...
i’ve been watching interview after interview and thinking gratuitously as a result. imma try and sum this up as best i can because i think it’s an ambiguous topic at times that we actually have at our fingertips and yet don’t really always address, understandably though. culture is something you’re entrenched in, inescapably at times, and when you’re in the middle of it sometimes it’s hard to see the way every day and everything is a possible opportunity for affecting the main narrative.
first thing i thought of when i started listening to eddie huang and heems discuss growing up in the 80’s and using their forms of media representation (blogging, food, music, etc) to introduce different ideas to mass audiences, was that kids in the 80’s and 90’s have really been given a valuable (though sometimes harsh) lens to view the world through. in that two decade time period media gained fuel and tech rapidly increased, and we had this rare upbringing of being detached enough from media and technology to develop authentically within our environments, learn to think critically and observe what was going on around us in the world, and yet also had enough exposure and time to evolve with the rapid change of technology to understand it better, and learn almost by necessity how to utilize it to our best interests, ration parts of our identity from it, and share parts of our identity and contributions into it.
we grew up in this transitioning time, when technology and social media hadn’t yet taken as rooted a role in life yet, but were still a big part of our lives, and where we harvested some, often much, of our values and ideas from. people began realizing soon that we had access to mass information, and the spreading of. this was a tool our parents hadn’t had at our age, so we were kind of the pioneers w/lotta internet frontiers and subcultures.
for instance, the internet has managed to foster a subculture of kids and teens finding and learning about their identities. before the internet, queer was a slur, some older people still think it is, but now it’s being reclaimed by the community, and there’s a widespread narrative from queer folks addressing their identities and re-purposing what ignorance made a weapon.
before the internet, there was no mass outrage being sparked over rape being brought to justice or innocent POC behind bars or the quality of education, or culture and global issues, these are discussions that have emerged from the information at our hands paired with our world views and personal struggles to navigate that world. and in it’s own way that’s power. we have a form of mass media where, if we try hard enough, our ideas, influences, power to empathize and communicate to spread ideas and educate on a widespread basis, can be influential. we made it what it is, and we mold it into what it is going to be and the ideas it will spread hereafter.
what’s interesting to me about this power of the internet, is dominant vs subversive narrative. 80’s/90’s gen reached teen/adult years as the US went into a period of political confusion/a dominant media main narrative of misinformation. hearing eddie and heems talk about what it was like to be a POC after 9/11 at that time was intense. eddie talked about rich white 1% kids in florida displaying an unfiltered level of brutish animosity after the event, being that many of the people they knew and their families’ claims to wealth were being threatened.
he seemed mostly horrified and interested simultaneously in the way they simplified “their problem” to a sweeping generalization; people of color, similar to reagan’s own scapegoating of POC in his personal secretary’s diary. obviously that’s wack. but what he said about these kids really intrigued me because i felt like he put words to what i’d observed myself about many middle class and upper class kids, and recently been contemplating how to get around; “these kids are like…media-trained by their parents. [meaning those who benefit from dominant/oppressive culture use the confusion tactics the media uses to run people in circles about issues to avoid actually discussing them] you could talk about these things with them forever and you’ll never have a real discussion with them until you stop taking them seriously. they understand exactly what you’re saying, they just don’t give a fuck.”
it’s compelling that 9/11 created this thought point for both of them, born in the same era, that caused the incubation of ideas surrounding dissemination of tolerance and thoughts about avoidance of discussions surrounding racism/classism/oppression in the US, and how to use education and communication to change it and repurpose allocations of power taken from cultures by the main narrative.
recently, i’ve definitely been aware of these points eddie made, in that i spend less time responding to others’ thoughts that come from ignorance or anger and more time building my own. less time responding to trolls and more time trolling trolls because i just don’t have time to waste farting around with dipshits when i could be reaching and talking to people who get it and also want to engage in discussions and environments of tolerance and respect instead of more ignorance. social media gives us that horizon of expansion, those resources, and hopefully that ability to recognize that despite the people that make us sad and cranky there are all these people still to be heard and to hear and to respond that we can reach, and the power is in our hands, it’s just about how we allocate it.
when i was about 17 i met a guy who really changed my perspective on what you can actually do to make your own voice. he had a successful career, he was a natural with business, well known for his graffiti, and pretty much lived and dressed well for free because of his social reputation and involvement in menswear. all these different factors of his individuality came together to form a career and reputation he was able to live…better than most people i knew, off of. and he had dropped out of school before he’d even walked across the senior final stage. that impressed me. who knew you could be that successful without a high school diploma? pretty fucking sweet.
we now know how to utilize social media and work your way up based on who you are not what job description you fit. how to create forms of representation and send a message through art, and actually make a living and have everything you need through applying social media to your pursuits. with the unstable economy and prices of school people began to become more aware of how they could get educated outside of an institution, get a job they loved without going to school for it, have a career because of who they knew and their networking abilities as opposed to their resume. and with how much a lot of us have to say and contribute that’s a valuable venue when used correctly and used as a vessel for the right message.
and i think, this mixture of being connected but not completely has given us a rare perspective and ability to contribute in many different ways, with many individual voices, to the narrative. we have the ability to, essentially, drown out the main narrative which we all know is a bunch of bullshit.
look at the way we even just use social media like tumblr and facebook to fuck around with advertisements and different perpetuations of culture in media, like those gifs of billboards that have a picture of a cat on it instead of an advertisement, or clipart that has been fucked around with. how, for fun, some people fuck with facebook and click on ads that don’t apply to their interests to confuse the site when it tries to collect their personal web browsing data.
in such simple ways, we tweak and rewrite the main narrative. and then we can share that with millions of people if we want to, and they can all share that too and so on. social media can be such an amazing tool. because someone can share a post on tumblr saying “does anyone else feel like…” and 50,000 other people can reblog that and suddenly the idea that you’re not the only one with this running around their mind is planted in 50,000 different minds at once. that’s basically creating awareness in a way.
i’ll stop thinking, but i still have tons in my head in response to all this stuff. just wow, really interesting. i’m getting all inspired by these 80’s babies bringing the power back to the people by dominating media with their insights on how to use it as a crux to transition into change via widespread communication of ideas. this is kinda a crucial point in time when we have an advantage and weapon, to create the world we want to live in, with.
You drive yourself to the edge of insanity trying to rid the world of injustice
And the world keeps turning
People keep living
They overlook the crazyness of their every day existence
They learn to accept the world
They become complacent
The restless soul labeled Mental illness
what they call an illness of the mind
Absolutely collected in his thoughts
Anything you put out is a cry for help
Every plea ignored
You learn to live with the absentmindedness
The cold stare of another person
Trying to open their heart to you
They try to collect the carefully scattered pieces
They undo your organization
You're left hold the bag
When they leave
OIt seems to overflow,
Fluctuations dramatic episodes
And I ask why?
And the condition of us is...
I can't think.
I can't collect myself
Many sided emotions collide.
I can't let go;
But your already gone.
I let it all hang out,
All my bulls hit.
This fabrication we leave behind
And two Baby girls.
I hate being a part time father
While I worry for them everyday.
Its getting colder, can't you tell?
This isn't what I had in mind.
But in the torrents of us
In a line of storms-
They come one after another you know
All we really have is each other,
So why should I let go?
There is something sharp like thorns that,
Like knives flashing in the dark, go
Pricking and cutting; the blood comes black and sweet.
"Your thorns are the best part of you," she says and
Wishes me goodnight.
I am cut into pieces like Osiris
Too much in the Sun
A finger digging into each wound
Like these words that dare to make the trek
From innerspace to come rumbling
Onto your lips as you read from the page.
Always the impulse to find wilderness in
The frontier of the crowd
Hands the color of night
Channel the lightning, follow the impulse;
Sometimes it is the Poet's most eloquent lie
That tells the truth; a white arrow pierces
The land of the unspoken.
Auden said: "Poetry makes nothing happen,
The wind whispers the animal night.
Owls masticate, a long gray tail hangs out
Its curve of a mouth;
Coyotes pull a coat of shadows over crooked
Backs and distended bellies; like an arrow to
Its arc, it sneaks in to invade the chicken
Coop, anxious to collect its prize.
In slips the ghosts that become the rain to dance
Through a thick forest of pines laughing.
I cannot fix the broken
I cannot fix your heart,
The words that are left unspoken
Will tear our souls apart,
There is no room for forgiveness,
No love in which to find,
You can try to collect the pieces,
But forever; you will not find.
Look at the hour glass,
Your time will be what's rued,
There's no way you can grasp
Onto what you put me through.
I'm not expecting you to understand this,
So I know you'll question why.
Ever since the first kiss,
You made me believe a lie.
I read the writing,
30 years old, or older.
My Grandmother wrote,
after a stroke.
it read just like
Now, what was written,
was a copy.
But 5 pages deep,
I was deeply
What a woman.
Pictures only show
me who you used to be.
Your husband used
to call me his girlfriend,
even on his deathbed.
I wanted to quit smoking,
in honor of you.
I cried a bit
at the library,
and just for an hour
I was taken away.
To touch the same paper
you put your pen to,
it truly was an honor.
your daughter is
here, to collect me.
Because that is all
it truly sucks me
And when I look at your
pretty pill bottle,
and try to make sense
of a cancer that made you
ill, how to glorify
a gust of sickly
pills, I am confused
by the nurse,
and the master.
I wish your subtle
be a bit more clear.
I'm confused by the
and saddened to see
myself to be just so
naive. Some tell me
that I'm 20,
a birthday tells me
Who bears the truth,
the truth within,
come out and say
hello, born to die,
don't you hide,
my hair is growing
old lengths once
it's a sign.
He's never been one
to collect snowflakes
with his tongue—
says that they melt anyway
And yet, he's always been one
to fold his hands
inside a radiant flame—
says that he'll burn out anyway
As her blonde hair twirls into the sun
As he spins her, her dress looks like a kaleidoscope
They dance as he strokes her face
This love is not easy to find
There seems to be no sounds
On the wings to set sail
I want to collect a future for you and I
Through continents and back home
When shifting winds grind at our core
Infecting our love but rage we leave alone
Like cracks in a sidewalk we all have flaws
As the years move on our backbone begins to descend
We still make love, but with the sounds of our voice
We smile at one another, daydreaming about the past
We're growing older as our eyes become cloudy
Our memories parted ways
You looked so heavenly that morning
I became fearful without you
You're the lace of a golden summer
The stillness in the sea, weary and forlorn
I take comfort in knowing that we cherished every day
The steps that we took through changing times
We were together, I don't regret a single day
I distinctly remember the white walls and the scratchy bed sheets that lay on top of those matts that gymnasts used. I remember these things because the walls and the sheets were riddled with names and dates of people who had been there before me, slept in that bed, craved their name into that wall. I remember their voices too, the ones that were compassionate but not really caring at all, just doing their job.
It was April 1st, 2013, to be completely exact, when they brought me to the hospital. I'd broken down crying earlier that day and I finally caved and told them I wanted to die. They picked me up off the floor and drove me to that white walled prison. I'll never forget the way my mother told the recprtionist, "our daughter is suicidal and needs to be admitted," and the way the receptionists face stayed constant and showed no emotion. She slapped a hospital bracelet on my wrist and sent me to the waiting room. I sat there for a few hours.
Finally, they came for me.
We walked into the emergency room and they put me in a secluded room with absolutely nothing I'm it. Police officers and nurse came in to collect my clothing and other belongings I'd had with me, which they then placed in a locker.
I sat alone for more hours.
It was night by the time I was evaluated. I'll never forget the monotone voice of the women evaluating me.
"Have you ever been admitted to a hospital before?"
"Well, were going to admit you for a little while, and keep an eye on you."
Her voice was emotionless. She was emotionless.
They brought me upstairs to the adolescent behavioral unit at 11:00 PM, and checked me over a few times, took my vitals, and sent me to a room with a sleeping girl on one bed, and scratchy bed sheets on a second empty one. I cried myself to sleep that night.
When I woke up they took more vitals and blood tests and evaluated me again. The new doctor was the same as the nurse, absolutely monotone. It was as if these nurses and doctors didn't feel anything, because they worked with children trying to take their lives.
At the time of my hospitalization, I didn't believe that happiness was a choice, and that I would actually get better. To be completely honest, I thought I'd die just as sad as I'd been for the past two years. Although I thought this, the doctor continued to tell me after each session, "being happy is your choice, you can choose whether you want to live like this forever, or if you want to be happy."
Now that I'm out of the hospital, and in recovery, those words mean more to me than they'd ever meant before. Happiness truly is a choice to some people, and it's a choice between being sad or being happy. I'm aware that being sad is a natural emotion, but not depressed, depression was a trap. It took me a week in the hospital, plus 9 months, to finally understand that my happiness was a choice.
This year in my English class, were studying personal narratives, and it got me thinking. I needed to write about that day, about my most life changing experience.