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I’ve been hearin a lot of bad mouthin about socialism ever since the president tried to provide affordable healthcare to the working poor… I also hear some carping when someone suggested that the minimum wage paid to workers should allow them to buy the necessities of life… I don't hear too much bad things about medicare and social security…. I guess thats not really socialism…. I don't hear too much about the big bailouts of the bankers with government money after they put us in a recession… privatized gain and socialized risk must also be a strain of a special kind of entitlement...

We’ll I think this whole socialism business needs some clarity about what its all about…. so I made a list of socialist heroes so my fellow American’s can get a better feel for what going on with this red menace...

Heres a list of socialist heroes….

Jesus Christ of Nazareth...I just can't get past the Beatitudes thing. Since all the po folks of the earth get to inherit all the good stuff when they pass on.... I figure heaven gotta be some kinda socialist paradise....Some don’t buy the idea that Jesus is building a Mar-A-Largo estate for Donald Trump... while having the rest of us live in our cramped apartments…. Jesus did say he’s building many rooms but the po folks get first dibs on everything… For all the doubting Thomas’s and Thomasina’s get Sean Hannity’s fastidious fact checkers to read the good news in the Gospel of Matthew.

Jack London... To think he’s been spreading the Red Menace in the mind of America’s innocent children for near a century now…. When Michelle Bachmann finds out about this she'll introduce a bill to change the title of The Call of the Wild to the Call of the Commies... I don't think it will affect Sarahcuda because she don’t read at a sixth grade level yet. Alaska is safe for now....And all comrade citizens are doing just fine thank you.... spending their annual royalty checks they get from the state for all the North ***** oil drilling...  Hell during Sarah's half term governorship... she did what every self respecting socialist despot would do... she paid out a special $1,200.00 Permanent Fund royalty dividend to all comrade "North to the Future" citizens.....

Carl Sandburg... The People Yes? Sang the songs of the People Yes! Celebrated a broad shouldered, hog butchering America who wrote a biography with love and affection for our country’s greatest Republican President....  Whats that about?...And his treatment of Billy Sunday...a back in the day,.. aw shucks,... from the backwoods holler... Kenneth Copeland like... Believer's Voice of Victory preacher of his day... who hurled fire and brimstone at cowering congregants so when he passed the plate they filled it up with hoards of heavenly manna to fatten his bank account overstuffed with moth eaten earthly treasure… I'm sure even Pat Robertson believes Sandburg’s soul lies beyond the sweet redemption of Jesus...

George Orwell… Unlike **** Cheney... who said he had better things to do when his country called on him to serve during the Vietnam War... Orwell’s fervor for democracy was so great he left his native land to lay his life on the line to fight against the fascist menace in Spain... When he got into a battle he came across an enemy combatant taking a ****. He later said, “I let him go. How do you shoot a guy with his pants down?”... A deep respect for the humanity of others is clear evidence of a socialist's fatal flaw and why the righteous laissez faire American’s hate it so....Unfortunately Orwell and his comrades lost this one to Franco and his sugar daddies Il Duce and Mein Fuhrer… but we’ll keep up the good fight…..

Dorothy Day… This saint of the proletariat kept the soup kettle brewin to feed the working poor during the Great Depression... She spent her own money to build shelters to house catholic workers and didn't make a **** dime off the vulnerability of their screaming want... A squandered opportunity maybe…. definitely a coocoo loon according to the weltentstehung of Ayn Rand… so popular around these parts these days...but Dorothy laid up some serious dosh in heaven for her labors here on earth…. for where your treasure is…. there you will find your heart also… Anyone who knew her said Dorothy's heart was always in the right place….

Albert Einstein…. this guy was no dope….he knew enough to make make moral distinctions of exploitation and greed… and the self condemnation of conspicuous consumption...the destructive capacity of unfettered power….and worked hard to figure out equations to end the wastefulness of war... he did teach at Princeton though… more proof of the red infestation of the universities…. greed is good…. knowledge is bad….

Eugene V. Debs…. went to prison for his beliefs… got a million votes from jail… thats how devious these reds are.... even from prison they run for president and fool the working people into participating in the democratic process…. he believed everyone should vote… and would probably be imprisoned today for violating all the laws being passed that take voting rights away… gotta watch the reds…. next thing you know they'll close the electoral college and force politicians to pay a 100% poll tax on all the money they take from their corporate sponsors….

WEB DuBois… the souls of an oppressed people is the soul of a nation...ain’t it written that a nation is judged on how it treats its most vulnerable?.... Mr. DuBois fought to bring justice to all those lacking the means and rights in a nation teeming with diverse groups with needs and wants… it ain’t just about afro american jazz… its about the blues sung by all people on the outside looking in… he believed it unjust that only a small portion of American’s held the keys to the doors of prosperity… everyone should have a key to unlock the doors of opportunity… everyone…. that includes workers, immigrants, women, gay folks, religious minorities, disabled and the poor and lots other people I haven’t thought of yet…. but what about the real Americans...whose gonna stand up for them??????????

Woody Guthrie…. this country belongs to us… next time a frackin jacker comes to tear up your land and dump poison in your well… next time a strung out strip miner wants to plow away the top of your mountain and dump arsenic in your river…. next time a GMO attorney says the crops you planted don’t belong to you because they are contractually patented to him…. next time a big oil company says that they got a right to pollute the oceans and **** the fish so they can pump out a passel of fossil fuel… next time a bankster comes knocking at the door to take your house away… next time a tea slappin Teabagger starts screaming that the Koch Brothers should be allowed to own the national parks so they can cut the trees down for firewood…. tell em...you heard it on good authority…. that this land is your land…. not theirs….. if thats socialism…. I’m liken it….

American Socialists

Woody Guthrie: This Land is Your Land

Oakland
10/21/13
jbm

From the woodlands of Madagascar
To the highlands of Ethiopia
Dwell nine species of lovebirds.
Their genus name is Agapornis,
From the Greek agape (love) and ornis (birds).
The French call them Les inséperables

While affection between compatible pairs
Can be a joy to behold,
Lovebirds can be quite territorial
And will defend their nest.

Sexually dimorphic they mate for life.
Like all parrots they need to be well
Socialized and taken care of.
They  are very vocal, making loud
High-pitched noises, especially
In the early morning time.

Stocky little birds
With short blunt tails
You can hold them
In the palms of your hands.
They love to snuggle,
They love to preen.
Happy birds: together.

Broken bottle friends, some call it social alcoholism
Everyone’s famous, for the night at least
The value of signatures
Listed above names on bar receipts
Drug dealers playing in the street, what some might call shamanism
All it really is, just an eclectic collectivism
That leads to remarkable nights that aren’t remembered
Realizations that problems are just and our lives dredge on
Invincible for the night
Or perhaps
Just brave enough to embrace ones true self

The revolution will not take place in McDonald’s
Born out of lethargic, flaky or fickle bodies

Words and actions, powerful ammunitions
But vessels, our bodies, control those manifestations
An armament, the body
Matter without which revolution cannot happen

Us who struggle, while we waste away
Those invested in maintaining power and privilege
Don’t only safeguard their money
They protect their bodies too
And only that of the offspring
Invested in perpetuating power and privilege

They not only monopolize learning and leadership
As mechanisms of dominance and control
They run and eat to fuel that constant fight

Man, wealthy or poor
May give into the vise of fast food and intoxication
But those invested in control
Conscious of power and privilege are no fools
Fortified not only by lawyers and henchmen
But by doctors, fitness trainers, fresh harvests
Having the choice and access to fresh produce

Us colored children from the hoods, the barrios
Our moms, or dads, or single parents
Working month to month
Frustrated because we don't eat fruit and vegetables
Instead eating frozen, canned, chemically enhanced
Microwaveable dinners and junk foods

Skinny, chubby, or obese
Eating our twinkies, doritos, and coke
Can’t even run a block without running out of breath
Diabetes, heart disease, cholesterol, asthma, obesity
Not even looming in the back of our minds

We need youth to represent our communities
We need youth to fight for our communities
We need youth whose minds and stomachs are filled
Not with fodder and capitalist waste
But with food, ideas that fill them, fuel them
Not out of a temporary desire for satisfaction
Rather a prolonged political exercise to fortify themselves
As agents of a transformative process in the world

Frozen, canned, chemically enhanced lunches at school
Soda fountains, fried food, fast food, junk food
May always be subsidized, marketed, made affordable
To be part of your breakfast, lunch and or dinner

Still never reject an apple, orange or pear
Those with power and privilege
May not even have to think about
Their regimented diets
With endless fruits available to them

But for us, a single fruit made available to us
Has to be a daily reminder
An act of defiance
To chose to strengthen our bodies with it

A slippage of those invested in our chains
When the owners of industry
Have socialized us to think
Coca cola, pizza, and burgers
Are parts of our cultural identity
A modern industrialized upgrade
Our diet decisions driven by capitalist consumerism

There may be no specialized fitness trainers
Expensive equipment
Lush parks, jogging tracks, bicycle lanes, or bicycles
In our neighborhoods
But there is a space right next to your bed
Or a piece of floor where you live
And you have your body
Just do a few jumping jacks, push ups, sit ups

You need to have the patience and love
To protect and fortify not only your mind
But your body
To know that the more you fortify yourself
The more you are going to be able to fight exploitation
The more you are going to protect and fight
The ones you love, and even the ones
You won’t even realize you have saved as a result

We may not always have the access to healthy food
But we have the choice to request it collectively
In educational spaces and to take the initiative to exercise

Friday, August 01, 2014, Buttes-Chaumont Parc, Paris, France.



Why do I need feminism? We all have our reasons. We all have our stories. Let me tell you about my day:



I was sitting on a hill in the grass at Buttes-Chaumont park, a lovely historical area in Paris. I wanted to be relatively by myself so I could write in peace and smoke without drawing attention to myself. I’m sitting, book in my lap, a pen and cig between my fingers, when I am approached by a man. My main concern was determining whether or not he was the po-lice, but he had no characteristics of cops. He appeared emotionally stable and had good hygiene so I wasn’t too uncertain, (isn’t it kind of bad how we judge people on that stuff?), still, I wondered what he wanted, dreading having to talk to someone when I was merely trying to write in peace. I figured he was going to ask me for something to smoke.



He didn’t. Instead, he asked if he could sit by me. I look around and scan all the other vacant spaces he could sit instead, making it obvious that there was plenty of room to sit instead of right the **** next to me. It’s a pretty big park. “Si ca ta derange pas?” I wasn’t planning on staying long anyway, but I knew he wouldn’t be dangerous as there were many families and couples and runners and walkers, old friends and young kids playing. I felt safe enough, and he seemed harmless. I figured if anything, I could practice my French, which was always nice.



I said okay. He sat, and for a moment we sat in silence. I made myself a sandwich with baguette and cheese and offered him some. He politely declined. We started talking.



I asked if he was Parisian, and he told me he lived there for a while but was from Afrique. I didn’t catch which country, but I don’t think he specified which region. He asked about me, and I told him I was American, born in DC, but I came to France every so often and it was my first language. We talked about travel. We talked about the chaos in the Middle East, and how it was prophesized in scripture. He told me he was Muslim. I told him I wasn’t religious.



I told him I acknowledged the importance of texts, but I believe our ability to think has evolved in 2000 years and we have more information now than we did then. I told him there was too much life and I could not fit it all into one magic being which sprinkled glitter and said “Let there be” and we were created. I told him I really liked the Asian philosophies of Buddhism and Daoism. We talked about peace. We talked about Human Rights and the beauty of diversity, and how marvelous it was people could live among another in peace.



I said it was cool, and I even said it was cool that even as a black man in Europe and an Arab-American woman, we could talk freely without hostility and social division. We talked about closed-mindedness and Conservativism. I explained cognitive dissonance contributing to conflict, generated by opposing views and resistance/reluctance to consider new ideas. We talked about Psychology. I told him I was a writer and I told him about Cabaret Populaire in Belleville and the poetry community in Paris. I told him I love Paris. We talked again about travel.



He told me he was in Germany last weekend, and I told him I was in Langen Tuesday night. He told me he always wanted to go to the U.S.A. We talked about immigration. We talked about the American Dream. We talked about money. I told him I was proposed to the last time I was in Lebanon. We talked about reasons people marry. I reminded him today was the first of August, which meant I’d been with my boyfriend for two months. We talked about love. We talked about monogamy, polyamory and infidelity. We talked about Islam. We talked about racism.



We were sitting there talking for an hour or so, which I was especially grateful for, because besides having an interesting conversation I was able to speak in French for all of it, as he did not speak English (apparently he spoke German, though). I stood up to leave and told him “Enchanté,” but before I started walking off he motioned for me to look at his phone. I was wondering if he was trying to add me on Facebook or follow me on Instagram or something, but I am instead confronted by a picture on his screen of him laying on his back on a bed, with an ***** ***** as the focal point.



Furious, I asked him “Pourquoi tu ma montre ca?! J’ai pas demande a voir ca!”



The stupid smile on his face disappeared and was replaced by a look of slight hurt, confusion, and surprise.

“Bordelle! C’est dommage—mais c’est ca—des hommes et femmes ne peuvent pas parler normalment, vraiment!”



And for the vile words I wanted to spout, I scoffed instead, too much of a lady to shout or get emotional, but I made sure to call him out and stand my ground, exuding negative energy and making it clear with my few words that that was not okay.



I gave no impression of interest in seeing his ****, so why did he do that? Even if he thought I might want to (hell never) he should have heard me ask or vocally say “yes, you can do that.” However, I did not ask; there were no prompts, hints, innuendos or even suggestive, flirty phrasing that would serve as an indication of ****** interest on my behalf.



I don’t want to be cynical and assume all guys are perverts and avoid any conversation because I’m not a rude person (generally). I’m not sexist. I value conversations and friendships with people without emphasis of gender importance. I try not to assume that everyone is sketchy or has ****** up motives. Some people just want to talk.



I wasn’t going to blatantly ignore or dismiss him because he was a man, nor because he was black, foreign, or Muslim. But where the hell is he from that he was socialized and thought that was appropriate or wanted?

I did not ask. The worst part is that he seemed like a genuinely alright person, but then he had to ruin it by whipping out a **** pic. Gross. What’s even more gross is the sense of entitlement he had, thinking it was acceptable to do that. You are a stranger. And I don’t want to see your ******, you disgusting *******.



I really don’t like assuming **** about people or making generalizations. I’m not going to assimilate one ****** with every group they are assigned to and stereotype against every person of that respective group. But fuckkkk. It’s annoying and disappointing that what I thought was a pleasant talk and exchange of ideas with a friendly stranger was actually a plot to show me his ****. ****.



The moral of this story is to say why feminism is needed, because this happens to people every day. If you still need further assistance understanding, please allow me to elaborate:



1)      I need feminism because it allows me to stand up for myself and feel confident about stating that I’m uncomfortable with unwanted behaviors and I’m not going to tolerate them.



These behaviors include, but are not limited to:



1)      Showing me **** pics

2)      Assuming it’s okay to show a girl you met not even an hour ago a **** pic (Do not even say it’s because of a culture difference, because I know of Frenchies who don’t do that)

3)      Approaching me because I’m sitting alone (I accepted that because I assumed he wasn’t going to violate my mind like that (good thing I don’t have photographic memory) but I didn’t wave over and say “Hey, you look friendly! Come over and talk to me!”)

4)      Asking me how serious things are with my boyfriend

5)      Asking me about my bisexuality—only to invalidate it

6)      Assigning me behavior expectations because of my gender

7)      Trying to control the way I do or do not reproduce

8)      Expecting me to behave a certain way because of my sexuality

9)      Judging me based on my sexuality

10)  Openly discriminating against people and expecting me to be okay with prejudice

11)  Using racist terms… because you’re a racist

12)  Dehumanizing the oppressed





Because I don’t know what you studied about it (wait—most people who disagree with feminism haven’t and are completely misinformed) but:



Feminism is about equality, and it doesn’t feel very equal when I show someone respect but I get no respect in return. And if you associate feminism with fauxminism and misandry, please educate yourself. (If I had Tumblr still, you better believe I would’ve already posted this). To quote the great words of Jay in Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back: "Remember, don’t whip your **** out unless she asks."

I don’t know what to order so I order the cheapest thing on the menu
I don’t know if you have lotion, but if you do could I use some
you pulled something out of your pocket, that attracts the consumer I’m sure
it looked lip balm, it looked like blush, but it was lotion

you walked me to your place
made me a whisky and soda
you had mint, you put it in
before then I had read about that only in novels
I didn’t go home soon
I was thinking of polyamory, the next morning at noon
the next morning at noon
curly hair, brown skin, brown skin, curly hair
nose ring, curly hair, brown skin, nose ring, and curly hair

guilt guilt guilt guilt guilt guilt guilt guilt in the morning
I’m mourning over my Catholic upbringing
and do I always have to tell the truth when I write something
I don’t wanna drink and drive like I don’t wanna drink and make love
make love with a woman
I don’t wanna drink and just fritter and **** away
******* guilty conscience
you’re wrong socialized conscience

let me dip my feet, let me submerge

All these stanzas look alike
they talk about the same things
with the same words, the same poem

written over and over again
like voices, whispers, copying each other
unable to feel and trust experience
differently, socialized for homogeneity

unified but dull, strong but obedient
their writing seemed the narratives
of machines unable to innovate

plagiarizing voices they believed were
their own, authentic, pure
their literary journals were a politics
of masters of arts and agendas of contests

like car commercials without a proper
enjoyment of speed, or our favorite writers
whose names we only knew because

they were the ones who died at the right time
while somebody was looking, reading them
but the bookstores didn’t know their
metaphors were weak, or their life’s work

was merely symbolic, that’s the thing isn’t it
poets are only symbols, as poems are only
fluff, paper, the labor of writers-in-residence

while the rest of the world are more
interested in serial killers and which stocks
might be worth getting into, and when to sell out
investing in words seemed silly to them

and, in my selected works there was nothing
of how to be a Poet Laureate or how to win prizes
exceptional or not, publication was left to amazon

state grants, fellowships, visiting writers
academics who never felt truly how to write
poetry at its heart was a colonization of artists
few could share what that meant, we were

the first illiterate generation, spending more time
with the internet than with books.

I am constantly checking myself
When problematic thoughts enter my mind
Or negative feelings originate in
The messed up ways I've been socialized to think

I do not wish to own anyone or anything
Yet sometimes possessive thoughts plague me
I must remind myself that we are all only humans
Trying to find our best route to happiness

This one article stated that
The hardest part of polyam relationships
Lies in the negotiation between
Your and your partners' needs

So I must always remain on guard
Because the jealousy and sadness coming from within
Was bred by the broken systems we grew up in
And redefining those is a part of my resistance

Monogamy stems from the patriarchy
And sexism lies within that
Possessiveness and jealousy are not cute
They only lead to blaming others for your own inconsistencies

And I am a mess of inconsistencies

Melting madness and shimmering isles
The bubble-gum boils in drug pedophiles
Let's teach the East to love Western style
We come in with strap-on's and pillage with smiles
The rest of the world watches their watches
People keep saying we're at hour eleven
We're changing the design on our gold lockets
From a heart to a blackjack, Seven Seven Seven!

The college boys assure you that they know the lyrics
And the meanings behind them for they've been enlightened
They swarm out like locusts and pretentiously parrot
Verbatim the textbooks they read when they're frightened
That they'll die with nothing to show for their efforts
They want everyone else in the world to remember
That they did exist on some scale of importance
Even though we're just spun yarn of grass, dirt and oceans

Intelligence streams the consciousness seeds and conscientious objectors it seems
So pardon me for the fallacy of pardoning tyrannical dictator queens
It seems these days to be discovered you need to cheat on your spouse or your lover
You'd think that with all the war crimes we've seen we would have hung at least one or the other
We've got two parties, so pick one or scram! (Look at them squirm as fast as they can!)
They're starting to think for themselves again! Quick, strangle the market and feed this man
Acid and bath salts and give him some tear gas and send him on in to disarm the smear traps
And **** everyone so we'll jump to conclusion with no where to turn, the final solution!

I'm drunk again and we're falling in, the shoreline is riddled with explosions
We don't speak of the war, we have no comment, we're almost out of original content
We're frantically searching for a brand new contest to prove that our nation is still the best
Whether you're China, Russia, Israel, Pakistan, the U.K., or India, the U.S. or Japan
Let's take all the gangbanging **** out of Oakland and drop them in to the Atlantic Ocean
Or better yet, set them loose in Uganda, let's see how long they last in Rwanda.
I'm done with religion and socialized medicine, this aristocracy of pull and deception
So for once in our lifetimes, let's seek a vision, because God knows people can't make ******* decisions.

please stop romancing cutting,
depression, eating disorders,
anxiety and suicidal thoughts.
those things are not beautiful.

it is not beautiful waking up
every morning wishing you
weren't here.

it is not beautiful having to wear
long sleeves in the summer to
cover up the scars on your arms.

it is not beautiful throwing up
in the toilet just so you don't
gain another pound.

it is not beautiful missing school
for a month just because you
couldn't drag yourself out of bed
to see daylight.

but you can be beautiful with
cuts and scars all over your body.

and you can be beautiful even though
you aren't too happy about your weight.

oh, and you're still beautiful if you haven't
socialized with people for a couple weeks.

and you're still beautiful even though you
blew out your 16th birthday candles wishing
you were dead.

you're beautiful, but the things that you have done to
your body aren't.

Feelings overflowing
Dripping from the cracks in my heart
Coursing through my veins
The excess seeps into my lungs
And I can't breathe

I watch you carefully
Trying desperately to read you
But like a million books in foreign tongue
I cannot follow the lines
Enough to reach a valid conclusion

The distance between us is stiff
My body aches with the tension of this anxiety
And though I avoid eye contact mostly
Sometimes I let myself slip

While it felt so wrong before
I'm learning to love myself
And embrace this capacity
To love multiple people at once
I'm slowly accepting my feelings for you
Swimming alongside my love for her

And here we are
Waiting patiently for what?
We have the perfect chance at something
Anything
And we embrace every minute of it

Every flirty text that makes my heart race
Every tear spawning from our partners' faces
The beautiful distance between us
Without the pressure and rush often associated with love

We sacrifice our energy on loved ones who don't understand
The true extent to which some humans can love
We endure the pain of supporting confused partners
So we can spend that extra time getting ready
To look cute for a simple conversation on my couch

I'm happy this way
Free from the socialized constraints of monogamy
Allowed to feel freely
To love freely

And regardless of where this experience leaves us
I'm going to embrace every opportunity it offers
And though our path is terrifyingly unmarked
I couldn't feel more at peace with it

As the **** of a 12-dollar cigar
touches the tip of the tongue,
the nervous system shoots a signal to the brain,
to process the sweet tinge
of delicious poison
that hits the back of the throat.
Slow suicide, baby,
really doesn't get any smoother.

Human bodies may desire health,
but it’s the mind that struggles
and tests mortality
as the heart races
for the best ****.

Hipsters and their vapor pipes,
their overpriced organic groceries,
coke binges and ****** addictions,
gym memberships and spinning classes,
they’re socialized to believe life
goes on forever.
They behave as if death
is a kind of curse.

We can run from sins,
wash our souls in the rain
of fresh lovers in new cities.
Sins, however, collect.
They grow in strength.
All we have in the end,
is the sweet tinge of satisfaction
that comes from killing oneself
in style.

Who Am I?
A self-hating narcissist. A phony, a fake.
A lover who fights,
A an economist who reads and writes.

Who Am I?
I am the absolute value of all the positives and negatives adding together to an exact , specific, rounded to three decimal spaces point.
(Make sure you reduce all fractions.)
I am a racist revolutionary pacifist,
A sexist race-class-gender rights activist.
I am a bleached out blend of all the colors
that splatter onto pages, spreading around other people’s thoughts,
theories and theorems.
I am an organized mess, a planned out catastrophe waiting to unexpectedly happen one day or night at exactly 10:30pm, though in reality it’ll probably be more like 11:15.
I am the dates and times on a calendar from the wrong year, cut short but too long and exact,
too detailed for my or anyone else’s own good.
Too analytical, inquisitive, and apathetic.
Too bored, busy, moving and stagnant to be concerned with things like letters or stamps.
I am too many miles away for tears, the head will never make it to the heart.
And vise versa.

Who Am I?
I am the good girl I was meant to be, the female with the hair and the eye-lashes and the dresses and the make-up.
I am made-up.
I am a sheltered socialized conditioned natured-nurtured heterosexually-scaled heterosexist,
continually sexed and sexualizing and sexually exploiting my own ****** empowerment
at the price of our emotional liberation, properly appropriated of course.
I am a starved adult, a hungry child.
A learner who sometimes teaches.
A health-crazed American disaster straight from the fast-food factory line, extra large drink for an extra large waist-band and an extra-large expense account and an extra-large house and an extra-large scoop of emptiness.
I am a master of a few words and phrases I read in a book once.
Of a few ideas I read out of the yellow boxes on pages 510 and 526.

Who Am I?
What words thoughts actions books songs smells images define me?
Who defines me?
What boundaries confine me?

Or, more precisely, what am I?
I am the perfect collision of atoms and molecules into one blessed soul.
I am the singer/song-writer reading the books written in a language I wish I could speak.
I am the perfect puzzle piece to my own puzzle,
My own incompatible, annoying, over-analyzing jealous puzzle piece,
all jagged and torn.
I am my own best friend.
I am so sure of myself I may or may not have intentionally completely forgot what I was just talking about.
Did I just summarize the life-story the life work the life plans of myself or someone else?
What hypocritical overly critical actions did I commit today?

Who Am I?
I am you.

some days confusion rips each half of me into shredded bits
and I never wake up knowing

my heart wanes back and forth between the different me's
while my brain tries to make sense of it all

does anyone know exactly who they are?
I feel like I have to run and never look back
all the while aiming for a box that I know I won't fit into
and the moment I reach it, it'll stretch and creak,
push me back to the old box I was in

categories rule my life
but I never asked for this

My Love. I can only hope that this writing may help you understand my craziness.
I love  you.

Sometime ago while you were away and the thought of ever being with you was put away, I was happily in a
relationship. One that I thought was going pretty well. She was attractive in her own right, smart with ambition, aspiration, she liked my friends and family and they liked her also. We went to classes together, lived in the same complex and saw each other often.

Life was going great. We even spent the night at each others places, rotating here and there. Though she did move a bit too quick for me, in that she wanted to get married. I thought the idea of that was all too sudden and that we should wait on that. I was uncomfortable with it but thought to only give it a few years. She partied with us, got smashed with us and during some of our parties guys would hit on her and I would have to tell them off. Some even tried to fight and I hit guys and fought for her. Even some of my good friends confessed to "slapping her ***" noting that it was inappropriate and wrong of them to do so and willingly requested me to hit them in return. And i did. That's how things were and still are.

Though this was all before you, you were still in my thoughts. She and I socialized a lot by hanging out with lots of friends and went to all kinds of parties. Even though I've never been the "party type", I went for her and for my friends. On a whim, we went to a tattoo and piercing place where she got a tattoo and talked me into getting a piercing. I no longer have the piercing but a scar remains and I look up it and question...why the hell...

She hung out with people outside of us. Either from school or work. I never thought anything of it. It never occurred to me that I should be a bit concerned. I trusted her completely. Then one night while my roommates and i were hosting a party she wasn't there. She was in Franklin watching the new twilight film at the Theaters.
While i stepped outside to smoke and just as I was lighting my cigarette, one of my friends stepped outside also. He lit one up also and asked if we could speak. I said "sure whats up?" He said that he hopes that I respect him just as much as he respects me and asks that I don't get angry at him. "Of course", I said, even more curious and confused than I was before. With his cigarette in one hand he grabbed my shoulder with the other, looked me deep in the eyes and said. "what if I told you she wasn't at the Theaters watching the film? What if I told you she was seeing someone else?"

I told him that I respect him and that he's trying to look after me and for that I thank him. But I told him that I can't believe him and must doubt him, even though he has it on good authority she is cheating. Soon thereafter I began to notice a change in her that I didn't see before. The thought of what he told me, slowly eating at me and breaking me down.

Then while at work on Christmas Eve I received a text from her saying that we could no longer be together. I asked why and she tried everything to make me believe that she wasn't ready for a relationship. But nothing she was saying to persuade me was lining up. She finally confessed, confirming my every fear. She had been cheating on me...for months. Driving the knife deeper into me and worse more, she didn't care. She felt no remorse. My world was shattered. I had so much trust in her I felt like a fool at that moment, remembering what my friend had told me. I should have believed him there. I could hardly breathe, I felt weak, torn and vulnerable. I have not spoken to her since that day. I never will.

Soon after that, I hung out with the friend who had warned me of the impending doom that I chose to ignore. I apologized to him face to face. There's no other way that could have been done, to show my apologies and thankfulness for having someone like him.

I know that all this emotional baggage I bring has hurt you and distraught you love. I just wanted to shine a light  for you on why I am the way I am. To show you why the "red flags" pop up. How it's hard for me to agree to the things that you do. I know with your help I can overcome this and suffer this no longer. It will take time and patience. I hope you can forgive me for being so messed up. I love you so very much and I always will.

-Auf ewig dein.

-Lucien

i jus now saw
some dude
literally move
the apt. dumpster
so to paint
the wall white
behind it;

a wall, which,
will be completely ******* covered
by the dumpster,
after putting it back
against the newly painted white wall.

plus im pretty sure they're calling for rain..

that happened.

i actually witnessed that happen:
and, then, proceeded to
turn around
-awkwardly-
to go back inside my apt.,
with two full trashbags in hand.

... do you even realize what that means??

somebody actually gave him
that task: "go paint behind the dumpster."
aren't there other things to do?
or is this guy's boss that much of a ******
that he'd tell his employee,
"heyyy soo.... the wall.. behind the dumpster --
you know that wall? yaa
it needs to be painted.."

i mean, it'd be one thing
if, like,
the wall were
visible. and gross looking.
and people were calling
and complaining
about it,
like it was some eyesore
that offended their
otherwise
aesthetic enjoyment
and anticipation
of approaching
the scuffed forest green
apt. dumpster.

but it's not;
so it's not;
and so
they aren't.

or i'd get it if people routinely socialized
hanging around dumpsters,
like a water-coolor
or something;

buuut they don't;
so it's not
like a water-cooler..

... yaaa, unless i'm missing something here,
as far as i know,
there have been no
emerging cultural trends
whereby large groups of people
are routinely finding some
sorta symbolic resonance with
the object of a
dumpster;

it's gravitas
doesn't exactly
prompt frequent and
spontaneous dialogue
around it.

it isn't a known cultural artifact,
representing something meaningful and
bigger than ourselves, creating cohesion
and establishing an intangible commonality:

behold, our goodly trash-bearer!
great eater of things prolly totally not needed!
humble builder of plastic trash continents,
swirling vortex in the middle of the high seas!

nobody says that.

ever.

and nobody
is overstaying their visit
at a giant,
smelly
metal maw
which disposes things,
either unneeded or unwanted,
long enough
to suddenly notice that
the wall behind it
could maybe use a new paint job.

it's not exactly a cafe.
it's a ******* dumpster.

that man,
charged with the task of
painting the wall whiter
behind the dumpster,
ought to be
painting
on a canvass

which we all could see,
visible to the greater public.
and we would celebrate it, with him.
we could all gather
together, and toast
to his mind manifest, his art,
on display for all to see.

i wanna see THAT.
**** the white wall
behind the
******* dumpster.
that **** can wait.

what visions would surface?
how would he render it?

what would
he make?

i dunno

maybe
he'd paint
a surrealist depiction
of a man
charged with the task
of painting white
a wall behind a dumpster
as rain clouds
rolled in overhead,
spelling out

"i am Employer.
destroyer of worlds,
and vibes.
feel my ****** wrath."

Disgusted now that America is busted
For voting in sewer rats and gone to bat
For making this into an autocracy,
Working to gut democracy and replace it,
Deface and deforest all of the best
Then sell off the rest of the planet
From the water to the granite
Leaving only inedible gold
Shoved into the the wallets
Of the national pickpockets
And liars while they set fires
And burn down the country
With their hatred and bigotry
Unchecked by the lazy populace
Too stupid to know what danger is
While it is marching into their homes
Making every state a danger zone.

The traitors who own the industries
Hold a gun to journalist monopolies
So that artificial realities are sold
As socialized necessities
To people who prefer tabloids
To history books and crave bromides
For this time it is the Christians
That fiddle while Rome turns to ruins
And ashes surrounded by those who fought
While a complacent half of America did not.

I am sickened at the laziness,
The political father of craziness
Has let this horror happen to this,
The country of which I was always proud,
And sick of how loud the rats are
That they have taken destruction so far
That we may never recover again
And start to elect countrymen
Instead of men to own the country
Without a scintilla of modesty
And treat fine people shoddily
Merely because they can.
Who needs that kind of man?

So what do you think of me?
You think I don't try?
well I try
oh my god do I try
do I cry
always lie,
you think I'm reclusive
                         elusive
                         aloof
                 and kloof
You think I like it that way,
solitude every day,
think I don't care to talk
or catchup to you and walk
you think there's a reason
I don't and haven't socialized,
well It's because I'm being terrorized.
You can't see it
not from where you sit
step in my shoes
feel what it's like to lose
see the earth on fire
trapped on a spire
a hero holding arms out
too petrified to jump or shout,
you know where safety lies
but black rain falls from black skies
and you're not sure if those arms are for you
or another in need of rescue too.
So hear what it's like
with nowhere to hike
overcome by a thousand eternal flame
that make you think you're to blame
that you feel this way because you set the fire
it got out of control only growing higher,
you feel ostracised and unwanted,
hated ugly and shameful and jaunted.
You live in fear
it's all your fault,
growth maturity and experiences put on halt,
post traumatic stress
a scared, shameful child and nothing less.

So what do you think of me?
think I don't try
I don't care
nothing behind my blank stare,
well there's everything behind these eyes;
apocalypse covered in flies
bruises and scars
heart to the stars
a longing shiver
pristine liver
paranoia and neglect
depression can't forget
a pig reflect
insignificant insect
-So what do you think of me,
look and tell me what you see,
and for you I can guarantee,
nothing is as it should be.

Atomized,
Anti-socialized,
No one to turn to.  
No one to help you.
In a hypocritical world
We look to him for direction.
We find in him a solution:
Where actions become  
The only form of thought,
There lies the virtue of sacrifice.
No one will deny  
The purity of blood
Selflessly shed for this dream:  

“When these centuries of struggle end,
Paradise will be complete.
Everything is possible.
We can change the world.”

I see you stand and gaze around the room
Looking for Mr. Who Knows Who
I wonder when you stare who is it you see
and have you seen me...

the one over in the corner
the one always out of sight
the one that's barely mentioned
the one hardly given the time

You walk along the ocean, enjoying the surf and sand
The shells are secondary as you search for the perfect man
I wonder as you walk by the sea
have you seen me...

the one on the single blanket
the one who averts his eyes
the one that tastes the ocean
in the salty tears he cries

As you sit at your computer browsing through the dating sites
Filling out the questionnaire of your does and do not likes
Looking for that true companion on the newest dating scene
have you seen me...

the one that's also on the computer
the one that's anti-socialized
the one the goes unnoticed
even in his own eyes

have you seen me...

As a white, middle class female, history and society have labeled me an oppressor.
And the fact that I have come so far to face is that, by nature,
and by that I mean by the socialized conditioning of my white ancestors, I am.
An oppressor of the people, of the land, of myself.
The history of mainstream culture has deprived me of a connection with nature.
It is this social history that I tire with, that I struggle to accept.
See, but with this wisdom comes freedom,
a freedom to reject the path that society and history has paved for me
and to find my own, to find my own truths.
I am a conserver, and I have found nature to be a conserver too.
Traces of my roots and my life reach further than any town limits or cemetery stonewalls.
You can’t cover my spirit with foundation, eye shadow and lipstick.
It may hide death in my face, but it won’t beautify my spirit.
My soul needs no resting place.
It will continue on to live and breathe in the absence of my body,
which has only been a vessel.
I will not be confined.
I can not be confined, not by religion, not by my race, not by my class.
I will not be put in a box, not in life, and not in death.

bukowski socialized with
                                             sean penn and madonna
but he did not care for
                                             the material girl with her airs,
acting like a literary
                                             poseur, name dropping, chatting
about swinburne, like
                                             some patron at a bloomsbury
salon. she even asked
                                             him if he would appear
in her raunchy *** book
                                             but he refused. bukowski
would complain to sean    
                                             about madonna's phony
behavior and sean would
                                             get furious and defensive.
bukowski just laughed it
                                             off. he valued sean as a
friend and an artist but
                                             he had no time for
madonna playing hip,
                                             he said, she's not being real.
bukowski treasured his
                                             daughter, his wife, his cats,
classical music and his
                                             muse, his way with words,
characters, situations.
                                             he was a regular guy
and a gifted poet...
                                             and everyone called him hank.

What makes a lovely lady or a bad Bh as people claim?
Is it that she can twerk Bend it over or "Bust it down" Is it cuz she's ratchet (Hudson brothers/Funky Dineva voice) or How her "humps" (Black eyed peas) or As some say "******* sit right..A so phat perhaps" But what if her figure shows she has no A* at all

Next before I say whats in her head...Let me break down the outsid.  First, can and if her hair can she get some natural love for that. Two for whatever weave or extensions she has can we please extend our knowledge to get to know the higher insides of someone before we seek their lower one's

If she has no or short hair at all can people stop short coming her or give her no respect or decent courtesy at all (ALL Right) Here's the inside part we as females been socialized to have the greatest appearance but unfortunately due to emotional instability and many incapabilities we or some of us Us have no sense of confidence or Endearance

With all this said I go back to that title of this piece Based off a sing called "That thing"

My second semester of college
My sociology professor tells us not to qualify our input
Because women are socialized to be sorry.
My voice has been used against me
Taught the only things it is good for
Is saying "yes" and "I apologize"
We are taught to cater to a man's state of being
And his state in general
Why are we called patriots?
Because our existence contributes to the patriarchy.
Our very lives are designed to entertain the male psyche
We are the pits of water for the buffalo to come to
Indulge in
Drain of our substance for his convenience.
We become too weak to fight
As "meninists" quote the Bible
Saying we are not meant to be equal
But when their seventh grade knowledge of quack biology
Is proved to be bad science time and time again
Will anyone fight to liberate us?
My second semester of college
My New Testament professor
Tells us the biblical interpretation of gender inequality
Is bad reading.
What if God is woman?
Would this deity have her body torn from the towers of heaven
Would she be called a ***** for smiting the world
With a great flood?
If she is woman
There are many more floods to come.
We eat the body of Christ at communion
If God is woman
Her body will be eaten by vultures every day.
We stand, we recite as we have been so kindly instructed
"This is my body
Given for you."

You’ve got more than meets the eyes
You’ve been praying your whole life

And you’ve been saying what socialized
you’ve got no belief and you don’t realize

And how can you wonder why?
Life’s moving faster than our time.
One day you are gonna die.
What will you have left behind?

Don’t say you’re sorry, don’t apologize.
It’s truly not my life to fully recognize.
But take those covers of your heart’s eyes
But when you do, don’t act so surprised

Now you’re not allowed to wonder why
I am just showing the truth where it lies
If it is painful that’s something worth the mind
Just remember not everyone is kind.

Remember not every one is kind
Remember many are still very blind
Remember again not everyone’s kind
Now think of those still in disguise

A ****** river pierces through
The raw heart of society
Inflicting souls of blooming youth
With socialized propriety

In the core of suburbia
The river flows along the roads
It runs into the neighborhoods
And out the faucets of their homes

What awaits at the river’s mouth
Is a mindless understanding
“Conform or be confused,” it roars
“And live on forever thirsty”

Most children of the world
Are begging for a drink
But some know the river’s tide
It controls what you think

To the conscious youth there lies a choice
To be lonely but be free
Or let the river erode your mind
And be carried out to sea

Socialized Medicine
as well as
Autonomous Warfare
propagated by the same administration;
how very far
we
as Humans
have come.

At the table where stones were cut
I bled with rivers of blood, oozing
destroying the earth beneath my feet
I signed and replies ruled,flowing
as the roaring groaning gowned

Seemly, overlooking spatial glow
like an untamable word it ruled
with fists and haunted hits that roll
to the very grave of Mrs Crawley
right at the entrance of a cathedral

Love is just a foolish affair of lust
as you give the vampires your feast
such a list of empires to vile sires
taking, mating, making, hating
in foolish mazes of mere lost lies

At a window where light overlooks
the revelation that has been said
at the cobblestone path taken
by the very hand of the inner self
tranced by the ridiculous gesture

At the torrent winds of heartbeats
waiting for bubbles of affliction
and all the socialized inflections
tenses affections of timeless ridicule
memorized in tounges of exceptions

Welcome to America,
Where we don't judge you by the color of your skin
But maybe you shouldn't say it
If you have to defend saying you have a black friend.

Welcome to America,
Where every election talks about illegal votes
from a bunch of illegal hosts
From the side you hadn't chose
Then throw your opinion down legal throats.

Welcome to America
Where the news said socialized medicine
Was just another word communism
And you believed them.
Another man got a six figure bill for cancer in his throat
Walking out alive with his house foreclosed.
No money for food, wondering streets unfed.
He's alive but he wishes he was dead.

Welcome to America
Where we talk about gun control
They think that a ban is the goal
But maybe we should look more into who gets sold
And maintain a license to keep
Knowledge is power, totting guns but weak.

Welcome to America
Where the internet is your MD
Don't trust the man who got a degree
Who went to school and ruled your move
But you just Googled it so it must be true

Welcome to America
Where I have pride in this land
But everyone is out of line
For reasons they don't understand
Being ignorant doesn't justify your mind
And maybe even I am out of line
But I'm listening to comprehend

I woke up this morning and I was thirty something and I was a waitress and I was a mother whose children are being raised by their grandparents.
I woke up this morning and I was an ex ***** who was trying to put her life back together and I was a high school dropout who got her GED but never did get that nursing degree that I've always promised myself I would have.
I woke up this morning and I was living in my sister's house that she so graciously offered me a room in but even after more than a year, it's never quite felt like home.
I woke up this morning and I wondered if I'll break down at work today or if the relationship that I'm in will finally be the one, the only, the last relationship I'll ever be in.
I woke up this morning and I wondered how much time I have left and why I wasted so much of my life wishing that I was dead.
I woke up this morning and I didn't want to hurt myself or anyone else.
I woke up this morning and I made plans and set goals for the day and for the week.
I woke up this morning and I got out of bed. I went to work, I socialized, I didn't crack, I didn't cry. I was normal today.
I woke up this morning.