Last words with her,
So indifferent, so short,
The spoken tongues lashed
Indecipherable, unearthing
Doom, whitewashing the truths,
Forgotten blues of California sky,
Abandoned in that glean, garish glare
Of yellow sun,
            Fearing naught, the dark moon
Would soon arrive, taking place of all
Our glazed, lost, light.

well, it's definitely an end of something, never mind the linear interpretation of an end of time, considering that time moves in waves, ripples, bends with space, caused by two black holes merging donkey's years ago; but i woke into a history of the world, where after centuries of power broking, power monopoly on literacy everyone can write as much as they want, and whatever they want, we're reduced to looking at the "sacred scarcity" of certain books with bewilderment, as to how so little written could have swayed so many years; like the whitewashing donning in sheep clothing the crucified one, probably like whitewashing someone "innocent" sitting an electric chair... something must have swayed them, i'm still putting my bet on that oddity that was the star of bethlehem... gold / could have been silver that was given to judas... myrrh / have you scene the thorns on those bushes? / crown of thorns... frankincense / got no lead on that one expect the aroma of catholic churches... but i have something on the symbolism of the tetragrammaton being vaguely represented by the four canonical gospels like some beautiful blasphemy.*

well, i mean the existential stress for ambiguity,
i get that sartre went a bit too far and made one
word ambiguous to begin with, esp. when i poised
to make eschatology the deserving
word of ambiguity, but i agree with sartre
on the point: negation as a source of bad faith,
which can only precipitate in going
backwards and reaching a definition
of good faith, associated with descartes
and doubting -
so this ambiguity derived from eschatology,
as based on the world:
a hindu scholar said once that man is
capable of recording and keeping about
10,000 years of memorable history,
after 10,000 humanity does a massive
censorship spring-clean, or ridding itself
of the past, in some way...
currently we're working from the epic
of gilgamesh, or the upanishads, or some
other ancient text... after that we have
this massive abyss where there fossils,
cups and plates, rusty knives, massive lizard
bones... drawings in caves of gazelles
and mammoths and generally nothing
of intellectual worth... or at least nothing
relevant to our current surroundings of warm
houses, the electricplace (new fireplace)
where people congregate and get puffed up
on news from around the world amongst
other things...
so what i'm trying to reference, given with
the times, is the "eschatology" of trying
to revive the roman empire... air strikes in
what would be ancient carthage...
the destruction of roman artefacts elsewhere...
what i mentioned as human censorship
of past history, a blunt and therefore blatant
desire to hide something - a denial rather
than a doubt -
so with syria... it looks like this happened:
sunni muslims believe(d) that isa (jesus)
would descend on mount afeeq, on a
minaret in damascus (syria)... something about
praying... something about some evil
figure being sought and engaging with...
and 700,000 drowning syrians in the aegean later...
something something... the revised revival
of the roman empire having actually moved
into once unclaimed germanic lands,
and further, past the old borders of dacia,
rhaetia, norica, etc.
or perhaps the ancient voices are just shouting:
why is israel playing european football
teams and can compete in the euro championship
and we're not allowed, don't you remember
when claudius, nero and constantine watched
syrian gladiators fighting the carthageans in
the ancient arenas? you don't want us to join...
fine... we'll have ourselves a civil war.
all of a sudden there was a sharp divide in
rhetoric: only about 5% of turkey is in europe...
yep... the bosphorus... after that it's asia...
god almighty... first they divide the earth for
vanity and glory and some idealism...
then the realm of hades reveals itself in a division
as it was: gorda plate, pacific plate, eurasian plate,
iranian, arabic, cocos and nazca plate, etc.

i was just recently given the youtube link for my performance, so the live version from Louder Than A Bomb Massachusetts is here as well: http://youtu.be/TaVoQ9si4t8*

we are all disconnected
like rain lashing against the tongues of teenagers
who just want a taste of purity
deep in the battle trenches of the suburbs,
they're dancing in the storm
dancing, in parking garages and derelict strip malls,
empty streets fill with shaky feet
beating at fear like brush fires we can't stomp out

and after the sun sets the air tastes clean
and we breathe in time to the people sleeping in
gingerbread houses creeping up and down the cul de sac
battle wounds that drew blood eventually present themselves,
and sewer water seeping into parking lots as dry as a droughts...
but what we don't know is there, we don't ask any questions about

it's the little things...that are not the big issues
while we're chugging fluoride water bottled in adipose tissue
capitalism splitting at the seams with pyramid schemes
believing new clothes and big macs are a cure for low self esteem...
storing dreams in mcdonalds bags
we look away from the obvious problems
so as not to remind us...
we buy into these lies while we watch our lives pass us by
we're actually not that good at hiding our scars

so please say pharmaceutical...
and it sounds sort of like suicidal
a pill is a bit, a paycheck is a harness,
and your television is a bridle
fox news feasting on the population, brainwashing, whitewashing
suffocating education with hate and justification,
this nation has been sculpted by foolish politicians
so realize this before it's too late:
we are only hooked if we take the bate
waiting for tidal waves to rip up out of the ground
the whole world falling down like dominos
take a look at your own town
everyone is drowning in themselves

our fear of the truth is like putting hands in fires
limbs scorched unaware till we're up to our knuckles
crying fighting screams and watching fried up
dried up muscles go slack suddenly so tender so tired...
repeat after me:
our fires only hurt if we try to stomp them out
try to swallow them and burn our mouths
scream over each other like a pack of braying cattle all saying the same thing
the human race is it's own organism and it's dying...
we are knee deep in a civilization that has lost it's humanity
it's a legacy
to the same old ball and chain clamped around your legs
you do the man a favor and break yourself in his wake

in the age of the apocalypse of the pursuit of happiness
don't surrender yourself to complacency,
we are mechanics not machines
so don't be another agent of this age of conformity
don't self-destruct because it feels necessary
in order to survive in this society

don't allow yourself to hang on to memories like you can rewind time.
repeat after me:
we cannot rewind time.
it is time for this generation to live in the present
change the future for the better

happiness isn't something you can find in another beer...a thrift shop shelf...
in a lie you want so badly to believe...
my happiness is inside of me.

Ordinary words in ordinary order
Slouch across the page unnoticed
Mundane metaphors and trite observations
Destroy catch phrases with every old saw
Memes are dragged behind overused hashtags
Until they morph into yesterday’s news
Dusty and bent and soiled on the edges
Same ole rehash of the same ole crap
Whitewashing the fence of involvement
The old wive’s tales are alternative facts
That dance to the tune of an illiterate piper
In a boring routine choreographed by
A sullen pre-teen who finds herself grounded.

Wherever you’re going,
You can’t get there from here.
ljm

I'm going to change today
going to change the way
I am  
I'm not sure why but
I am going to try.

There comes a time
after the
drugs and the *** and the wine
when your body's in decline and
you're really ****** about
living the life of
a hedonist.

The heresy's here
in the beer and
it's really quite clear,
I'm going to change today
rearrange the way I am
become the difference
in the difference
of the man.

Anathema's flag
flies no more?
Save at half-mast
in the hearts of diehard's;
forever, 'general-ly'. (lee)

Will Kromantse (Cromatin) blood rise
to salute this gesture?
Will it change our children's future?

Waged (media) war,
whitewashing the *****:
a creed
of socio-economic
greed.




**© Qwey.ku

Look at me.Let my skin tell you a story of pain and suffering, let my eyes give you sight and show you my history. And it's odd to me because as history goes I know of her struggle but not her name, my great grandmama's face, nor my great grandfather stern gaze. My history was ripped from me then handed back in a textbook, like a stolen jewel being given back as a gift from its captors. They try to cultivate and appropriate my culture like it's a shirt that fits them better. You asked me what I'm mixed with because you see my blackness as something to be covered. But my blackness is not ***** that needs a chaser, it is not a ***** car that needs a little whitewashing and a paint job.
You asked me what I'm mixed with so here is my response; I am mixed with melanin and love swlirled into chocolate beauty. I'm mixed with strength and pride, fierce do I roar with the voice of the wise ancestors who gave birth to hope for my grandma, my mommy, and me. I am one part black and ninety nine parts victory. I am not a tragedy of circumstance I am a product of excellence. You ask me if I am mixed because you think I'm to pretty to just be black. Here's a news flash, I am pretty because I'm black! From the kinks of my curls to the dance in my toes, I am designed from the roots of the earth. In tune with its gravitational pull.
Everyone knows the moon only shines in the blackness of night. Stop trying to force an eclipse because they don't last anyway, only burn out to be surrounded by the blackness once more. You asked me what I'm mixed with, allow me the same courtesy. Are you mixed? What are you mixed with? Fear, hate, rage, disgust, or shame? I don't assume any of these for a wise woman once said, " people are diamonds made up of different pressure some in different measures and if you don't know don't judge for it is not your contest." I am on a conquest of love and redemption. I won't blame you for your ancestors but I will hold you to a certain standard.
So before you ask me what I am mixed with, think. Does it even matter?pretty is pretty so don't you dare come at a Nubian goddess cross eyed or tongue-tied, prepared to gain insight of her bloodline. She will shatter all illusion, destroy all thoughts of doubt. She will tell you she is black. She will say it in a song song voice because of the melody ringing in her soul when she makes this known. It will roll off her tongue like honey. For no other words ever tasted so sweet. She is a black queen. Mixed with blood and bones.

The king of cover-up is at it again,
Downplaying financial ties
And close connections with other countries,
Especially when questions arise.

First it was with Putin and Russia.
How much collusion remains to be seen.
Conspiracy in election meddling?
Whitewashing is now routine.

And then there was the hush-money
To cover-up some hanky-panky.
Dissimulation's easy when
You've got money in the banky.

It looks as though you must deny
And try to hide actions you rue,
But calling your fling "horse face," is that
A gentlemanly thing to do?

Now the cover-up deals with the Saudis--
With the crown prince and the Saudi king.
Denial…admittance…rogue players…
It has such a familiar ring.

After bragging over and over
About the millions of dollars he's made
From wealthy Saudis, his words are now
Exploding like a hand grenade.

When the leader has conflicts of interest,
Critics, pundits, and others who know
Where his interests really lie,
Shrug and say, "We told you so!"

He says he has a "natural instinct
For science." Isn't THAT a joke!
I wish his "natural instinct" was for
Telling the truth whenever he spoke.

-by Bob B (10-18-18)

Fluttering at shutter speed.
Is it my heart inside my chest,
or my lungs palpitating.

It is my veins.  
Rushing with blood, or collapsing for lack of.

It is my stomach. Eating away its own lining;
Acidic paint splattered across its walls. Whitewashing them
With every sporadic convulsion I feel.

A fortnight,
No sleep.

When I do sleep, I do not sleep.

I am depressed. Unhappy.  Not entertained.  

Overly-dramatic.

Questioning every decision I’ve ever made about life,
I inflate with anger.

I think about opportunities passed.

I revolt with envy when I see artists prevail.

I am a miserable **** brimming with unseen talent.




I miss cigarettes.

I miss *******.

Cheap whiskey and grinding my teeth
until 2 in the afternoon when my bloodshot eyes’ll tell you more
than you could ever learn reading my palms.

Fake prophesies of people who never really cared,

and rooms lit up with cheap disco lights and moist carpets.
Perfectly ripened with mildew and sweat and DNA.


The saved lives of unborn infants.


The lucky few.