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Poems
Meena Menon Sep 2021
A Police History
Meena Menon
Sep 2021
Flicker Shimmer Glow
The brightest star can shine even with thick black velvet draped over it.
Quartz, lime and salt crystals formed a glass ball.
The dark womb held me, warm and soft.
My mom called my cries when I was born the most sorrowful sound she had ever heard.
She said she’d never heard a baby make a sound like that.
I’d open my eyes in low light until the world’s light healed rather than hurt.
The summer before eighth grade, July 1992,
I watched a shooting star burn by at 100,000 miles per hour as I stood on the balcony
while my family celebrated my birthday inside.
It made it into the earth’s atmosphere
but it didn’t look like it was coming down;
I know it didn’t hit the ground but it burned something in the time it was here.
The glass ball of my life cracked inside.
Light reflected off the salt crystal cracks.
I saw the beauty of the light within.
Nacre from my shell kept those cracks from getting worse,
a wild pearl as defense mechanism.
In 2001, I quit my job after they melted and poured tar all over my life.
All summer literature class bathtubs filled with rose hip oil cleaned the tar.
That fall logic and epistemology classes spewed black ink all over my philosophy
written over ten years then.
Tar turned to asphalt when I met someone from my old job for a drink in November
and it paved a road for my life that went to the hospital I was in that December
where it sealed the roof on my life
when I was almost murdered there
and in February after meeting her for another drink.
They lit a fire at the top of the glacier and pushed the burning pile of black coal off the edge,
burnt red, looking like flames falling into the valley.
While that blazed the side of the cliff something lit an incandescent light.
The electricity from the metal lightbulb ***** went through wires and heated the filament between until it glowed.
I began putting more work into emotional balance from things I learned at AA meetings.
In Spring 2003, the damage that the doctors at the hospital in 2001 had done
made it harder for light to reflect from the cracks in the glass ball.
I’d been eating healthy and trying to get regular exercises since 1994
but in Spring 2003 I began swimming for an hour every morning .
The water washed the pollution from the burning coals off
And then I escaped in July.
I moved to London to study English Language and Linguistics.
I would’ve studied English Language and Literature.
I did well until Spring 2004 when I thought I was being stalked.
I thought I was manic.
I thought I was being stalked.
I went home and didn’t go back for my exams after spring holiday.
Because I felt traumatized and couldn’t write poetry anymore,
I used black ink to write my notes for my book on trauma and the Russian Revolution.
I started teaching myself German.
I stayed healthy.
In 2005, my parents went to visit my mom’s family in Malaysia for two weeks.
I thought I was being stalked.
I knew I wasn’t manic.
I thought I was being stalked.
I told my parents when they came home.
They thought I was manic.
I showed them the shoe prints in the snow of different sizes from the woods to the windows.
They thought I was manic.
I was outside of my comfort zone.
I moved to California. I found light.
I made light,
the light reflected off the salt crystals I used to heal the violence inflicted on me from then on.
The light turned the traffic lights to not just green from red
but amber and blue.
The light turned the car signals left and right.
The light reflected off of salt crystals, light emitting diodes,
electrical energy turned directly to light,
electroluminescence.
The electrical currents flowed through,
illuminating.
Alone in the world, I moved to California in July 2005
but in August I called the person I escaped in 2003,
the sulfur and nitrogen that I hated.
He didn’t think I was manic but I never said anything.
I never told him why I asked him to move out to California.
When his coal seemed like only pollution,
I asked him to leave.
He threatened me.
I called the authorities.
They left me there.
He laughed.
Then the violence came.
****: stabbed and punched, my ****** bruised, purple and swollen.
The light barely reflected from the glass ball wIth cracks through all the acid rain, smoke and haze.
It would take me half an hour to get my body to do what my mind told it to after.
My dad told me my mom had her cancer removed.
The next day, the coal said if I wanted him to leave he’d leave.
I booked his ticket.
I drove him to the airport.
Black clouds gushed the night before for the first time in months,
the sky clear after the rain.
He was gone and I was free,
melted glass, heated up and poured—
looked like fire,
looked like the Snow Moon in February
with Mercury in the morning sky.
I worked through ****.
I worked to overcome trauma.
Electricity between touch and love caused acid rain, smoke, haze, and mercury
to light the discharge lamps, streetlights and parking lot lights.
Then I changed the direction of the light waves.
Like lead glass breaks up the light,
lead from the coal, cleaned and replaced by potassium,
glass cut clearly, refracting the light,
electrolytes,
electrical signals lit through my body,
thick black velvet drapes gone.
Lava
I think that someone wrote into some palm leaf a manuscript, a gift, a contract.
After my parents wedding, while they were still in India,
they found out that my dad’s father and my mom’s grandfather worked for kings administering temples and collecting money for their king from the farmers that worked the rice paddies each king owned. They both left their homes before they left for college.
My dad, a son of a brahmin’s son,
grew up in his grandmother’s house.
His mother was not a Brahmin.
My mother grew up in Malaysia where she saw the children from the rubber plantation
when she walked to school.
She doesn’t say what caste she is.
He went to his father’s house, then college.
He worked, then went to England, then Canada.
She went to India then Canada.
They moved to the United States around Christmas 1978
with my brother while she was pregnant with me.
My father signed a contract with my mother.
My parents took ashes and formed rock,
the residue left in brass pots in India,
the rocks, so hot, they turned back to lava miles away before turning back to ash again,
then back to rock,
the lava from a super volcano,
the ash purple and red.
Circles on a Moss Covered Volcano
The eruption beatifies the magma.
It becomes obsidian,
only breaks with a fracture,
smooth circles where it breaks.
My mom was born on the grass
on a lawn
in a moss covered canyon at the top of a volcanic island.
My grandfather lived in Malaysia before the Japanese occupied.
When the volcano erupted,
the lava dried at the ocean into black sand.
The British allied with the Communist Party of Malaysia—
after they organized.
After the Americans defeated the Japanese at Pearl Harbor,
the British took over Malaysia again.
They kept different groups apart claiming they were helping them.
The black sand had smooth pebbles and sharp rocks.
Ethnic Malay farmers lived in Kampongs, villages.
Indians lived on plantations.
The Chinese lived in towns and urban areas.
Ethnic Malays wanted independence.
In 1946, after strikes, demonstrations, and boycotts
the British agreed to work with them.
The predominantly Chinese Communist Party of Malaysia went underground,
guerrilla warfare against the British,
claiming their fight was for independence.
For the British, that emergency required vast powers
of arrest, detention without trial and deportation to defeat terrorism.
The Emergency became less unpopular as the terrorism became worse.
The British were the iron that brought oxygen through my mom’s body.
She loved riding on her father’s motorcycle with him
by the plantations,
through the Kampongs
and to the city, half an hour away.
The British left Malaysia independent in 1957
with Malaysian nationalists holding most state and federal government offices.
As the black sand stretches towards the ocean,
it becomes big stones of dried lava, flat and smooth.
My mom thought her father and her uncle were subservient to the British.
She thought all things, all people were equal.
When her father died when she was 16, 1965,
they moved to India,
my mother,
a foreigner in India, though she’s Indian.
She loved rock and roll and mini skirts
and didn’t speak the local language.
On the dried black lava,
it can be hard to know the molten lava flickers underneath there.
Before the Korean War,
though Britain and the United States wanted
an aggressive resolution
condemning North Korea,
they were happy
that India supported a draft resolution
condemning North Korea
for breach of the peace.
During the Korean War,
India, supported by Third World and other Commonwealth nations,
opposed United States’ proposals.
They were able to change the U.S. resolution
to include the proposals they wanted
and helped end the war.
China wanted the respect of Third World nations
and saw the United States as imperialist.
China thought India was a threat to the Third World
by taking aid from the United States and the Soviets.
Pakistan could help with that and a seat at the United Nations.
China wanted Taiwan’s seat at the UN.
My mother went to live with her uncle,
a communist negotiator for a corporation,
in India.
A poet,
he threw parties and invited other artists, musicians and writers.
I have the same brown hyperpigmentation at my joints that he had.
During the day, only the steam from the hot lava can be seen.
In 1965, Pakistani forces went into Jammu and Kashmir with China’s support.
China threatened India after India sent its troops in.
Then they threatened again before sending their troops to the Indian border.
The United States stopped aid to Pakistan and India.
Pakistan agreed to the UN ceasefire agreement.
Pakistan helped China get a seat at the UN
and tried to keep the west from escalating in Vietnam.
The smoldering sound of the lava sizzles underneath the dried lava.
When West Pakistan refused to allow East Pakistan independence,
violence between Bengalis and Biharis developed into upheaval.
Bengalis moved to India
and India went into East Pakistan.
Pakistan surrendered in December 1971.
East Pakistan became independent Bangladesh
The warm light of the melted lava radiates underneath but burns.
In 1974, India tested the Smiling Buddha,
a nuclear bomb.
After Indira Gandhi’s conviction for election fraud in 1973,
Marxist Professor Narayan called for total revolution
and students protested all over India.
With food shortages, inflation and regional disputes
like Sikh separatists training in Pakistan for an independent Punjab,
peasants and laborers joined the protests.
Railway strikes stopped the economy.
In 1975, Indira Gandhi, the Iron Lady,
declared an Emergency,
imprisoning political opponents, restricting freedoms and restricting the press,
claiming threats to national security
because the war with Pakistan had just ended.
The federal government took over Kerala’s communist dominated government and others.
My mom could’ve been a dandelion, but she’s more like thistle.
She has the center that dries and flutters in the wind,
beautiful and silky,
spiny and prickly,
but still fluffy, downy,
A daisy.
They say thistle saved Scotland from the Norse.
Magma from the volcano explodes
and the streams of magma fly into the air.
In the late 60s,
the civil rights movement rose
against the state in Northern Ireland
for depriving Catholics
of influence and opportunity.
The Northern Irish police,
Protestant and unionist, anti-catholic,
responded violently to the protests and it got worse.
In 1969, the British placed Arthur Young,
who had worked at the Federation of Malaya
at the time of their Emergency
at the head of the British military in Northern Ireland.
The British military took control over the police,
a counter insurgency rather than a police force,
crowd control, house searches, interrogation, and street patrols,
use of force against suspects and uncooperative citizens.
Political crimes were tolerated by Protestants but not Catholics.
The lava burns the rock off the edge of the volcano.
On January 30, 1972, ****** Sunday,
British Army policing killed 13 unarmed protesters
fighting for their rights over their neighborhood,
protesting the internment of suspected nationalists.
That led to protests across Ireland.
When banana leaves are warmed,
oil from the banana leaves flavors the food.
My dad flew from Canada to India in February 1972.
On February 4, my dad met my mom.
On February 11, 1972,
my dad married my mom.
They went to Canada,
a quartz singing bowl and a wooden mallet wrapped in suede.
The rock goes down with the lava, breaking through the rocks as it goes down.
In March 1972, the British government took over
because they considered the Royal Ulster Police and the Ulster Special Constabulary
to be causing most of the violence.
The lava blocks and reroutes streams,
melts snow and ice,
flooding.
Days later, there’s still smoke, red.
My mom could wear the clothes she liked
without being judged
with my dad in Canada.
She didn’t like asking my dad for money.
My dad, the copper helping my mother use that iron,
wanted her to go to college and finish her bachelors degree.
She got a job.
In 1976, the police took over again in Northern Ireland
but they were a paramilitary force—
armored SUVs, bullet proof jackets, combat ready
with the largest computerized surveillance system in the UK,
high powered weapons,
trained in counter insurgency.
Many people were murdered by the police
and few were held accountable.
Most of the murdered people were not involved in violence or crime.
People were arrested under special emergency powers
for interrogation and intelligence gathering.
People tried were tried in non-jury courts.
My mom learned Malayalam in India
but didn’t speak well until living with my dad.
She also learned to cook after getting married.
Her mother sent her recipes; my dad cooked for her—
turmeric, cumin, coriander, cayenne and green chiles.
Having lived in different countries,
my mom’s food was exposed to many cultures,
Chinese and French.
Ground rock, minerals and glass
covered the ground
from the ash plume.
She liked working.
A volcano erupted for 192 years,
an ice age,
disordered ices, deformed under pressure
and ordered ice crystals, brittle in the ice core records.
My mother liked working.
Though Khomeini was in exile by the 1970s in Iran,
more people, working and poor,
turned to him and the ****-i-Ulama for help.
My mom didn’t want kids though my dad did.
She agreed and in 1978 my brother was born.
Iran modernized but agriculture and industry changed so quickly.
In January 1978, students protested—
censorship, surveillance, harassment, illegal detention and torture.
Young people and the unemployed joined.
My parents moved to the United States in December 1978.
The regime used a lot of violence against the protesters,
and in September 1978 declared martial law in Iran.
Troops were shooting demonstrators.
In January 1979, the Shah and his family fled.
On February 11, 1979, my parents’ anniversary,
the Iranian army declared neutrality.
I was born in July 1979.
The chromium in emeralds and rubies colors them.
My brother was born in May and I was born in July.
Obsidian—
iron, copper and chromium—
isn’t a gas
but it isn’t a crystal;
it’s between the two,
the ordered crystal and the disordered gas.
They made swords out of obsidian.
Warm Light Shatters
The eruption beatifies the magma.
It becomes obsidian,
only breaks with a fracture,
smooth circles where it breaks.
My dad was born on a large flat rock on the edge of the top
of a hill,
Molasses, sweet and dark, the potent flavor dominates,
His father, the son of a Brahmin,
His mother from a lower caste.
His father’s family wouldn’t touch him,
He grew up in his mother’s mother’s house on a farm.
I have the same brown hyperpigmentation spot on my right hand that he has.
In 1901, D’Arcy bought a 60 year concession for oil exploration In Iran.
The Iranian government extended it for another 32 years in 1933.
At that time oil was Iran’s “main source of income.”
In 1917’s Balfour Declaration, the British government proclaimed that they favored a national home for the Jews in Palestine and their “best endeavors to facilitate the achievement” of that.
The British police were in charge of policing in the mandate of Palestine. A lot of the policemen they hired were people who had served in the British army before, during the Irish War for Independence.
The army tried to stop how violent the police were, police used torture and brutality, some that had been used during the Irish War for Independence, like having prisoners tied to armored cars and locomotives and razing the homes of people in prison or people they thought were related to people thought to be rebels.
The police hired Arab police and Jewish police for lower level policing,
Making local people part of the management.
“Let Arab police beat up Arabs and Jewish police beat up Jews.”
The lava blocks and reroutes streams, melts snow and ice, flooding.
In 1922, there were 83,000 Jews, 71,000 Christians, and 589,000 Muslims.
The League If Nations endorsed the British Mandate.
During an emergency, in the 1930s, British regulations allowed collective punishment, punishing villages for incidents.
Local officers in riots often deserted and also shared intelligence with their own people.
The police often stole, destroyed property, tortured and killed people.
Arab revolts sapped the police power over Palestinians by 1939.
My father’s mother was from a matrilineal family.
My dad remembers tall men lining up on pay day to respectfully wait for her, 5 feet tall.
She married again after her husband died.
A manager from a tile factory,
He spoke English so he supervised finances and correspondence.
My dad, a sunflower, loved her: she scared all the workers but exuded warmth to the people she loved.
Obsidian shields people from negative energy.
David Cargill founded the Burmah Oil Co. in 1886.
If there were problems with oil exploration in Burma and Indian government licenses, Persian oil would protect the company.
In July 1906, many European oil companies, BP, Royal Dutch Shell and others, allied to protect against the American oil company, Standard Oil.
D’Arcy needed money because “Persian oil took three times as long to come on stream as anticipated.”
Burmah Oil Co. began the Anglo-Persian Oil Co. as a subsidiary.
Ninety-seven percent of British Petroleum was owned by Burmah Oil Co.
By 1914, the British government owned 51% of the Anglo-Persian Oil Co.
Anglo-Persian acquired independence from Burmah Oil and Royal Dutch Shell with two million pounds from the British government.
The lava burns the rock off the edge of the volcano.
In 1942, after the Japanese took Burma,
the British destroyed their refineries before leaving.
The United Nations had to find other sources of oil.
In 1943, Japan built the Burma-Thailand Railroad with forced labor from the Malay peninsula who were mostly from the rubber plantations.
The rock goes down with the lava, breaking through the rocks as it goes down.
In 1945. Japan destroyed their refineries before leaving Burma.
Cargill, Watson and Whigham were on the Burmah Oil Co. Board and then the Anglo Iranian Oil Co. Board.
In 1936 Palestine, boycotts, work stoppages, and violence against British police officials and soldiers compelled the government to appoint an investigatory commission.
Leaders of Egypt, Trans Jordan, Syria and Iraq helped end the work stoppages.
The British government had the Peel Commission read letters, memoranda, and petitions and speak with British officials, Jews and Arabs.
The Commission didn’t believe that Arabs and Jews could live together in a single Jewish state.
Because of administrative and financial difficulties the Colonial Secretary stated that to split Palestine into Arab and Jewish states was impracticable.
The Commission recommended transitioning 250,000 Arabs and 1500 Jews with British control over their oil pipeline, their naval base and Jerusalem.
The League of Nations approved.
“It will not remove the grievance nor prevent the recurrence,” Lord Peel stated after.
The Arab uprising was much more militant after Peel. Thousands of Arabs were wounded, ten thousand were detained.
In Sykes-Picot and the Husain McMahon agreements, the British promised the Arabs an independent state but they did not keep that promise.
Representatives from the Arab states rejected the Peel recommendations.
United Nations General Assembly Resolution181 partitioned Palestine into Arab and Jewish states with an international regime for the city of Jerusalem backed by the United States and the Soviet Union.
The Israeli Yishuv had strong military and intelligence organization —-
the British recognized that their interest was with the Arabs and abstained from the vote.
In 1948, Israel declared the establishment of its state.
Ground rock, minerals, and gas covered the ground from the ash plume.
The Palestinian police force was disbanded and the British gave officers the option of serving in Malaya.
Though Truman, Eisenhower and Kennedy supported snd tried to get Israel to offer the Arabs concessions, it wasn’t a major priority and didn’t always approve of Israel’s plans.
Arabs that had supported the British to end Turkish rule stopped supporting the West.
Many Palestinians joined left wing groups and violent third world movements.
Seventy-eight percent of the territory of former Palestine was under Israel’s control.
My dad left for college in 1957 and lived in an apartment above the United States Information services office.
Because he graduated at the top of his class, he was given a job with the public works department of the government on the electricity board.
“Once in, you’ll never leave.”
When he wanted a job where he could do real work, his father was upset.
He broke the chains with bells for vespers.
He got a job in Calcutta at Kusum Products and left the government, though it was prestigious to work there.
In the chemical engineering division, one of the projects he worked on was to design a *** distillery, bells controlled by hammers, hammers controlled by a keyboard.
His boss worked in the United Kingdom for. 20 years before the company he worked at, part of Power Gas Corporation, asked him to open a branch in Calcutta.
He opened the branch and convinced an Industrialist to open a company doing the same work with him. The branch he opened closed after that.
My dad applied for labor certification to work abroad and was selected.
His boss wrote a reference letter for my him to the company he left in the UK. My dad sent it telling the company when he was leaving for the UK.
The day he left for London, he got the letter they sent in the mail telling him to take the train to Sheffield the next day and someone from the firm would meet him at the station.
His dad didn’t know he left, he didn’t tell him.
He broke the chains with chimes for schisms.
Anglo-Persian Oil became Anglo-Iranian Oil in 1935.
The British government used oil and Anglo-Persian oil to fight communism, have a stronger relationship with the United States and make the United Kingdom more powerful.
The National Secularists, the Tudeh, and the Communists wanted to nationalize Iran’s oil and mobilized the Iranian people.
The British feared nationalization in Iran would incite political parties like the Secular Nationalists all over the world.
In 1947, the Iranian government passed the Single Article Law that “[increased] investment In welfare benefits, health, housing, education, and implementation of Iranianization through substitution of foreigners” at Anglo-Iranian Oil Co.
“Anglo-Iranian Oil Company made more profit in 1950 than it paid to the Iranian government in royalties over the previous half century.”
The Anglo-Iranian Oil Company tried to negotiate a new concession and claimed they’d hire more Iranian people into jobs held by British and people from other nationalities at the company.
Their hospitals had segregated wards.
On May 1, 1951, the Iranian government passed a bill that nationalized Anglo- Iranian Oil Co.’s holdings.
During the day, only the steam from the hot lava can be seen.
In August 1953, the Iranian people elected Mossadegh from the Secular Nationalist Party as prime minister.
The British government with the CIA overthrew Mossadegh using the Iranian military after inducing protests and violent demonstrations.
Anglo-Iranian Oil changed its name to British Petroleum in 1954.
Iranians believe that America destroyed Iran’s “last chance for democracy” and blamed America for Iran’s autocracy, its human rights abuses, and secret police.
The smoldering sound of the lava sizzles underneath the dried lava.
In 1946, Executive Yuan wanted control over 4 groups of Islands in the South China Sea to have a stronger presence there: the Paracels, the Spratlys, Macclesfield Bank, and the Pratas.
The French forces in the South China Sea would have been stronger than the Chinese Navy then.
French Naval forces were in the Gulf of Tonkin, U.S. forces were in the Taiwan Strait, the British were in Hong Kong, and the Portuguese were in Macao.
In the 1950s, British snd U.S. oil companies thought there might be oil in the Spratlys.
By 1957, French presence in the South China Sea was hardly there.
When the volcano erupted, the lava dried at the ocean into black sand.
By 1954, the Tudeh Party’s communist movement and intelligence organization had been destroyed.
Because of the Shah and his government’s westernization policies and disrespectful treatment of the Ulama, Iranians began identifying with the Ulama and Khomeini rather than their government.
Those people joined with secular movements to overthrow the Shah.
In 1966, Ne Win seized power from U Nu in Burma.
“Soldiers ruled Burma as soldiers.”
Ne Win thought that western political
Institutions “encouraged divisions.”
Minority groups found foreign support for their separatist goals.
The Karens and the Mons supported U Nu in Bangkok.
Rare copper, a heavy metal, no alloys,
a rock in groundwater,
conducts electricity and heat.
In 1965, my Dad’s cousin met him at Heathrow, gave him a coat and £10 and brought him to a bed and breakfast across from Charing Cross Station where he’d get the train to Sheffield the next morning.
He took the train and someone met him at the train station.
At the interview they asked him to design a grandry girder, the main weight bearing steel girder as a test.
Iron in the inner and outer core of the earth,
He’d designed many of those.
He was hired and lived at the YMCA for 2 1/2 years.
He took his mother’s family name, Menon, instead of his father’s, Varma.
In 1967, he left for Canada and interviewed at Bechtel before getting hired at Seagrams.
Iron enables blood to carry oxygen.
His boss recommended him for Dale Carnegie’s leadership training classes and my dad joined the National Instrument Society and became President.
He designed a still In Jamaica,
Ordered all the parts, nuts and bolts,
Had all the parts shipped to Jamaica and made sure they got there.
His boss supervised the construction, installation and commission in Jamaica.
Quartz, heat and fade resistant, though he was an engineer and did the work of an engineer, my dad only had the title, technician so my dad’s boss thought he wasn’t getting paid enough but couldn’t get his boss to offer more than an extra $100/week or the title of engineer; he told my dad he thought he should leave.
In 1969, he got a job at Celanese, which made rayon.
He quit Celanese to work at McGill University and they allowed him to take classes to earn his MBA while working.
The United States and Israel’s alliance was strong by 1967.
United Nations Security Council Resolution 242 at the end of the Third Arab Israeli War didn’t mention the Palestinians but mentioned the refugee problem.
After 1967, the Palestinians weren’t often mentioned and when mentioned only as terrorists.
Palestinians’ faith in the “American sponsored peace process” diminished, they felt the world community ignored and neglected them also.
Groups like MAN that stopped expecting anything from Arab regimes began hijacking airplanes.
By 1972, the Palestine Liberation Organization had enough international support to get by the United States’ veto in the United Nations Security Council and Arab League recognition as representative of the Palestinian people.
The Palestinians knew the United States stated its support, as the British had, but they weren’t able to accomplish anything.
The force Israel exerted in Johnson’s United States policy delivered no equilibrium for the Palestinians.
In 1969, all political parties submitted to the BSPP, Burma Socialist Programme Party.
Ne Win nationalized banks and oil and deprived minorities of opportunities.
Ne Win became U Nu Win, civilian leader of Burma in 1972 and stopped the active role that U Nu defined for Burma internationally
He put military people in power even when they didn’t have experience which triggered “maldistribution of goods and chronic shortages.”
Resources were located in areas where separatist minorities had control.
The British presence in the South China Sea ended in 1968.
The United States left Vietnam in 1974 and China went into the Western Paracels.
The U.S. didn’t intervene and Vietnam took the Spratlys.
China wanted to claim the continental shelf In the central part of the South China Sea and needed the Spratlys.
The United States mostly disregarded the Ulama In Iran and bewildered the Iranian people by not supporting their revolution.
Obsidian—
iron, copper and chromium—
isn’t a gas
but it isn’t a crystal;
it’s between the two,
the ordered crystal and the disordered gas.
They made swords out of obsidian.
Edelweiss
I laid out in my backyard in my bikini.
I love the feeling of my body in the sun.
I’d be dark from the end of spring until winter.
The snow froze my bare feet through winter ,
my skin pale.
American towns in 1984,
Free, below glaciers the sunlight melted the snow,
a sea of green and the edelweiss on the edge of the limestone,
frosted but still strong.
When the spring warmed the grass,
the grass warmed my feet.
The whole field looked cold and white from the glacier but in the meadow,
the bright yellow centers of those flowers float free in the center of the white petals.
The bright yellow center of those edelweiss scared the people my parents ran to America from India to get away from.
On a sidewalk in Queens, New York in 1991, the men stared and yelled comments at me in short shorts and a fitted top in the summer.
I grabbed my dad’s arm.
The Bread and Coconut Butter of Aparigraha
Twelve year old flowerhead,
Marigold, yarrow and nettle,
I’d be all emotion
If not for all my work
From the time I was a teenager.
I got depressed a lot.
I related to people I read about
In my weather balloon,
Grasping, ignorant, and desperate,
But couldn’t relate to other twelve year olds.
After school I read Dali’s autobiography,
Young ****** Autosodomized by Her Own Chastity.
Fresh, green nettle with fresh and dried yarrow for purity.
Dead souls enticed to the altar by orange marigolds,
passion and creativity,
Coax sleep and rouse dreams.
Satellites measure indirectly with wave lengths of light.
My weather balloon measures the lower and middle levels of the atmosphere directly,
Fifty thousand feet high,
Metal rod thermometer,
Slide humidity sensor,
Canister for air pressure.
I enjoy rye bread and cold coconut butter in my weather balloon,
But I want Dali, and all the artists and writers.
Rye grows at high altitudes
But papyrus grows in soil and shallow water,
Strips of papyrus pith shucked from their stems.
When an anchor’s weighed, a ship sails,
But when grounded we sail.
Marigolds, yarrow and nettle,
Flowerhead,
I use the marigold for sleep,
The yarrow for endurance and intensity,
toiling for love and truth,
And the nettle for healing.
Strong rye bread needs equally strong flavors.
By the beginning of high school,
I read a lot of Beat literature
And found Buddhism.
I loved what I read
But I didn’t like some things.
I liked attachment.
I got to the ground.
Mushrooms grow in dry soil.
Attachment to beauty is Buddha activity.
Not being attached to things I don’t find beautiful is Buddha activity.
I fried mushrooms in a single layer in oil, fleshy.
I roasted mushrooms at high temperatures in the oven, crisp.
I simmered mushrooms in stock with kombu.
Rye bread with cold coconut butter and cremini mushrooms,
raw, soft and firm.
Life continues, life changes,
Attachments, losses, mourning and suffering,
But change lures growth.
I find stream beds and wet soil.
I lay the strips of papyrus next to each other.
I cross papyrus strips over the first,
Then wet the crossed papyrus strips,
Press and cement them into a sheet.
I hammer it and dry it in the sun,
With no thought of achievement or self,
Flowerhead,
Hands filled with my past,
Head filled with the future,
Dali, artists poets,
Wishes and desires aligned with nature,
Abundance,
Cocoa, caraway, and molasses.
If I ever really like someone,
I’ll be wearing the dress he chooses,
Fresh green nettle and yarrow, the seeds take two years to grow strong,
Lasting love.
Marigolds steer dead souls from the altar to the afterlife,
Antiseptic, healing wounds,
Soothing sore throats and headaches.
Imperturbable, stable flowerhead,
I empty my mind.
When desires are aligned with nature, desire flows.
Papyrus makes paper and cloth.
Papyrus makes sails.
Charcoal from the ash of pulverized papyrus heals wounds.
Without attachment to the fruit of action
There is continuation of life,
Rye bread and melted coconut butter,
The coconut tree in the coconut butter,
The seed comes from the ground out of nothing,
Naturalness.
It has form.
As the seed grows the seed expresses the tree,
The seed expresses the coconut,
The seed expresses the coconut butter.
Rye bread, large open hollows, chambers,
Immersed in melted coconut butter,
Desire for expansion and creation,
No grasping, not desperate.
When the mind is compassion, the mind is boundless.
Every moment,
only that,
Every moment,
a scythe to the papyrus in the stream bed of the past.
Sound on Powdery Blue
Potter’s clay, nymph, plum unplumbed, 1993.
Dahlia, ice, powder, musk and rose,
my source of life emerged in darkness, blackness.
Seashell fragments in the sand,
The glass ball of my life cracked inside,
Light reflected off the salt crystal cracks,
Nacre kept those cracks from getting worse.
Young ****** Autosodomized By Her Own Chastity,
Nymph, I didn’t want to give my body,
Torn, *****, ballgown,
To people who wouldn’t understand me,
Piquant.
Outside on the salt flats,
Aphrodite, goddess of beauty, pleasure and fertility and
Asexual Artemis, goddess of animals, and the hunt,
Mistress of nymphs,
Punish with ruthless savagery.
In my bedroom, blue caribou moss covered rocks, pine, and yew trees,
The heartwood writhes as hurricane gales, twisters and whirlwinds
Contort their bark,
Roots strong in the soil.
Orris root dried in the sun, bulbs like wood.
Dahlia runs to baritone soundbath radio waves.
Light has frequencies,
Violet between blue and invisible ultraviolet,
Flame, slate and flint.
Every night is cold.
Torii gates, pain secured as sacred.
An assignation, frost hardy dahlia and a plangent resonant echo.
High frequency sound waves convert to electrical signals,
Breathe from someone I want,
Silt.
Beam, radiate, ensorcel.
I break the bark,
Sap flows and dries,
Resin seals over the tear.
I distill pine,
Resin and oil for turpentine, a solvent.
Quiver, bemired,
I lead sound into my darkness,
Orris butter resin, sweet and warm,
Hot jam drops on snow drops,
Orange ash on smoke,
Balm on lava,
The problem with cotton candy.
Electrical signals give off radiation or light waves,
The narrow frequency range where
The crest of a radio wave and the crest of a light wave overlap,
Infrared.
Glaciers flow, sunlight melts the upper layers of the snow when strong,
A wet snow avalanche,
A torrent, healing.
Brown sugar and whiskey,
Undulant, lavender.
Pine pitch, crystalline, sticky, rich and golden,
And dried pine rosin polishes glass smooth
Like the smell of powdery orris after years.
Softness, flush, worthy/not worthy,
Rich rays thunder,
Intensify my pulse,
Frenzied red,
Violet between blue and invisible ultraviolet.
Babylon—flutter, glow.
Unquenchable cathartic orris.
Pink Graphite
Camellias, winter shrubs,
Their shallow roots grow beneath the spongy caribou moss,
Robins egg blue.
After writing a play with my gifted students program in 1991,
I stopped spending all my free time writing short stories,
But the caribou moss was still soft.
In the cold Arctic of that town,
The evergreen protected the camellias from the afternoon sun and storms.
They branded hardy camellias with a brass molded embossing iron;
I had paper and graphite for my pencils.
After my ninth grade honors English teacher asked us to write poems in 1994,
It began raining.
We lived on an overhang.
A vertical rise to the top of the rock.
The rainstorm caused a metamorphic change in the snowpack,
A wet snow avalanche drifted slowly down the moss covered rock,
The snow already destabilized by exposure to the sunlight.
The avalanche formed lakes,
rock basins washed away with rainwater and melted snow,
Streams dammed by the rocks.
My pencils washed away in the avalanche,
My clothes heavy and cold.
I wove one side of each warp fiber through the eye of the needle and one side through each slot,
Salves, ointments, serums and tinctures.
I was mining for graphite.
They were mining me,
The only winch, the sound through the water.
A steep staircase to the red Torii gates,
I broke the chains with bells for vespers
And chimes for schisms,
And wove the weft across at right angles to the warp.
On a rocky ledge at the end of winter,
The pink moon, bitters and body butter,
They tried to get me to want absinthe,
Wormwood for bitterness and regret.
Heat and pressure formed carbon for flakes of graphite.
Heat and pressure,
I made bitters,
Brandy, grapefruit, chocolate, mandarin rind, tamarind and sugar.
I grounded my feet in the pink moss,
paper dried in one hand,
and graphite for my pencils in the other.
Flakes
I don’t let people that put me down be part of my life.
Gardens and trees,
My shadow sunk in the grass in my yard
As I ate bread, turmeric and lemon.
Carbon crystallizes into graphite flakes.
I write to see well,
Graphite on paper.
A shadow on rock tiles with a shield, a diamond and a bell
Had me ***** to humiliate me.
Though I don’t let people that put me down near me,
A lot of people putting me down seemed like they were following me,
A platform to jump from
While she had her temple.
There was a pink door to the platform.
I ate bread with caramelized crusts and
Drank turmeric lemonade
Before I opened that door,
Jumped and
Descended into blankets and feathers.
I found matches and rosin
For turpentine to clean,
Dried plums and licorice.
In the temple,
In diamonds, leather, wool and silk,
She had her shield and bells,
Drugs and technology,
Thermovision 210 and Minox,
And an offering box where people believed
That if their coins went in
Their wishes would come true.
Hollyhock and smudging charcoal for work,
Belled,
I ground grain in the mill for the bread I baked for breakfast.
The bells are now communal bells
With a watchtower and a prison,
Her shield, a blowtorch and flux,
Her ex rays, my makeshift records
Because Stalin didn’t like people dancing,
He liked them divebombing.
Impurities in the carbon prevent diamonds from forming,
Measured,
The most hard, the most expensive,
But graphite’s soft delocalized electrons move.
OCEAN BED
The loneliness of going to sleep by myself.
I want a bed that’s high off the ground,
a mattress, an ocean.
I want a crush and that person in my bed.
Only that,
a crush in my bed,
an ocean in my bed.
Just love.
But I sleep with my thumbs sealed.
I sleep with my hands, palms up.
I sleep with my hands at my heart.
They sear my compassion with their noise.
They hold their iron over their fire and try to carve their noise into my love,
scored by the violence of voices, dark and lurid,
but not burned.
I want a man in my bed.
When I wake up in an earthquake
I want to be held through the aftershocks.
I like men,
the waves come in and go out
but the ocean was part of my every day.
I don’t mind being fetishized in the ocean.
I ran by the ocean every morning.
I surfed in the ocean.
I should’ve gone into the ocean that afternoon at Trestles,
holding my water jugs, kneeling at the edge.
Morning
I want to fall asleep in the warm arms of a fireman.
I want to wake up to the smell of coffee in my kitchen.
Morning—the molten lava in the outer core of the earth embeds the iron from the inner core into the earth’s magnetic field.
The magnetic field flips.
The sun, so strong, where it gets through the trees it burns everything but the pine.
The winds change direction.
Storms cast lightening and rain.
Iron conducts solar flares and the heavy wind.
In that pine forest, I shudder every time I see a speck of light for fear of neon and fluorescents. The eucalyptus cleanses congestion.
And Kerouac’s stream ululates, crystal bowl sound baths.
I follow the sound to the water.
The stream ends at a bluff with a thin rocky beach below.
The green water turns black not far from the shore.
Before diving into the ocean, I eat globe mallow from the trees, stems and leaves, the viscous flesh, red, soft and nutty.
I distill the pine from one of the tree’s bark and smudge the charcoal over my skin.
Death, the palo santo’s lit, cleansing negative energy.
It’s been so long since I’ve smelled a man, woodsmoke, citrus and tobacco.
Jasmine, plum, lime and tuberose oil on the base of my neck comforts.
Parabolic chambers heal, sound waves through water travel four times faster.
The sound of the open sea recalibrates.
I dissolve into the midnight blue of the ocean.
I want to fall asleep in the warm arms of a fireman.
I want to wake up to the smell of coffee in my kitchen.
I want hot water with coconut oil when I get up.
We’d lay out on the lawn, surrounded by high trees that block the wind.
Embers flying through the air won’t land in my yard, on my grass, or near my trees.
Blue Paper
Haze scatters blue light on a planet.
Frought women, livid, made into peonies by Aphrodites that caught their men flirting and blamed the women, flushed red.
and blamed the women, flushed red.
Frought women, livid, chrysanthemums, dimmed until the end of the season, exchanged and retained like property.
Blue women enter along the sides of her red Torii gates, belayed, branded and belled, a plangent sound.
By candles, colored lights and dried flowers she’s sitting inside on a concrete floor, punctures and ruin burnished with paper, making burnt lime from lime mortar.
Glass ***** on the ceiling, she moves the beads of a Palestinian glass bead bracelet she holds in her hands.
She bends light to make shadows against thin wooden slats curbed along the wall, and straight across the ceiling.
A metier, she makes tinctures, juniper berries and cotton *****.
Loamy soil in the center of the room,
A hawthorn tree stands alone,
A gateway for fairies.
large stones at the base protecting,
It’s branches a barrier.
It’s leaves and shoots make bread and cheese.
It’s berries, red skin and yellow flesh, make jam.
Green bamboo stakes for the peonies when they whither from the weight of their petals.
And lime in the soil.
She adds wood chips to the burnt lime in the kiln,
Unrolled paper, spools, and wire hanging.
Wood prayer beads connect her to the earth,
The tassels on the end of the beads connect her to spirit, to higher truth.
Minerals, marine mud and warm basins of seawater on a flower covered desk.
She adds slaked lime to the burnt lime and wood chips.
The lime converts to paper,
Trauma victims speak,
Light through butterfly wings.
She’s plumeria with curved petals, thick, holding water
The brightest star can shine even with thick black velvet draped over it.
Quartz, lime and salt crystals formed a glass ball.
The dark womb held me, warm and soft.
My mom called my cries when I was born the most sorrowful sound she had ever heard.
She said she’d never heard a baby make a sound like that.
I’d open my eyes in low light until the world’s light healed rather than hurt.
The summer before eighth grade, July 1992,
I watched a shooting star burn by at 100,000 miles per hour as I stood on the balcony
while my family celebrated my birthday inside.
It made it into the earth’s atmosphere
but it didn’t look like it was coming down;
I know it didn’t hit the ground but it burned something in the time it was here.
The glass ball of my life cracked inside.
Light reflected off the salt crystal cracks.
I saw the beauty of the light within.
Nacre from my shell kept those cracks from getting worse,
a wild pearl as defense mechanism.
In 2001, I quit my job after they melted and poured tar all over my life.
All summer literature class bathtubs filled with rose hip oil cleaned the tar.
That fall logic and epistemology classes spewed black ink all over my philosophy
written over ten years then.
Tar turned to asphalt when I met someone from my old job for a drink in November
and it paved a road for my life that went to the hospital I was in that December
where it sealed the roof on my life
when I was almost murdered there
and in February after meeting her for another drink.
They lit a fire at the top of the glacier and pushed the burning pile of black coal off the edge,
burnt red, looking like flames falling into the valley.
While that blazed the side of the cliff something lit an incandescent light.
The electricity from the metal lightbulb ***** went through wires and heated the filament between until it glowed.
I began putting more work into emotional balance from things I learned at AA meetings.
In Spring 2003, the damage that the doctors at the hospital in 2001 had done
made it harder for light to reflect from the cracks in the glass ball.
I’d been eating healthy and trying to get regular exercises since 1994
but in Spring 2003 I began swimming for an hour every morning .
The water washed the pollution from the burning coals off
And then I escaped in July.
I moved to London to study English Language and Linguistics.
I would’ve studied English Language and Literature.
I did well until Spring 2004 when I thought I was being stalked.
I thought I was manic.
I thought I was being stalked.
I went home and didn’t go back for my exams after spring holiday.
Because I felt traumatized and couldn’t write poetry anymore,
I used black ink to write my notes for my book on trauma and the Russian Revolution.
I started teaching myself German.
I stayed healthy.
In 2005, my parents went to visit my mom’s family in Malaysia for two weeks.
I thought I was being stalked.
I knew I wasn’t manic.
I thought I was being stalked.
I told my parents when they came home.
They thought I was manic.
I showed them the shoe prints in the snow of different sizes from the woods to the windows.
They thought I was manic.
I was outside of my comfort zone.
I moved to California. I found light.
I made light,
the light reflected off the salt crystals I used to heal the violence inflicted on me from then on.
The light turned the traffic lights to not just green from red
but amber and blue.
The light turned the car signals left and right.
The light reflected off of salt crystals, light emitting diodes,
electrical energy turned directly to light,
electroluminescence.
The electrical currents flowed through,
illuminating.
Alone in the world, I moved to California in July 2005
but in August I called the person I escaped in 2003,
the sulfur and nitrogen that I hated.
He didn’t think I was manic but I never said anything.
I never told him why I asked him to move out to California.
When his coal seemed like only pollution,
I asked him to leave.
He threatened me.
I called the authorities.
They left me there.
He laughed.
Then the violence came.
****: stabbed and punched, my ****** bruised, purple and swollen.
The light barely reflected from the glass ball wIth cracks through all the acid rain, smoke and haze.
It would take me half an hour to get my body to do what my mind told it to after.
My dad told me my mom had her cancer removed.
The next day, the coal said if I wanted him to leave he’d leave.
I booked his ticket.
I drove him to the airport.
Black clouds gushed the night before for the first time in months,
the sky clear after the rain.
He was gone and I was free,
melted glass, heated up and poured—
looked like fire,
looked like the Snow Moon in February
with Mercury in the morning sky.
I worked through ****.
I worked to overcome trauma.
Electricity between touch and love caused acid rain, smoke, haze, and mercury
to light the discharge lamps, streetlights and parking lot lights.
Then I changed the direction of the light waves.
Like lead glass breaks up the light,
lead from the coal, cleaned and replaced by potassium,
glass cut clearly, refracting the light,
electrolytes,
electrical signals lit through my body,
thick black velvet drapes gone.
Lava
I think that someone wrote into some palm leaf a manuscript, a gift, a contract.
After my parents wedding, while they were still in India,
they found out that my dad’s father and my mom’s grandfather worked for kings administering temples and collecting money for their king from the farmers that worked the rice paddies each king owned. They both left their homes before they left for college.
My dad, a son of a brahmin’s son,
grew up in his grandmother’s house.
His mother was not a Brahmin.
My mother grew up in Malaysia where she saw the children from the rubber plantation
when she walked to school.
She doesn’t say what caste she is.
He went to his father’s house, then college.
He worked, then went to England, then Canada.
She went to India then Canada.
They moved to the United States around Christmas 1978
with my brother while she was pregnant with me.
My father signed a contract with my mother.
My parents took ashes and formed rock,
the residue left in brass pots in India,
the rocks, so hot, they turned back to lava miles away before turning back to ash again,
then back to rock,
the lava from a super volcano,
the ash purple and red.
Circles on a Moss Covered Volcano
The eruption beatifies the magma.
It becomes obsidian,
only breaks with a fracture,
smooth circles where it breaks.
My mom was born on the grass
on a lawn
in a moss covered canyon at the top of a volcanic island.
My grandfather lived in Malaysia before the Japanese occupied.
When the volcano erupted,
the lava dried at the ocean into black sand.
The British allied with the Communist Party of Malaysia—
after they organized.
After the Americans defeated the Japanese at Pearl Harbor,
the British took over Malaysia again.
They kept different groups apart claiming they were helping them.
The black sand had smooth pebbles and sharp rocks.
Ethnic Malay farmers lived in Kampongs, villages.
Indians lived on plantations.
The Chinese lived in towns and urban areas.
Ethnic Malays wanted independence.
In 1946, after strikes, demonstrations, and boycotts
the British agreed to work with them.
The predominantly Chinese Communist Party of Malaysia went underground,
guerrilla warfare against the British,
claiming their fight was for independence.
For the British, that emergency required vast powers
of arrest, detention without trial and deportation to defeat terrorism.
The Emergency became less unpopular as the terrorism became worse.
The British were the iron that brought oxygen through my mom’s body.
She loved riding on her father’s motorcycle with him
by the plantations,
through the Kampongs
and to the city, half an hour away.
The British left Malaysia independent in 1957
with Malaysian nationalists holding most state and federal government offices.
As the black sand stretches towards the ocean,
it becomes big stones of dried lava, flat and smooth.
My mom thought her father and her uncle were subservient to the British.
She thought all things, all people were equal.
When her father died when she was 16, 1965,
they moved to India,
my mother,
a foreigner in India, though she’s Indian.
She loved rock and roll and mini skirts
and didn’t speak the local language.
On the dried black lava,
it can be hard to know the molten lava flickers underneath there.
Before the Korean War,
though Britain and the United States wanted
an aggressive resolution
condemning North Korea,
they were happy
that India supported a draft resolution
condemning North Korea
for breach of the peace.
During the Korean War,
India, supported by Third World and other Commonwealth nations,
opposed United States’ proposals.
They were able to change the U.S. resolution
to include the proposals they wanted
and helped end the war.
China wanted the respect of Third World nations
and saw the United States as imperialist.
China thought India was a threat to the Third World
by taking aid from the United States and the Soviets.
Pakistan could help with that and a seat at the United Nations.
China wanted Taiwan’s seat at the UN.
My mother went to live with her uncle,
a communist negotiator for a corporation,
in India.
A poet,
he threw parties and invited other artists, musicians and writers.
I have the same brown hyperpigmentation at my joints that he had.
During the day, only the steam from the hot lava can be seen.
In 1965, Pakistani forces went into Jammu and Kashmir with China’s support.
China threatened India after India sent its troops in.
Then they threatened again before sending their troops to the Indian border.
The United States stopped aid to Pakistan and India.
Pakistan agreed to the UN ceasefire agreement.
Pakistan helped China get a seat at the UN
and tried to keep the west from escalating in Vietnam.
The smoldering sound of the lava sizzles underneath the dried lava.
When West Pakistan refused to allow East Pakistan independence,
violence between Bengalis and Biharis developed into upheaval.
Bengalis moved to India
and India went into East Pakistan.
Pakistan surrendered in December 1971.
East Pakistan became independent Bangladesh
The warm light of the melted lava radiates underneath but burns.
In 1974, India tested the Smiling Buddha,
a nuclear bomb.
After Indira Gandhi’s conviction for election fraud in 1973,
Marxist Professor Narayan called for total revolution
and students protested all over India.
With food shortages, inflation and regional disputes
like Sikh separatists training in Pakistan for an independent Punjab,
peasants and laborers joined the protests.
Railway strikes stopped the economy.
In 1975, Indira Gandhi, the Iron Lady,
declared an Emergency,
imprisoning political opponents, restricting freedoms and restricting the press,
claiming threats to national security
because the war with Pakistan had just ended.
The federal government took over Kerala’s communist dominated government and others.
My mom could’ve been a dandelion, but she’s more like thistle.
She has the center that dries and flutters in the wind,
beautiful and silky,
spiny and prickly,
but still fluffy, downy,
A daisy.
They say thistle saved Scotland from the Norse.
Magma from the volcano explodes
and the streams of magma fly into the air.
In the late 60s,
the civil rights movement rose
against the state in Northern Ireland
for depriving Catholics
of influence and opportunity.
The Northern Irish police,
Protestant and unionist, anti-catholic,
responded violently to the protests and it got worse.
In 1969, the British placed Arthur Young,
who had worked at the Federation of Malaya
at the time of their Emergency
at the head of the British military in Northern Ireland.
The British military took control over the police,
a counter insurgency rather than a police force,
crowd control, house searches, interrogation, and street patrols,
use of force against suspects and uncooperative citizens.
Political crimes were tolerated by Protestants but not Catholics.
The lava burns the rock off the edge of the volcano.
On January 30, 1972, ****** Sunday,
British Army policing killed 13 unarmed protesters
fighting for their rights over their neighborhood,
protesting the internment of suspected nationalists.
That led to protests across Ireland.
When banana leaves are warmed,
oil from the banana leaves flavors the food.
My dad flew from Canada to India in February 1972.
On February 4, my dad met my mom.
On February 11, 1972,
my dad married my mom.
They went to Canada,
a quartz singing bowl and a wooden mallet wrapped in suede.
The rock goes down with the lava, breaking through the rocks as it goes down.
In March 1972, the British government took over
because they considered the Royal Ulster Police and the Ulster Special Constabulary
to be causing most of the violence.
The lava blocks and reroutes streams,
melts snow and ice,
flooding.
Days later, there’s still smoke, red.
My mom could wear the clothes she liked
without being judged
with my dad in Canada.
She didn’t like asking my dad for money.
My dad, the copper helping my mother use that iron,
wanted her to go to college and finish her bachelors degree.
She got a job.
In 1976, the police took over again in Northern Ireland
but they were a paramilitary force—
armored SUVs, bullet proof jackets, combat ready
with the largest computerized surveillance system in the UK,
high powered weapons,
trained in counter insurgency.
Many people were murdered by the police
and few were held accountable.
Most of the murdered people were not involved in violence or crime.
People were arrested under special emergency powers
for interrogation and intelligence gathering.
People tried were tried in non-jury courts.
My mom learned Malayalam in India
but didn’t speak well until living with my dad.
She also learned to cook after getting married.
Her mother sent her recipes; my dad cooked for her—
turmeric, cumin, coriander, cayenne and green chiles.
Having lived in different countries,
my mom’s food was exposed to many cultures,
Chinese and French.
Ground rock, minerals and glass
covered the ground
from the ash plume.
She liked working.
A volcano erupted for 192 years,
an ice age,
disordered ices, deformed under pressure
and ordered ice crystals, brittle in the ice core records.
My mother liked working.
Though Khomeini was in exile by the 1970s in Iran,
more people, working and poor,
turned to him and the ****-i-Ulama for help.
My mom didn’t want kids though my dad did.
She agreed and in 1978 my brother was born.
Iran modernized but agriculture and industry changed so quickly.
In January 1978, students protested—
censorship, surveillance, harassment, illegal detention and torture.
Young people and the unemployed joined.
My parents moved to the United States in December 1978.
The regime used a lot of violence against the protesters,
and in September 1978 declared martial law in Iran.
Troops were shooting demonstrators.
In January 1979, the Shah and his family fled.
On February 11, 1979, my parents’ anniversary,
the Iranian army declared neutrality.
I was born in July 1979.
The chromium in emeralds and rubies colors them.
My brother was born in May and I was born in July.
Obsidian—
iron, copper and chromium—
isn’t a gas
but it isn’t a crystal;
it’s between the two,
the ordered crystal and the disordered gas.
They made swords out of obsidian.
Warm Light Shatters
The eruption beatifies the magma.
It becomes obsidian,
only breaks with a fracture,
smooth circles where it breaks.
My dad was born on a large flat rock on the edge of the top
of a hill,
Molasses, sweet and dark, the potent flavor dominates,
His father, the son of a Brahmin,
His mother from a lower caste.
His father’s family wouldn’t touch him,
He grew up in his mother’s mother’s house on a farm.
I have the same brown hyperpigmentation spot on my right hand that he has.
In 1901, D’Arcy bought a 60 year concession for oil exploration In Iran.
The Iranian government extended it for another 32 years in 1933.
At that time oil was Iran’s “main source of income.”
In 1917’s Balfour Declaration, the British government proclaimed that they favored a national home for the Jews in Palestine and their “best endeavors to facilitate the achievement” of that.
The British police were in charge of policing in the mandate of Palestine. A lot of the policemen they hired were people who had served in the British army before, during the Irish War for Independence.
The army tried to stop how violent the police were, police used torture and brutality, some that had been used during the Irish War for Independence, like having prisoners tied to armored cars and locomotives and razing the homes of people in prison or people they thought were related to people thought to be rebels.
The police hired Arab police and Jewish police for lower level policing,
Making local people part of the management.
“Let Arab police beat up Arabs and Jewish police beat up Jews.”
The lava blocks and reroutes streams, melts snow and ice, flooding.
In 1922, there were 83,000 Jews, 71,000 Christians, and 589,000 Muslims.
The League If Nations endorsed the British Mandate.
During an emergency, in the 1930s, British regulations allowed collective punishment, punishing villages for incidents.
Local officers in riots often deserted and also shared intelligence with their own people.
The police often stole, destroyed property, tortured and killed people.
Arab revolts sapped the police power over Palestinians by 1939.
My father’s mother was from a matrilineal family.
My dad remembers tall men lining up on pay day to respectfully wait for her, 5 feet tall.
She married again after her husband died.
A manager from a tile factory,
He spoke English so he supervised finances and correspondence.
My dad, a sunflower, loved her: she scared all the workers but exuded warmth to the people she loved.
Obsidian shields people from negative energy.
David Cargill founded the Burmah Oil Co. in 1886.
If there were problems with oil exploration in Burma and Indian government licenses, Persian oil would protect the company.
In July 1906, many European oil companies, BP, Royal Dutch Shell and others, allied to protect against the American oil company, Standard Oil.
D’Arcy needed money because “Persian oil took three times as long to come on stream as anticipated.”
Burmah Oil Co. began the Anglo-Persian Oil Co. as a subsidiary.
Ninety-seven percent of British Petroleum was owned by Burmah Oil Co.
By 1914, the British government owned 51% of the Anglo-Persian Oil Co.
Anglo-Persian acquired independence from Burmah Oil and Royal Dutch Shell with two million pounds from the British government.
The lava burns the rock off the edge of the volcano.
In 1942, after the Japanese took Burma,
the British destroyed their refineries before leaving.
The United Nations had to find other sources of oil.
In 1943, Japan built the Burma-Thailand Railroad with forced labor from the Malay peninsula who were mostly from the rubber plantations.
The rock goes down with the lava, breaking through the rocks as it goes down.
In 1945. Japan destroyed their refineries before leaving Burma.
Cargill, Watson and Whigham were on the Burmah Oil Co. Board and then the Anglo Iranian Oil Co. Board.
In 1936 Palestine, boycotts, work stoppages, and violence against British police officials and soldiers compelled the government to appoint an investigatory commission.
Leaders of Egypt, Trans Jordan, Syria and Iraq helped end the work stoppages.
The British government had the Peel Commission read letters, memoranda, and petitions and speak with British officials, Jews and Arabs.
The Commission didn’t believe that Arabs and Jews could live together in a single Jewish state.
Because of administrative and financial difficulties the Colonial Secretary stated that to split Palestine into Arab and Jewish states was impracticable.
The Commission recommended transitioning 250,000 Arabs and 1500 Jews with British control over their oil pipeline, their naval base and Jerusalem.
The League of Nations approved.
“It will not remove the grievance nor prevent the recurrence,” Lord Peel stated after.
The Arab uprising was much more militant after Peel. Thousands of Arabs were wounded, ten thousand were detained.
In Sykes-Picot and the Husain McMahon agreements, the British promised the Arabs an independent state but they did not keep that promise.
Representatives from the Arab states rejected the Peel recommendations.
United Nations General Assembly Resolution181 partitioned Palestine into Arab and Jewish states with an international regime for the city of Jerusalem backed by the United States and the Soviet Union.
The Israeli Yishuv had strong military and intelligence organization —-
the British recognized that their interest was with the Arabs and abstained from the vote.
In 1948, Israel declared the establishment of its state.
Ground rock, minerals, and gas covered the ground from the ash plume.
The Palestinian police force was disbanded and the British gave officers the option of serving in Malaya.
Though Truman, Eisenhower and Kennedy supported snd tried to get Israel to offer the Arabs concessions, it wasn’t a major priority and didn’t always approve of Israel’s plans.
Arabs that had supported the British to end Turkish rule stopped supporting the West.
Many Palestinians joined left wing groups and violent third world movements.
Seventy-eight percent of the territory of former Palestine was under Israel’s control.
My dad left for college in 1957 and lived in an apartment above the United States Information services office.
Because he graduated at the top of his class, he was given a job with the public works department of the government on the electricity board.
“Once in, you’ll never leave.”
When he wanted a job where he could do real work, his father was upset.
He broke the chains with bells for vespers.
He got a job in Calcutta at Kusum Products and left the government, though it was prestigious to work there.
In the chemical engineering division, one of the projects he worked on was to design a *** distillery, bells controlled by hammers, hammers controlled by a keyboard.
His boss worked in the United Kingdom for. 20 years before the company he worked at, part of Power Gas Corporation, asked him to open a branch in Calcutta.
He opened the branch and convinced an Industrialist to open a company doing the same work with him. The branch he opened closed after that.
My dad applied for labor certification to work abroad and was selected.
His boss wrote a reference letter for my him to the company he left in the UK. My dad sent it telling the company when he was leaving for the UK.
The day he left for London, he got the letter they sent in the mail telling him to take the train to Sheffield the next day and someone from the firm would meet him at the station.
His dad didn’t know he left, he didn’t tell him.
He broke the chains with chimes for schisms.
Anglo-Persian Oil became Anglo-Iranian Oil in 1935.
The British government used oil and Anglo-Persian oil to fight communism, have a stronger relationship with the United States and make the United Kingdom more powerful.
The National Secularists, the Tudeh, and the Communists wanted to nationalize Iran’s oil and mobilized the Iranian people.
The British feared nationalization in Iran would incite political parties like the Secular Nationalists all over the world.
In 1947, the Iranian government passed the Single Article Law that “[increased] investment In welfare benefits, health, housing, education, and implementation of Iranianization through substitution of foreigners” at Anglo-Iranian Oil Co.
“Anglo-Iranian Oil Company made more profit in 1950 than it paid to the Iranian government in royalties over the previous half century.”
The Anglo-Iranian Oil Company tried to negotiate a new concession and claimed they’d hire more Iranian people into jobs held by British and people from other nationalities at the company.
Their hospitals had segregated wards.
On May 1, 1951, the Iranian government passed a bill that nationalized Anglo- Iranian Oil Co.’s holdings.
During the day, only the steam from the hot lava can be seen.
In August 1953, the Iranian people elected Mossadegh from the Secular Nationalist Party as prime minister.
The British government with the CIA overthrew Mossadegh using the Iranian military after inducing protests and violent demonstrations.
Anglo-Iranian Oil changed its name to British Petroleum in 1954.
Iranians believe that America destroyed Iran’s “last chance for democracy” and blamed America for Iran’s autocracy, its human rights abuses, and secret police.
The smoldering sound of the lava sizzles underneath the dried lava.
In 1946, Executive Yuan wanted control over 4 groups of Islands in the South China Sea to have a stronger presence there: the Paracels, the Spratlys, Macclesfield Bank, and the Pratas.
The French forces in the South China Sea would have been stronger than the Chinese Navy then.
French Naval forces were in the Gulf of Tonkin, U.S. forces were in the Taiwan Strait, the British were in Hong Kong, and the Portuguese were in Macao.
In the 1950s, British snd U.S. oil companies thought there might be oil in the Spratlys.
By 1957, French presence in the South China Sea was hardly there.
When the volcano erupted, the lava dried at the ocean into black sand.
By 1954, the Tudeh Party’s communist movement and intelligence organization had been destroyed.
Because of the Shah and his government’s westernization policies and disrespectful treatment of the Ulama, Iranians began identifying with the Ulama and Khomeini rather than their government.
Those people joined with secular movements to overthrow the Shah.
In 1966, Ne Win seized power from U Nu in Burma.
“Soldiers ruled Burma as soldiers.”
Ne Win thought that western political
Institutions “encouraged divisions.”
Minority groups found foreign support for their separatist goals.
The Karens and the Mons supported U Nu in Bangkok.
Rare copper, a heavy metal, no alloys,
a rock in groundwater,
conducts electricity and heat.
In 1965, my Dad’s cousin met him at Heathrow, gave him a coat and £10 and brought him to a bed and breakfast across from Charing Cross Station where he’d get the train to Sheffield the next morning.
He took the train and someone met him at the train station.
At the interview they asked him to design a grandry girder, the main weight bearing steel girder as a test.
Iron in the inner and outer core of the earth,
He’d designed many of those.
He was hired and lived at the YMCA for 2 1/2 years.
He took his mother’s family name, Menon, instead of his father’s, Varma.
In 1967, he left for Canada and interviewed at Bechtel before getting hired at Seagrams.
Iron enables blood to carry oxygen.
His boss recommended him for Dale Carnegie’s leadership training classes and my dad joined the National Instrument Society and became President.
He designed a still In Jamaica,
Ordered all the parts, nuts and bolts,
Had all the parts shipped to Jamaica and made sure they got there.
His boss supervised the construction, installation and commission in Jamaica.
Quartz, heat and fade resistant, though he was an engineer and did the work of an engineer, my dad only had the title, technician so my dad’s boss thought he wasn’t getting paid enough but couldn’t get his boss to offer more than an extra $100/week or the title of engineer; he told my dad he thought he should leave.
In 1969, he got a job at Celanese, which made rayon.
He quit Celanese to work at McGill University and they allowed him to take classes to earn his MBA while working.
The United States and Israel’s alliance was strong by 1967.
United Nations Security Council Resolution 242 at the end of the Third Arab Israeli War didn’t mention the Palestinians but mentioned the refugee problem.
After 1967, the Palestinians weren’t often mentioned and when mentioned only as terrorists.
Palestinians’ faith in the “American sponsored peace process” diminished, they felt the world community ignored and neglected them also.
Groups like MAN that stopped expecting anything from Arab regimes began hijacking airplanes.
By 1972, the Palestine Liberation Organization had enough international support to get by the United States’ veto in the United Nations Security Council and Arab League recognition as representative of the Palestinian people.
The Palestinians knew the United States stated its support, as the British had, but they weren’t able to accomplish anything.
The force Israel exerted in Johnson’s United States policy delivered no equilibrium for the Palestinians.
In 1969, all political parties submitted to the BSPP, Burma Socialist Programme Party.
Ne Win nationalized banks and oil and deprived minorities of opportunities.
Ne Win became U Nu Win, civilian leader of Burma in 1972 and stopped the active role that U Nu defined for Burma internationally
He put military people in power even when they didn’t have experience which triggered “maldistribution of goods and chronic shortages.”
Resources were located in areas where separatist minorities had control.
The British presence in the South China Sea ended in 1968.
The United States left Vietnam in 1974 and China went into the Western Paracels.
The U.S. didn’t intervene and Vietnam took the Spratlys.
China wanted to claim the continental shelf In the central part of the South China Sea and needed the Spratlys.
The United States mostly disregarded the Ulama In Iran and bewildered the Iranian people by not supporting their revolution.
Obsidian—
iron, copper and chromium—
isn’t a gas
but it isn’t a crystal;
it’s between the two,
the ordered crystal and the disordered gas.
They made swords out of obsidian.
Edelweiss
I laid out in my backyard in my bikini.
I love the feeling of my body in the sun.
I’d be dark from the end of spring until winter.
The snow froze my bare feet through winter ,
my skin pale.
American towns in 1984,
Free, below glaciers the sunlight melted the snow,
a sea of green and the edelweiss on the edge of the limestone,
frosted but still strong.
When the spring warmed the grass,
the grass warmed my feet.
The whole field looked cold and white from the glacier but in the meadow,
the bright yellow centers of those flowers float free in the center of the white petals.
The bright yellow center of those edelweiss scared the people my parents ran to America from India to get away from.
On a sidewalk in Queens, New York in 1991, the men stared and yelled comments at me in short shorts and a fitted top in the summer.
I grabbed my dad’s arm.
The Bread and Coconut Butter of Aparigraha
Twelve year old flowerhead,
Marigold, yarrow and nettle,
I’d be all emotion
If not for all my work
From the time I was a teenager.
I got depressed a lot.
I related to people I read about
In my weather balloon,
Grasping, ignorant, and desperate,
But couldn’t relate to other twelve year olds.
After school I read Dali’s autobiography,
Young ****** Autosodomized by Her Own Chastity.
Fresh, green nettle with fresh and dried yarrow for purity.
Dead souls enticed to the altar by orange marigolds,
passion and creativity,
Coax sleep and rouse dreams.
Satellites measure indirectly with wave lengths of light.
My weather balloon measures the lower and middle levels of the atmosphere directly,
Fifty thousand feet high,
Metal rod thermometer,
Slide humidity sensor,
Canister for air pressure.
I enjoy rye bread and cold coconut butter in my weather balloon,
But I want Dali, and all the artists and writers.
Rye grows at high altitudes
But papyrus grows in soil and shallow water,
Strips of papyrus pith shucked from their stems.
When an anchor’s weighed, a ship sails,
But when grounded we sail.
Marigolds, yarrow and nettle,
Flowerhead,
I use the marigold for sleep,
The yarrow for endurance and intensity,
toiling for love and truth,
And the nettle for healing.
Strong rye bread needs equally strong flavors.
By the beginning of high school,
I read a lot of Beat literature
And found Buddhism.
I loved what I read
But I didn’t like some things.
I liked attachment.
I got to the ground.
Mushrooms grow in dry soil.
Attachment to beauty is Buddha activity.
Not being attached to things I don’t find beautiful is Buddha activity.
I fried mushrooms in a single layer in oil, fleshy.
I roasted mushrooms at high temperatures in the oven, crisp.
I simmered mushrooms in stock with kombu.
Rye bread with cold coconut butter and cremini mushrooms,
raw, soft and firm.
Life continues, life changes,
Attachments, losses, mourning and suffering,
But change lures growth.
I find stream beds and wet soil.
I lay the strips of papyrus next to each other.
I cross papyrus strips over the first,
Then wet the crossed papyrus strips,
Press and cement them into a sheet.
I hammer it and dry it in the sun,
With no thought of achievement or self,
Flowerhead,
Hands filled with my past,
Head filled with the future,
Dali, artists poets,
Wishes and desires aligned with nature,
Abundance,
Cocoa, caraway, and molasses.
If I ever really like someone,
I’ll be wearing the dress he chooses,
Fresh green nettle and yarrow, the seeds take two years to grow strong,
Lasting love.
Marigolds steer dead souls from the altar to the afterlife,
Antiseptic, healing wounds,
Soothing sore throats and headaches.
Imperturbable, stable flowerhead,
I empty my mind.
When desires are aligned with nature, desire flows.
Papyrus makes paper and cloth.
Papyrus makes sails.
Charcoal from the ash of pulverized papyrus heals wounds.
Without attachment to the fruit of action
There is continuation of life,
Rye bread and melted coconut butter,
The coconut tree in the coconut butter,
The seed comes from the ground out of nothing,
Naturalness.
It has form.
As the seed grows the seed expresses the tree,
The seed expresses the coconut,
The seed expresses the coconut butter.
Rye bread, large open hollows, chambers,
Immersed in melted coconut butter,
Desire for expansion and creation,
No grasping, not desperate.
When the mind is compassion, the mind is boundless.
Every moment,
only that,
Every moment,
a scythe to the papyrus in the stream bed of the past.
Sound on Powdery Blue
Potter’s clay, nymph, plum unplumbed, 1993.
Dahlia, ice, powder, musk and rose,
my source of life emerged in darkness, blackness.
Seashell fragments in the sand,
The glass ball of my life cracked inside,
Light reflected off the salt crystal cracks,
Nacre kept those cracks from getting worse.
Young ****** Autosodomized By Her Own Chastity,
Nymph, I didn’t want to give my body,
Torn, *****, ballgown,
To people who wouldn’t understand me,
Piquant.
Outside on the salt flats,
Aphrodite, goddess of beauty, pleasure and fertility and
Asexual Artemis, goddess of animals, and the hunt,
Mistress of nymphs,
Punish with ruthless savagery.
In my bedroom, blue caribou moss covered rocks, pine, and yew trees,
The heartwood writhes as hurricane gales, twisters and whirlwinds
Contort their bark,
Roots strong in the soil.
Orris root dried in the sun, bulbs like wood.
Dahlia runs to baritone soundbath radio waves.
Light has frequencies,
Violet between blue and invisible ultraviolet,
Flame, slate and flint.
Every night is cold.
Torii gates, pain secured as sacred.
An assignation, frost hardy dahlia and a plangent resonant echo.
High frequency sound waves convert to electrical signals,
Breathe from someone I want,
Silt.
Beam, radiate, ensorcel.
I break the bark,
Sap flows and dries,
Resin seals over the tear.
I distill pine,
Resin and oil for turpentine, a solvent.
Quiver, bemired,
I lead sound into my darkness,
Orris butter resin, sweet and warm,
Hot jam drops on snow drops,
Orange ash on smoke,
Balm on lava,
The problem with cotton candy.
Electrical signals give off radiation or light waves,
The narrow frequency range where
The crest of a radio wave and the crest of a light wave overlap,
Infrared.
Glaciers flow, sunlight melts the upper layers of the snow when strong,
A wet snow avalanche,
A torrent, healing.
Brown sugar and whiskey,
Undulant, lavender.
Pine pitch, crystalline, sticky, rich and golden,
And dried pine rosin polishes glass smooth
Like the smell of powdery orris after years.
Softness, flush, worthy/not worthy,
Rich rays thunder,
Intensify my pulse,
Frenzied red,
Violet between blue and invisible ultraviolet.
Babylon—flutter, glow.
Unquenchable cathartic orris.
Pink Graphite
Camellias, winter shrubs,
Their shallow roots grow beneath the spongy caribou moss,
Robins egg blue.
After writing a play with my gifted students program in 1991,
I stopped spending all my free time writing short stories,
But the caribou moss was still soft.
In the cold Arctic of that town,
The evergreen protected the camellias from the afternoon sun and storms.
They branded hardy camellias with a brass molded embossing iron;
I had paper and graphite for my pencils.
After my ninth grade honors English teacher asked us to write poems in 1994,
It began raining.
We lived on an overhang.
A vertical rise to the top of the rock.
The rainstorm caused a metamorphic change in the snowpack,
A wet snow avalanche drifted slowly down the moss covered rock,
The snow already destabilized by exposure to the sunlight.
The avalanche formed lakes,
rock basins washed away with rainwater and melted snow,
Streams dammed by the rocks.
My pencils washed away in the avalanche,
My clothes heavy and cold.
I wove one side of each warp fiber through the eye of the needle and one side through each slot,
Salves, ointments, serums and tinctures.
I was mining for graphite.
They were mining me,
The only winch, the sound through the water.
A steep staircase to the red Torii gates,
I broke the chains with bells for vespers
And chimes for schisms,
And wove the weft across at right angles to the warp.
On a rocky ledge at the end of winter,
The pink moon, bitters and body butter,
They tried to get me to want absinthe,
Wormwood for bitterness and regret.
Heat and pressure formed carbon for flakes of graphite.
Heat and pressure,
I made bitters,
Brandy, grapefruit, chocolate, mandarin rind, tamarind and sugar.
I grounded my feet in the pink moss,
paper dried in one hand,
and graphite for my pencils in the other.
Flakes
I don’t let people that put me down be part of my life.
Gardens and trees,
My shadow sunk in the grass in my yard
As I ate bread, turmeric and lemon.
Carbon crystallizes into graphite flakes.
I write to see well,
Graphite on paper.
A shadow on rock tiles with a shield, a diamond and a bell
Had me ***** to humiliate me.
Though I don’t let people that put me down near me,
A lot of people putting me down seemed like they were following me,
A platform to jump from
While she had her temple.
There was a pink door to the platform.
I ate bread with caramelized crusts and
Drank turmeric lemonade
Before I opened that door,
Jumped and
Descended into blankets and feathers.
I found matches and rosin
For turpentine to clean,
Dried plums and licorice.
In the temple,
In diamonds, leather, wool and silk,
She had her shield and bells,
Drugs and technology,
Thermovision 210 and Minox,
And an offering box where people believed
That if their coins went in
Their wishes would come true.
Hollyhock and smudging charcoal for work,
Belled,
I ground grain in the mill for the bread I baked for breakfast.
The bells are now communal bells
With a watchtower and a prison,
Her shield, a blowtorch and flux,
Her ex rays, my makeshift records
Because Stalin didn’t like people dancing,
He liked them divebombing.
Impurities in the carbon prevent diamonds from forming,
Measured,
The most hard, the most expensive,
But graphite’s soft delocalized electrons move.
OCEAN BED
The loneliness of going to sleep by myself.
I want a bed that’s high off the ground,
a mattress, an ocean.
I want a crush and that person in my bed.
Only that,
a crush in my bed,
an ocean in my bed.
Just love.
But I sleep with my thumbs sealed.
I sleep with my hands, palms up.
I sleep with my hands at my heart.
They sear my compassion with their noise.
They hold their iron over their fire and try to carve their noise into my love,
scored by the violence of voices, dark and lurid,
but not burned.
I want a man in my bed.
When I wake up in an earthquake
I want to be held through the aftershocks.
I like men,
the waves come in and go out
but the ocean was part of my every day.
I don’t mind being fetishized in the ocean.
I ran by the ocean every morning.
I surfed in the ocean.
I should’ve gone into the ocean that afternoon at Trestles,
holding my water jugs, kneeling at the edge.
Morning
I want to fall asleep in the warm arms of a fireman.
I want to wake up to the smell of coffee in my kitchen.
Morning—the molten lava in the outer core of the earth embeds the iron from the inner core into the earth’s magnetic field.
The magnetic field flips.
The sun, so strong, where it gets through the trees it burns everything but the pine.
The winds change direction.
Storms cast lightening and rain.
Iron conducts solar flares and the heavy wind.
In that pine forest, I shudder every time I see a speck of light for fear of neon and fluorescents. The eucalyptus cleanses congestion.
And Kerouac’s stream ululates, crystal bowl sound baths.
I follow the sound to the water.
The stream ends at a bluff with a thin rocky beach below.
The green water turns black not far from the shore.
Before diving into the ocean, I eat globe mallow from the trees, stems and leaves, the viscous flesh, red, soft and nutty.
I distill the pine from one of the tree’s bark and smudge the charcoal over my skin.
Death, the palo santo’s lit, cleansing negative energy.
It’s been so long since I’ve smelled a man, woodsmoke, citrus and tobacco.
Jasmine, plum, lime and tuberose oil on the base of my neck comforts.
Parabolic chambers heal, sound waves through water travel four times faster.
The sound of the open sea recalibrates.
I dissolve into the midnight blue of the ocean.
I want to fall asleep in the warm arms of a fireman.
I want to wake up to the smell of coffee in my kitchen.
I want hot water with coconut oil when I get up.
We’d lay out on the lawn, surrounded by high trees that block the wind.
Embers flying through the air won’t land in my yard, on my grass, or near my trees.
Blue Paper
Haze scatters blue light on a planet.
Frought women, livid, made into peonies by Aphrodites that caught their men flirting and blamed the women, flushed red.
and blamed the women, flushed red.
Frought women, livid, chrysanthemums, dimmed until the end of the season, exchanged and retained like property.
Blue women enter along the sides of her red Torii gates, belayed, branded and belled, a plangent sound.
By candles, colored lights and dried flowers she’s sitting inside on a concrete floor, punctures and ruin burnished with paper, making burnt lime from lime mortar.
Glass ***** on the ceiling, she moves the beads of a Palestinian glass bead bracelet she holds in her hands.
She bends light to make shadows against thin wooden slats curbed along the wall, and straight across the ceiling.
A metier, she makes tinctures, juniper berries and cotton *****.
Loamy soil in the center of the room,
A hawthorn tree stands alone,
A gateway for fairies.
large stones at the base protecting,
It’s branches a barrier.
It’s leaves and shoots make bread and cheese.
It’s berries, red skin and yellow flesh, make jam.
Green bamboo stakes for the peonies when they whither from the weight of their petals.
And lime in the soil.
She adds wood chips to the burnt lime in the kiln,
Unrolled paper, spools, and wire hanging.
Wood prayer beads connect her to the earth,
The tassels on the end of the beads connect her to spirit, to higher truth.
Minerals, marine mud and warm basins of seawater on a flower covered desk.
She adds slaked lime to the burnt lime and wood chips.
The lime converts to paper,
Trauma victims speak,
Light through butterfly wings.
She’s plumeria with curved petals, thick, holding water
This is what I have written of my book. I’ll be changing where the poems with the historical research go. There are four more of those and nine of the other poems.
Mateuš Conrad
Mar 2020
i still managed to catch a whiff of britpop...
i was going to st. augustine's
and all the boys were all about the oasis
look... so ben sherman shirts...
never tucked into the trousers...
but this was in the 1990s...
of course the celebrations were short-lived...
sooner or later a prog variation of brit-pop
had to come about with radiohead...
i kind of skimmed over the early stuff...
there, there - from hail to the thief is my stand-out
track...
having just watched a movie about
the iceman... a one ryszard kuklinski -
well... if the icecream truck:
mongrel dutch-irish and this one ******
would never make into the guinea club...
or the elder fathers of zion...
guinea? seems i was misinformed...
rome's best wops... or donatello goombah...
i'm having trouble with all these
anglo-saxons slurs...
back in dandy ol' england...
it's not a great period piece:
happening right now...
to be in the protected class of citizentry:
no mosque... oh hell:
protected status with a falafel?
exactly... where's the falafel?
but from the movie... wow...
it is: but it isn't... a racial slar...
the one word from skiing these oomp'ah-
loomp'ahs *** 'ight...
and in mewwy ol' england i come across
the natives... almost for a second time...
not the same sort of natives
i met prior to my 1997 / 1998 interlude...
perhaps 7/7 happened?
i really don't know...
but no great cultural export...
no oasis was sang on the continent
after oasis songs were sung...
it's not like kasabian made it into that
transcendental meaning on offer...
hey! variations: pollack!
paul-lack! st. paul's lacking? what?
a head... in athens... ah ha... dry martini of
a joke...
but who am i?
profession? pole / paul...
******* in my spare time, jackson jr.,
because... it's hardly a slur...
it would be a slur if i were called
a *** or a goombah...
the anglo-saxons wouldn't exactly
the rooted natives...
but they would...
it's as if expected:
from speaking latin and the eagle-fetish
to brewing cappuccinos...
a dutch-irish... well a dumb pollack joke...
yes... and now that the virus is caughing
via the retards in the supermarket isles
or licking ice-cream / toilet rims...
i guess an honest workforce is...
something to be less ashamed of...
compared to this ****** nation of:
the readily to be exile puke of reason...
"of their own"...
i seem to have elevated my...
concern for words...
i have just started to read my Charles Dickens...
and relying on Monday
to eat a more delightful roast dinner:
i says... it taste better... because it's not
a Sunday... it's a Monday...
plus... the roast is not exactly a roast...
it has some elements of bleau at the center...
because... you can't expect three
people to eat that much meat in a single sitting:
given the recipe for those yorkies from
ol' grandma of a james martin...
100g of flours, 4 eggs... circa 200ml of milk...
salt, pepper...
the dough is left in the fridge for an hour
at least... the yorkie trays are put into the oven
at 220C with the oil...
while the tatties are browning and the beef
is readying itself for the abstract
of my mouth... and the cubism of my ***...
pristine squeeze...
if only in h'america...
what wouldn't a norman davies call
the polacks if not industrial albino (s)*******?
then who were or would be... eire-
just -ish?
but the new continent:
i'm toppling down into the torso of a well-off
snowman built from an avalanche...
if there were britons here prior...
which includes the welsh and the scots...
and those people of Shropshire...
and those botanical tsars of Kent...
whoever these people are...
the noble barbarians...
the better of vikings with no fjords
to revel in farming on?
maybe those kind of people...
that sort of the native...
oh god forbid i should entice the cosmopolitan
brood to enter the debate...
not in the heart of the matter: come york
and its shire...
some longshank hobbit might
just pop its head up to high and kiss
a guillotine!
if there were the anglo-saxons...
eh... some of us came... settled...
we wanted to... find... the englishman...
circa... 1860 - 1950... that sort of timeframe...
i guess we finds him...
question is... czy ja jestem, lecz czy on?
that's a good question...
is he the host and i the parasite...
well... funny that...
he isn't a body...
he's an oak that was uprooted
from somewhere among a many many
pines and birches in the eastern provinces
of this continent...
and moved... into a garden...
lurking: shadow... hunched crow
and some other hideous comparison...
am i the parasite? what host of a mind i did
acquire: who's me...
or i am him... then i'll drift into the other
trench and i'll tell the germans
that they're fighting anglican saxons...
what? yes i'll tell them...
they're not lutheran saxons...
they're anglican saxons...
how? they have a monarchy...
a crown, central...
no petty princes bound to a federation...
i have also some across the modern natives...
the alt-right and the ethno-nationalists...
apparently: i'm not in the club...
how could i be...
i overheard them talking about...
electing a monarch...
election of monarchy...
well... no point investing in the gene pool...
last time that was tried...
was in the guise of the polish-lithuanian
commonwealth...
the brothel of kings...
some were hungarians, some were "germans"...
some were even swedes...
the aristocracy elected a king...
a john lackland sorts from across europe...
until their big brother richard
or some variant of Otto or the proper didlo in
hand charles gustav would...
appear to wrestle with his baby brother's:
"betrothal" - evidently thart's one for the misnomer
and inversion...
the anglo-saxons as they were to be later known
as... no point beating about the bush...
but... i have measured myself against
these other inhabitants...
the welsh, the scots, the irish... and... well...
i'm not here on part of a conquering army...
my fellow countrymen are just about overwhelmed
by enjoying 100 years of privy
and freedom... little much of good will that do them...
a half-bred popular opinion:
that i hide my language in the freedom
i allow myself within english...
i'm here for the Dickens and the sunday roast beef:
and the yorkies... and the haggis and the neeps,
the mashed and roasted tatties...
and the black pud'...
i'm not here to see how far west my ***
will point while bowing toward mecca...
if you don't mind me saying...
like i am not here for that kippah u.f.o.
ghetto of Golders Green...
i'm not here for a Marx on loan...
i'm here for a... "hashtag"...
eh... the saxons have their unifying:
nomadic perspective to mind...
it's not like the saxons were not liked by...
say... the pomeranians...
or the swabians... or the brandenburgers...
the saxons: semites of the north...
pseudo-vikings wishing for the proto- prefix...
well... are the modern saxons...
saxons? the saxons ****** off to england...
later ****** off to build the british empire...
i'm sure... the modern "saxons" are just
that... brandenburgers... some swabians...
the germans that stayed and were the enemy
under kaiser wilhelm...
that great... grandson of queen victoria...
yes... that war wasn't the war to stop all lineage
in-breeding... because...
it would take whittle adoolf the failed
art student to wake up the petty-bourgeoisie...
fully donned in khaki...
and in hugo boss schwarz...
and in... gulag grey-leash... of the wehrmacht:
of course...
but anglo-saxons are, and were...
and there's this... grand ethno-etymology...
listening to the natives...
codes: white-genocide... ethnic displacement...
let me run back and check the state of affairs
in mother russia and ******-land...
polonia (in latin)... oh right...
i just heard... that a woman in russia...
university educated, a doctor, no less...
also believes that churches should be exempt from
restrictions on social gatherings...
because they are holy places...
and... viruses... in their primitive square / rectangular
modes of abstracting vectors...
or de-abstracting for a better cushion
of solid ground made... also have...
a sense of a higher-beings modus operandi
when plagued with doubt, or denial...
the virus knows what's scared to the russians...
too bad for all those russian buddhists...
dunno... what european are the westerners
worried about?
i'm here on "holiday"...
to read my Dickens: finally! it only took me
20 odd ******* years...
and my sunday roast on a monday...
if there came a wave of anglo-saxons...
while the pomeranians stayed strapped
to the holy german empire "thing"...
and because there weren't any anglo-bohemias...
or modern anglo-czechs...
i'll branch out anyways...
to the "greater" picture masquarade...
i'll be an anglo-slav if...
and... oh look! they're here already...
i'm an anglo-slav... among the other minority
of the afro-saxons...
after all... there are tiers to migration...
there's that tier of polacks moving with the government
during the "affair" of circa 1943...
the no. 303 boys...
and... after that? no one from ******-land
wanted to come to britain... h'america...
the golden retreiver...
given the cold war... de facto:
to the antonym of the mensa harvest...
i came in the 1990s...
******-land and the other 8... joined the already
failing european union in 2004...
hmm...
well... you did get that cabbage plucked...
that carrot too...
from... the sort of people without tic-toc
who... would rather **** braincells with a *****
after a god's monstrous maxim...
while i started sweating from my armpits
hunched with these words...
enough of braincells to ****...
not enough imaginative in a quasi-vivo state
of... the cannibal narcissus...
attention spans a week's worth of
goldfish adventures... licking ice-cream
you won't buy...
then again: a lacking paul...
is an otherwise over-eager pauline...
even if "we" were to become fully "integrated"...
like hell i was giving my mother tongue up
after that 1997 /1998 interlude...
i still wouldn't be able to teach my father the english
they speak: peppered with nuance from
the old mother grammar...
too bad... but the pronunciation is spot on...
i don't know why i should feel obliged to
the ******* on the cross to feel "circumcised"
for... his labyrinth...
i couldn't teach my father better english
than the english already spoken: among the natives,
for the natives...
at home... mother is the cue... tongue
and everything otherwise...
we'll sample with the natives their delight in
minority cuisines...
but come monday... esp. a monday...
after a lunchbox worth of food of a sunday
feeling lazy... well... it just tastes better when
it's not... predicated on a riposte of...
conventions and harangue of: past-participle
expectations...
that sentence is littered with misnomers...
to add to the... otherwise... bland... talk...
correct... talk...
but i really couldn't teach my father
better english...
i have made this language sacred in my own
right as... both parasite and host...
interchangeable... of course...
eh... master and slave dynamic doesn't really
get me all hot and bothered...
i much prefer the lessened hiararchical nuance...
the co-dependency the symbiosis...
of a parasite and a host...
after all... it would seem the head of the pyramid
is a... fungus infection of the brain...
or at worst... a placenta martriarch of
a family of tapeforms: where, otherwise...
a foetus should be...
i'm not into boot-licking...
but... if the anglo-saxons used these isles
as a spring-board to forever imitate the children
of zion...
i'm just the leftovers...
the anglo-slav among afro-saxons...
the "great replacement"...
woe'woe'woe... and that's a word that
should devolve into a calm down / halt insinuation...
who came after 2004... the people who didn't see loopholes
and wouldn't be seen gambling...
the sort of people that would most certainly
go back to the ***** and: the law & justice party
embrace...
the xenophobic extracts of:
the impossibilty of the red sea
parting story... since they would never be the ones
there...
that grey area...
like i am a grey area to them...
given... how many times did i want to spend
a summer at the ****** version of Woodstock...
Pol'and'Rock at Kustrin?
lack hell i am...
i'm confined to my little abode of folklore
anglo-saxony...
rather: not having played the boogie man
from an 1960s period piece of:
vaginal and viagral expectations...
or... that thing known as brit-pop in the 1990s...
or... i've passed through york...
on my way to edinburgh...
but yorkshire... beside the yorkies...
spuds? they call them?
maybe... i'm counting 7 x 5cl to leverage
me at half a 70cl... but... looking at
what 35cl looks like turned into dosage...
i'm seeing more... than half an empty bottle...
i'm seeing the bottle as half full...
i guess this "predicament" came from
alcoholic slang and... positivism...
it's hardly optimistic... given... it's only
a perspective on only one bottle...
and there's still that sea to drink!
well... that's that... it was a most
enthralling ride back toward a square-root of 0...
much appreciated...
now i'll just turn to the bed and the cushion
my head rests on...
and tell myself:
this person was never born...
nor will his words take to boast about...
a nativity play...
nor a pride in Shakespeare...
it's one thing's worth a good reading...
quiet another... to treat it as an enzyme for
the collective: a catalyst...
to "re-invent" the wheel... as it were...
i have given birth... to perhaps...
the greatest thing i could "steal"...
then again... i am very much...
exaggerating...
but this was not born from the ****** ethnicity
of some european island folk...
it was born on the continent...
and it was somehow lived in and with...
never allowed to exfoliate into a courtesan...
annoyance... i gave it a limbo cage
both the host and parasite could enjoy...
after all: this language is a parasite...
i acquired when integrating...
i am the host...
the parasite can dictate what it wants...
a blank page to exfoliate a boquet(t)e with / in...
it would most certainly appear more
orthographically sound: if boquete had an added T...
well... some will cite Shakespeare the first of and
the end of... what's defined as Ęglish...
i like to think of the... "subtle" master...
i somehow knew it was in him...
after watching the film-adaptations... not good enough...
not having read David Copperfield...
a brush with J. D. Salinger and all that
holden caulfield Son-of-Sam sort of crap...
i guess you just have to age a little...
a little is never greedy... and pounce on that great
big peacock playing: the pink elephant in the room!
that's me... Dickens wasn't impossible
to "unsee" or "not see"...
i just needed...
the right sort of hashbrown sort of nudge...
enough organic encounters with yorkies...
baked tatties... h.p. brown sauce and enough baked
beans...
yep... now i'm ready...
it's time to gently slide away from
Macbeth... and into Dickensian prose...
the Pickwick Papers is as any good place to start...
all the better: since it came highly
recommended why i was still in high-school...
all those... ****... 18 years later.
i was going to st. augustine's
and all the boys were all about the oasis
look... so ben sherman shirts...
never tucked into the trousers...
but this was in the 1990s...
of course the celebrations were short-lived...
sooner or later a prog variation of brit-pop
had to come about with radiohead...
i kind of skimmed over the early stuff...
there, there - from hail to the thief is my stand-out
track...
having just watched a movie about
the iceman... a one ryszard kuklinski -
well... if the icecream truck:
mongrel dutch-irish and this one ******
would never make into the guinea club...
or the elder fathers of zion...
guinea? seems i was misinformed...
rome's best wops... or donatello goombah...
i'm having trouble with all these
anglo-saxons slurs...
back in dandy ol' england...
it's not a great period piece:
happening right now...
to be in the protected class of citizentry:
no mosque... oh hell:
protected status with a falafel?
exactly... where's the falafel?
but from the movie... wow...
it is: but it isn't... a racial slar...
the one word from skiing these oomp'ah-
loomp'ahs *** 'ight...
and in mewwy ol' england i come across
the natives... almost for a second time...
not the same sort of natives
i met prior to my 1997 / 1998 interlude...
perhaps 7/7 happened?
i really don't know...
but no great cultural export...
no oasis was sang on the continent
after oasis songs were sung...
it's not like kasabian made it into that
transcendental meaning on offer...
hey! variations: pollack!
paul-lack! st. paul's lacking? what?
a head... in athens... ah ha... dry martini of
a joke...
but who am i?
profession? pole / paul...
******* in my spare time, jackson jr.,
because... it's hardly a slur...
it would be a slur if i were called
a *** or a goombah...
the anglo-saxons wouldn't exactly
the rooted natives...
but they would...
it's as if expected:
from speaking latin and the eagle-fetish
to brewing cappuccinos...
a dutch-irish... well a dumb pollack joke...
yes... and now that the virus is caughing
via the retards in the supermarket isles
or licking ice-cream / toilet rims...
i guess an honest workforce is...
something to be less ashamed of...
compared to this ****** nation of:
the readily to be exile puke of reason...
"of their own"...
i seem to have elevated my...
concern for words...
i have just started to read my Charles Dickens...
and relying on Monday
to eat a more delightful roast dinner:
i says... it taste better... because it's not
a Sunday... it's a Monday...
plus... the roast is not exactly a roast...
it has some elements of bleau at the center...
because... you can't expect three
people to eat that much meat in a single sitting:
given the recipe for those yorkies from
ol' grandma of a james martin...
100g of flours, 4 eggs... circa 200ml of milk...
salt, pepper...
the dough is left in the fridge for an hour
at least... the yorkie trays are put into the oven
at 220C with the oil...
while the tatties are browning and the beef
is readying itself for the abstract
of my mouth... and the cubism of my ***...
pristine squeeze...
if only in h'america...
what wouldn't a norman davies call
the polacks if not industrial albino (s)*******?
then who were or would be... eire-
just -ish?
but the new continent:
i'm toppling down into the torso of a well-off
snowman built from an avalanche...
if there were britons here prior...
which includes the welsh and the scots...
and those people of Shropshire...
and those botanical tsars of Kent...
whoever these people are...
the noble barbarians...
the better of vikings with no fjords
to revel in farming on?
maybe those kind of people...
that sort of the native...
oh god forbid i should entice the cosmopolitan
brood to enter the debate...
not in the heart of the matter: come york
and its shire...
some longshank hobbit might
just pop its head up to high and kiss
a guillotine!
if there were the anglo-saxons...
eh... some of us came... settled...
we wanted to... find... the englishman...
circa... 1860 - 1950... that sort of timeframe...
i guess we finds him...
question is... czy ja jestem, lecz czy on?
that's a good question...
is he the host and i the parasite...
well... funny that...
he isn't a body...
he's an oak that was uprooted
from somewhere among a many many
pines and birches in the eastern provinces
of this continent...
and moved... into a garden...
lurking: shadow... hunched crow
and some other hideous comparison...
am i the parasite? what host of a mind i did
acquire: who's me...
or i am him... then i'll drift into the other
trench and i'll tell the germans
that they're fighting anglican saxons...
what? yes i'll tell them...
they're not lutheran saxons...
they're anglican saxons...
how? they have a monarchy...
a crown, central...
no petty princes bound to a federation...
i have also some across the modern natives...
the alt-right and the ethno-nationalists...
apparently: i'm not in the club...
how could i be...
i overheard them talking about...
electing a monarch...
election of monarchy...
well... no point investing in the gene pool...
last time that was tried...
was in the guise of the polish-lithuanian
commonwealth...
the brothel of kings...
some were hungarians, some were "germans"...
some were even swedes...
the aristocracy elected a king...
a john lackland sorts from across europe...
until their big brother richard
or some variant of Otto or the proper didlo in
hand charles gustav would...
appear to wrestle with his baby brother's:
"betrothal" - evidently thart's one for the misnomer
and inversion...
the anglo-saxons as they were to be later known
as... no point beating about the bush...
but... i have measured myself against
these other inhabitants...
the welsh, the scots, the irish... and... well...
i'm not here on part of a conquering army...
my fellow countrymen are just about overwhelmed
by enjoying 100 years of privy
and freedom... little much of good will that do them...
a half-bred popular opinion:
that i hide my language in the freedom
i allow myself within english...
i'm here for the Dickens and the sunday roast beef:
and the yorkies... and the haggis and the neeps,
the mashed and roasted tatties...
and the black pud'...
i'm not here to see how far west my ***
will point while bowing toward mecca...
if you don't mind me saying...
like i am not here for that kippah u.f.o.
ghetto of Golders Green...
i'm not here for a Marx on loan...
i'm here for a... "hashtag"...
eh... the saxons have their unifying:
nomadic perspective to mind...
it's not like the saxons were not liked by...
say... the pomeranians...
or the swabians... or the brandenburgers...
the saxons: semites of the north...
pseudo-vikings wishing for the proto- prefix...
well... are the modern saxons...
saxons? the saxons ****** off to england...
later ****** off to build the british empire...
i'm sure... the modern "saxons" are just
that... brandenburgers... some swabians...
the germans that stayed and were the enemy
under kaiser wilhelm...
that great... grandson of queen victoria...
yes... that war wasn't the war to stop all lineage
in-breeding... because...
it would take whittle adoolf the failed
art student to wake up the petty-bourgeoisie...
fully donned in khaki...
and in hugo boss schwarz...
and in... gulag grey-leash... of the wehrmacht:
of course...
but anglo-saxons are, and were...
and there's this... grand ethno-etymology...
listening to the natives...
codes: white-genocide... ethnic displacement...
let me run back and check the state of affairs
in mother russia and ******-land...
polonia (in latin)... oh right...
i just heard... that a woman in russia...
university educated, a doctor, no less...
also believes that churches should be exempt from
restrictions on social gatherings...
because they are holy places...
and... viruses... in their primitive square / rectangular
modes of abstracting vectors...
or de-abstracting for a better cushion
of solid ground made... also have...
a sense of a higher-beings modus operandi
when plagued with doubt, or denial...
the virus knows what's scared to the russians...
too bad for all those russian buddhists...
dunno... what european are the westerners
worried about?
i'm here on "holiday"...
to read my Dickens: finally! it only took me
20 odd ******* years...
and my sunday roast on a monday...
if there came a wave of anglo-saxons...
while the pomeranians stayed strapped
to the holy german empire "thing"...
and because there weren't any anglo-bohemias...
or modern anglo-czechs...
i'll branch out anyways...
to the "greater" picture masquarade...
i'll be an anglo-slav if...
and... oh look! they're here already...
i'm an anglo-slav... among the other minority
of the afro-saxons...
after all... there are tiers to migration...
there's that tier of polacks moving with the government
during the "affair" of circa 1943...
the no. 303 boys...
and... after that? no one from ******-land
wanted to come to britain... h'america...
the golden retreiver...
given the cold war... de facto:
to the antonym of the mensa harvest...
i came in the 1990s...
******-land and the other 8... joined the already
failing european union in 2004...
hmm...
well... you did get that cabbage plucked...
that carrot too...
from... the sort of people without tic-toc
who... would rather **** braincells with a *****
after a god's monstrous maxim...
while i started sweating from my armpits
hunched with these words...
enough of braincells to ****...
not enough imaginative in a quasi-vivo state
of... the cannibal narcissus...
attention spans a week's worth of
goldfish adventures... licking ice-cream
you won't buy...
then again: a lacking paul...
is an otherwise over-eager pauline...
even if "we" were to become fully "integrated"...
like hell i was giving my mother tongue up
after that 1997 /1998 interlude...
i still wouldn't be able to teach my father the english
they speak: peppered with nuance from
the old mother grammar...
too bad... but the pronunciation is spot on...
i don't know why i should feel obliged to
the ******* on the cross to feel "circumcised"
for... his labyrinth...
i couldn't teach my father better english
than the english already spoken: among the natives,
for the natives...
at home... mother is the cue... tongue
and everything otherwise...
we'll sample with the natives their delight in
minority cuisines...
but come monday... esp. a monday...
after a lunchbox worth of food of a sunday
feeling lazy... well... it just tastes better when
it's not... predicated on a riposte of...
conventions and harangue of: past-participle
expectations...
that sentence is littered with misnomers...
to add to the... otherwise... bland... talk...
correct... talk...
but i really couldn't teach my father
better english...
i have made this language sacred in my own
right as... both parasite and host...
interchangeable... of course...
eh... master and slave dynamic doesn't really
get me all hot and bothered...
i much prefer the lessened hiararchical nuance...
the co-dependency the symbiosis...
of a parasite and a host...
after all... it would seem the head of the pyramid
is a... fungus infection of the brain...
or at worst... a placenta martriarch of
a family of tapeforms: where, otherwise...
a foetus should be...
i'm not into boot-licking...
but... if the anglo-saxons used these isles
as a spring-board to forever imitate the children
of zion...
i'm just the leftovers...
the anglo-slav among afro-saxons...
the "great replacement"...
woe'woe'woe... and that's a word that
should devolve into a calm down / halt insinuation...
who came after 2004... the people who didn't see loopholes
and wouldn't be seen gambling...
the sort of people that would most certainly
go back to the ***** and: the law & justice party
embrace...
the xenophobic extracts of:
the impossibilty of the red sea
parting story... since they would never be the ones
there...
that grey area...
like i am a grey area to them...
given... how many times did i want to spend
a summer at the ****** version of Woodstock...
Pol'and'Rock at Kustrin?
lack hell i am...
i'm confined to my little abode of folklore
anglo-saxony...
rather: not having played the boogie man
from an 1960s period piece of:
vaginal and viagral expectations...
or... that thing known as brit-pop in the 1990s...
or... i've passed through york...
on my way to edinburgh...
but yorkshire... beside the yorkies...
spuds? they call them?
maybe... i'm counting 7 x 5cl to leverage
me at half a 70cl... but... looking at
what 35cl looks like turned into dosage...
i'm seeing more... than half an empty bottle...
i'm seeing the bottle as half full...
i guess this "predicament" came from
alcoholic slang and... positivism...
it's hardly optimistic... given... it's only
a perspective on only one bottle...
and there's still that sea to drink!
well... that's that... it was a most
enthralling ride back toward a square-root of 0...
much appreciated...
now i'll just turn to the bed and the cushion
my head rests on...
and tell myself:
this person was never born...
nor will his words take to boast about...
a nativity play...
nor a pride in Shakespeare...
it's one thing's worth a good reading...
quiet another... to treat it as an enzyme for
the collective: a catalyst...
to "re-invent" the wheel... as it were...
i have given birth... to perhaps...
the greatest thing i could "steal"...
then again... i am very much...
exaggerating...
but this was not born from the ****** ethnicity
of some european island folk...
it was born on the continent...
and it was somehow lived in and with...
never allowed to exfoliate into a courtesan...
annoyance... i gave it a limbo cage
both the host and parasite could enjoy...
after all: this language is a parasite...
i acquired when integrating...
i am the host...
the parasite can dictate what it wants...
a blank page to exfoliate a boquet(t)e with / in...
it would most certainly appear more
orthographically sound: if boquete had an added T...
well... some will cite Shakespeare the first of and
the end of... what's defined as Ęglish...
i like to think of the... "subtle" master...
i somehow knew it was in him...
after watching the film-adaptations... not good enough...
not having read David Copperfield...
a brush with J. D. Salinger and all that
holden caulfield Son-of-Sam sort of crap...
i guess you just have to age a little...
a little is never greedy... and pounce on that great
big peacock playing: the pink elephant in the room!
that's me... Dickens wasn't impossible
to "unsee" or "not see"...
i just needed...
the right sort of hashbrown sort of nudge...
enough organic encounters with yorkies...
baked tatties... h.p. brown sauce and enough baked
beans...
yep... now i'm ready...
it's time to gently slide away from
Macbeth... and into Dickensian prose...
the Pickwick Papers is as any good place to start...
all the better: since it came highly
recommended why i was still in high-school...
all those... ****... 18 years later.
Mateuš Conrad
Feb 2019
what's the biggest difference
between 20th century's
french and german
existentialism,
and the 21st century's
primarily, anglo-sphere,
realisation of an existential
"crisis"...
anti-jew meme...
the globalist octopus...
imagine...
some people have
recovered from an existential
crisis, having established
vast constructs of thought
way back in the 20th century,
namely
the french, and the germans..
but...
my oh my oh my my...
the anglo-sphere of linguistics
has only, "just now"
awoken to this...
quiet a predicament,
wouldn't you say?
fertile ground...
oh sure, there was existential
angst in the anglo-
sphere among irish
pillars...
beckett, joyce...
but concrete architectures
of thought, regarding existentialism,
seem to be absent...
so... counter-argument:
so how come i can
freely buy a copy of some
german philosopher,
a french novelist turned
philosopher...
but...
i'm skint... when it comes
to english thinkers more
or less associated with
my status, rather than stance,
on contemporary "translation"?
elitism...
no... it's not that...
i could have just well
have procured
a life helping out my father
in industrial roofing...
i didn't mind roofing...
it's not an exactly pristine
labour of love sort
of environment...
the scottish widows' h.q.
roof near st. paul's?
me.
i was part of that
monstrosity...
but... come again?
but there are some many attachment
cursors when it comes
to an anglican take
on "revising" continental
existentialism...
whatever crisis
the continental people
felt, and consolidated
the 20th century people...
is only just starting to bud
in the anglo-phonic world...
start-up, island,
end result,
h'america and australia...
there was never a question
as to why, or if,
the english-speaking
people would ever entertain
existentialism,
but, suddenly they are,
at least starting to look
into the pit,
from their ivory towers...
immediate escape
impetus?
reach for the fictive
narrative,
disavow journalism...
make journalism bedfellows
with political rhetoric...
there's no debate...
circus, however you look
at it...
you can't fathom
an abstract variant
of the german or the french
mind, gripped by
an existential critique,
a piquancy,
a pedantry...
in the english speaking world...
there are,
just simply...
too many attachments
to deal with...
- growing a beard:
meant exactly that -
eat ****.
i don't see where
there a "me" to be found
in a (0, 0) starting space,
of net-worth-"work"...
coumpters-freeze
network...
for a language...
that ridiculed,
or became succinct
in succumbing
to its anglo-preferences
of objectifying counter-standards
for its own...
shortcomings...
what has 20th century
existential philosophy have
to do with "anything",
esp. if arrived from
the either french
of german, cultures?
we have Joe Slave over 'ere...
oh right... sorry...
paweł nowak....
just took joe stephen slave's
role was
the person, the hands,
in a recycling factory...
do you mind?
rather:
do you mind...
teaching your natives...
to...
and you know how that
cindarella story ends...
introducing existentialism
to the brits and,
generally,
the anglican variety of
the tongue, being
used...
will end up as, failure...
the 20th century
taught me this,
the irish failed,
the french
and the germans...
basically a "foreign" idea
is more than just...
******..
the people are ******,
with paradoxes
of their women...
sure... a bit like
Iceland...
oh, ****, a bit too close
to the continent...
like madagascar
is to africa...
and sri lanka is to india?
i'm not 'ere to care to
the idiosyncratic
concerns of island people...
contra the, "collective"...
island people will forever
remain island people,
"solipsistic", idiosyncratic,
idioms...
i can't change that...
always prone to export...
but never to import...
island people,
the **** is there to say?
ever bewilder yourself
over chanel 4 news...
and how...
john snow is slipping
into dementia?
you listen to the cue?
no?
sorry... john...
dementia on the horizon...
attempting to adapt
existentialism into england
will fail,
given their moral high-ground
of the "migrant crisis"...
it's an island...
the borders are clarifying,
distinct,
sure, the people can be *****
when their language
is bored in being
a "lingua franca"...
but other people have
other, in-debt defences...
western slavs?
ever hear a spaniard speak
pollack, just because
he hiked with a polish girl?
yeah... mahler...
violins and ****...
you only listen:
for an idea...
it comes, it comes,
it doesn't come...
well... you move onto
some khachaturian...
so, no biggie...
you can't import continetal
thinking to an island people,
they have no concept
of borders...
their naive presupposing
barrier, centered-ground is
unshakeable...
existential philosophy
"meme" rate of survival is... ?
0.1,
binary, negation, an affirmative
statement,
and then the fiasco...
it doesn't help
that there's an alternative
outlet via h'america or australia...
i'm not looking
at the "bigger picture",
when there isn't one...
20th century existentialism
will not work in 21st century england,
or any english-speaking world
to begin with...
there are just, too many,
attachment points,
as many nurtured
nostalgia avenues
as there are amnesia riddled
currencies of attention
exhaustion...
it's just a pristine model
to revive the serf...
there's no point reading existentialism
to a people,
so far lodged in their
isolationism that they
can claim, both an island-stature...
and two continents,
by extension
of stating: "being aware"...
i guess you have to be born
on the continent
to read anything by 20th century
writers,
but... trying to implement
the word...
into the idiosyncrasy
of island-dwelling people,
akin to the English?
i'm not even going
to bother trying...
they're island-folk...
they "think" of borders akin
to coastlines...
and not migration
fake bordering of a contradiction
of peoples occupying
a quicksand pit
of looking at a geography map...
island-folk...
they know border...
because they know... island...
you can't translate
something that's already
paradoxical to them
(hypocritical, is not a milder
term of usage for the desired
execution)...
no...
not going to happen...
two islands,
some set of continental enclaves...
culture...
whatever you want...
i've lived with them,
even though i've lived pretty much
among either the irish migrants,
or the scots...
you're not going to translate
an island, into a continent's
auxiliary...
right now...
you'd think that
Estonia would become
characteristic of an island-people
auxiliary mentality...
i can't blame these people
though...
an island environment
provides an island people
mentality...
if you have never been
part of a congregation,
geographically...
yes...
but they're borrowing
continental idiosyncracy...
****** *****...
Iceland?
yeah... oh yeah...
they're hot on the topic of what
island life is like...
being so...
conservative that they even
have developed apps
for people to check their
genetic proximity
and any immediacy to live,
+ baggage...
the Brits were always 'ere...
the Icelandisch?
were always there...
and...
sorry... for the already given
postcard: wish you were
here analogy of...
curiosity killed
the cat...
but island dwelling people
will always be,
an island dwelling people...
right now,
you do what i do...
you play chamaleon...
"sociopath"...
you...
begin with: a-pathy...
without pathology
looking for... what requires
you to mingle with the most
pathological examples of
a hushed sanity of society...
and...
your luck, as well as mine...
nothing really happens...
like butter smeared
over a gently toasted
piece of toast.
hello tomorrow.
between 20th century's
french and german
existentialism,
and the 21st century's
primarily, anglo-sphere,
realisation of an existential
"crisis"...
anti-jew meme...
the globalist octopus...
imagine...
some people have
recovered from an existential
crisis, having established
vast constructs of thought
way back in the 20th century,
namely
the french, and the germans..
but...
my oh my oh my my...
the anglo-sphere of linguistics
has only, "just now"
awoken to this...
quiet a predicament,
wouldn't you say?
fertile ground...
oh sure, there was existential
angst in the anglo-
sphere among irish
pillars...
beckett, joyce...
but concrete architectures
of thought, regarding existentialism,
seem to be absent...
so... counter-argument:
so how come i can
freely buy a copy of some
german philosopher,
a french novelist turned
philosopher...
but...
i'm skint... when it comes
to english thinkers more
or less associated with
my status, rather than stance,
on contemporary "translation"?
elitism...
no... it's not that...
i could have just well
have procured
a life helping out my father
in industrial roofing...
i didn't mind roofing...
it's not an exactly pristine
labour of love sort
of environment...
the scottish widows' h.q.
roof near st. paul's?
me.
i was part of that
monstrosity...
but... come again?
but there are some many attachment
cursors when it comes
to an anglican take
on "revising" continental
existentialism...
whatever crisis
the continental people
felt, and consolidated
the 20th century people...
is only just starting to bud
in the anglo-phonic world...
start-up, island,
end result,
h'america and australia...
there was never a question
as to why, or if,
the english-speaking
people would ever entertain
existentialism,
but, suddenly they are,
at least starting to look
into the pit,
from their ivory towers...
immediate escape
impetus?
reach for the fictive
narrative,
disavow journalism...
make journalism bedfellows
with political rhetoric...
there's no debate...
circus, however you look
at it...
you can't fathom
an abstract variant
of the german or the french
mind, gripped by
an existential critique,
a piquancy,
a pedantry...
in the english speaking world...
there are,
just simply...
too many attachments
to deal with...
- growing a beard:
meant exactly that -
eat ****.
i don't see where
there a "me" to be found
in a (0, 0) starting space,
of net-worth-"work"...
coumpters-freeze
network...
for a language...
that ridiculed,
or became succinct
in succumbing
to its anglo-preferences
of objectifying counter-standards
for its own...
shortcomings...
what has 20th century
existential philosophy have
to do with "anything",
esp. if arrived from
the either french
of german, cultures?
we have Joe Slave over 'ere...
oh right... sorry...
paweł nowak....
just took joe stephen slave's
role was
the person, the hands,
in a recycling factory...
do you mind?
rather:
do you mind...
teaching your natives...
to...
and you know how that
cindarella story ends...
introducing existentialism
to the brits and,
generally,
the anglican variety of
the tongue, being
used...
will end up as, failure...
the 20th century
taught me this,
the irish failed,
the french
and the germans...
basically a "foreign" idea
is more than just...
******..
the people are ******,
with paradoxes
of their women...
sure... a bit like
Iceland...
oh, ****, a bit too close
to the continent...
like madagascar
is to africa...
and sri lanka is to india?
i'm not 'ere to care to
the idiosyncratic
concerns of island people...
contra the, "collective"...
island people will forever
remain island people,
"solipsistic", idiosyncratic,
idioms...
i can't change that...
always prone to export...
but never to import...
island people,
the **** is there to say?
ever bewilder yourself
over chanel 4 news...
and how...
john snow is slipping
into dementia?
you listen to the cue?
no?
sorry... john...
dementia on the horizon...
attempting to adapt
existentialism into england
will fail,
given their moral high-ground
of the "migrant crisis"...
it's an island...
the borders are clarifying,
distinct,
sure, the people can be *****
when their language
is bored in being
a "lingua franca"...
but other people have
other, in-debt defences...
western slavs?
ever hear a spaniard speak
pollack, just because
he hiked with a polish girl?
yeah... mahler...
violins and ****...
you only listen:
for an idea...
it comes, it comes,
it doesn't come...
well... you move onto
some khachaturian...
so, no biggie...
you can't import continetal
thinking to an island people,
they have no concept
of borders...
their naive presupposing
barrier, centered-ground is
unshakeable...
existential philosophy
"meme" rate of survival is... ?
0.1,
binary, negation, an affirmative
statement,
and then the fiasco...
it doesn't help
that there's an alternative
outlet via h'america or australia...
i'm not looking
at the "bigger picture",
when there isn't one...
20th century existentialism
will not work in 21st century england,
or any english-speaking world
to begin with...
there are just, too many,
attachment points,
as many nurtured
nostalgia avenues
as there are amnesia riddled
currencies of attention
exhaustion...
it's just a pristine model
to revive the serf...
there's no point reading existentialism
to a people,
so far lodged in their
isolationism that they
can claim, both an island-stature...
and two continents,
by extension
of stating: "being aware"...
i guess you have to be born
on the continent
to read anything by 20th century
writers,
but... trying to implement
the word...
into the idiosyncrasy
of island-dwelling people,
akin to the English?
i'm not even going
to bother trying...
they're island-folk...
they "think" of borders akin
to coastlines...
and not migration
fake bordering of a contradiction
of peoples occupying
a quicksand pit
of looking at a geography map...
island-folk...
they know border...
because they know... island...
you can't translate
something that's already
paradoxical to them
(hypocritical, is not a milder
term of usage for the desired
execution)...
no...
not going to happen...
two islands,
some set of continental enclaves...
culture...
whatever you want...
i've lived with them,
even though i've lived pretty much
among either the irish migrants,
or the scots...
you're not going to translate
an island, into a continent's
auxiliary...
right now...
you'd think that
Estonia would become
characteristic of an island-people
auxiliary mentality...
i can't blame these people
though...
an island environment
provides an island people
mentality...
if you have never been
part of a congregation,
geographically...
yes...
but they're borrowing
continental idiosyncracy...
****** *****...
Iceland?
yeah... oh yeah...
they're hot on the topic of what
island life is like...
being so...
conservative that they even
have developed apps
for people to check their
genetic proximity
and any immediacy to live,
+ baggage...
the Brits were always 'ere...
the Icelandisch?
were always there...
and...
sorry... for the already given
postcard: wish you were
here analogy of...
curiosity killed
the cat...
but island dwelling people
will always be,
an island dwelling people...
right now,
you do what i do...
you play chamaleon...
"sociopath"...
you...
begin with: a-pathy...
without pathology
looking for... what requires
you to mingle with the most
pathological examples of
a hushed sanity of society...
and...
your luck, as well as mine...
nothing really happens...
like butter smeared
over a gently toasted
piece of toast.
hello tomorrow.