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"And he created out of one [man] every nation of men, to dwell upon the entire surface of the earth, and he decreed the appointed times and set limits of the dwelling of [men]." (Acts 17: 26)

When I look in the mirror, a doughty warrior, an oracle, an Olympian gazes back at me. The caramel-tinge of my skin tells of the colored pedigree from whence I came. Every ebony-tendril that bursts from my epidermis is as impregnable as the Sacred Lotus.

The history of my Mind's Sky has been tried by the Ancient African Sun of my ancestors. It is my hope, that I have passed the trials decreed by the ordinances of the Moon & Sun. Moreover, the Arbiter of Fates, Jah, dawns upon our fleshly vessel at each twilight, assaying our entities. (Isaiah 60: 19, 20)

So many intrepid souls have compassed me about. The Chalice of my Heart burgeons with esprit d' amour. The meaning of life is ne' er about intellect, is ne' er about achievement, is in part, about creativity; wholly, about Love. (John 13: 34, 35) For this reason, strength cascades upon me every moment as I witness the brilliance, the resilience of my beneficent matriarch, Stacy Amanda Foulke.

In life, I have learned that being a person of color in America is not only a wonderful privilege, but a responsibility. Why? The afflictions brought upon this skin only make it glisten brighter after convalescence. Our people have suffered inordinately so, but this is conducive to cultivating surpassing empathy. Therefore, I believe that history, as begotten through the colored legacy, shall be one of ultimate victory.

If and only if, we unfetter ourselves from the onerous burdens of the past, then Monarchical Wings shall burst forth from our Astral Chrysalis. "For though the tribulation is momentary and light, it works out for us a glory that is of more and more surpassing weight and is everlasting." (1st Corinthians 4: 17) Se' lah.

               The Dictum of Vitality:

(I) "If there is no struggle, there is no progress.” – Frederick Douglass

(II) “Freedom is never given; it is won.” – A. Philip Randolph

(III) "Hold fast to dreams, for if dreams die, life is a broken winged bird that cannot fly.” – Langston Hughes

(IV) “There is no ***** problem. The problem is whether the American people have loyalty enough, honor enough, patriotism enough, to live up to their own constitution.” – Frederick Douglass

(V) ”Almost always, the creative dedicated minority has made the world better.” – Martin Luther King, Jr.

(VI) ”Where there is no vision, there is no hope.” – George Washington Carver

(VII) ”Character is power.” – Booker T. Washington

(VIII) ”Every great dream begins with a dreamer. Always remember, you have within you the strength, the patience, and the passion to reach for the stars to change the world.” – Harriet Tubman

(IX) ”Change will not come if we wait for some other person or some other time. We are the ones we’ve been waiting for. We are the change that we seek.” – Barack Obama

(X) ”When I dare to be powerful – to use my strength in the service of my vision, then it becomes less and less important whether I am afraid.” – Audre Lorde

---------------------------Envisage------------------------------------------Freedom, freedom--------------------------------------------------At last----------------------
( ....? )
A bunch of screwéd up
It's got to be reality that gets to challenge
each.. of us
And that's daily on the basis of
For they say that opposites attract?
But I say it's just a
But never mind me
For I'm just.. passively aggressively
Speaking like I've seen it within a
But no longer coping with the
Too many.. trees for me
Oh well,
Just typically being a male
Who's mostly thinking with his
" Penís "
Still loosing focus?
For life is so hopeless falsely
It just shows that a part of me is
One of two.. Divisions
                        The Alpha  
The Beta
For the better half of me is a
And that's genetically.. where the
seed is
But man.. I am now
Now thinking?
Like who am I supposed to be
If the best of me is left in a
That is not so..
For I invision a circumcision
with incisions like a
I call it  I ( Eye ) surgery
One day rising like
a Phoenix
While still emerging from the
For the circumstance is just a
Test for me
But yet it seems to be in retrospect
The reasons why I'm torn in my
While voicing my opinions
( Smh )
Just shows
That I'm wrong in my decisions
Which leads to no production
A Reproduction
Null in  Dependence
Now on a Mission.. but no
Maybe I'm too independent of
the Vision
which dulls the senses
But only means / Division
Or simply..
A man who has never listened to any
Being quoted within a   sentence
The quota..             Distant
Or so it seems
I'm being cynical in   a dream
And my mind is..
                            # THE PRISON #

With subtle  Eyes
Depicted   Evicted
Unassisted in..
                              ⟨⟨ A PRISM ⟩⟩

Thinking that I might need
Medical Attention
In a clinic
But it seems I'm just a heartless soul
within a torso  like
an Am-pu-tee
Which means I have no sympathy
May be a manic depressant whose
Or worse yet
Emotionally syn-thetic
( Like right now )
I'm hoping y'all really  Get it!!
And that's well enough to incline the
You can now roll the credits
beyond my
Status   just to
Test it
So yeah,
I just thought I'd  confess it
Really a force of habit but no need to
For I already know
And goes to show
That I fear it all the more
But yo..
That is just so
Been on my own in this struggle for a long long time. So as of now, I'm putting it in the hands of the Almighty God. Yeah, the struggle is real but I'm not giving up hope that easily
Norman Crane Sep 2020
A spiralling ascent
Along the world's edge
Sweatdrops fall
To a below without sunlight
Boot dust
Llamas labour under supply packs
Hoof beat lantern dance
Shadows cast on the cliff face
Distorted we loom
Above the mute fog of humanity
Awash in the final dawn
The old Inca smiling sprouts his knife
Ancient tapestral landscape
Exhales into us
Curvously infolding
The old Inca holds out his hands
The knife cuts horizontally
Reality opens like a book upon a tabletop
There, he says,
Pointing to the infinite space between where the sky in the past met the land
Timespace lies like a discarded washcloth
And we see dimly through the mists—
There, he says,
Pizarro could not follow us,
And we see dimly through the mists—
The neon lights of
Miraculously mysterious

The images in the eyes

Not a match for the one in mind

The visionary, sees through
Justin Aptaker Jun 2019
i made supplication
to my heart
to my very heart

thudding and flopping

i prayed to the flesh
how the spirit gives way
i set up my altar
i found beasts to slay

i asked only that
the beat would go on
my glistening, grinding
red ***** song

but the flesh made no answer
as if by design
the Universe tune
is ever so fine

i smashed up my idols
i burned up my books
i cast to an early grave
the high and proud looks

and the Universe met me there
and It said, “I’m Alive”
and It beat like a steady heart
that was keeping good Time

and It entered pact with me
a civil cease-fire
after It had destroyed me
and a new breath inspired

i’m cutting my ties again
i’m burning those old bridges
around the world and home again
i’m making decisions
Written by Justin Aptaker ca. 2011 - 2014
Justin Aptaker Jun 2019
It's all imaginary
it's all real

it's all ephemeral
all eternal

every little gesture
every racing emotion

every breathless whisper
every dark and mystical room
overflowing with night air and moonlight

nothing is ever lost
truth is what is not forgotten
suffering, we learn
learning is remembering
the pain you give me
brings me back to myself
and I remember
who and what I was
before I had eyes or ears or even chloroplasts

the symbol on my hand is changing
on fire
like all of gleaming reality itself
the pearl of price which blinds the impoverished merchants
who wander naked and lost
hawking all their wares on every noisome corner

the fire is all consuming
all sanctifying
all purifying
all changing
all revealing

I am in the fire
and in the fire, all is holy
and every last thing is eternally in flames (even the merchants)
and sleep is the great activity
and death is a dear friend
who betrays with one kiss
but whose betrayal is love incarnate

I am one
with my many selves
and though I may be above you
you hear my voice
you fumble after the meaning until it finds you

I am
the light bursting out of a broken lantern
the diamond with an infinite number of perfect cuts
the voice crying milk and honey into the wilderness
the children's song that flies above the lamentation up on the desert plane
the melody that found its way into your equations
the dream that startles you wide awake
the life that pulsates in decay and corruption
the happily ever after horror story

I am
the unstoppable force
that meets the immovable object
and the result is nothing

nothing but the purest, clearest light
that has never entered the mind

take heart, my love
the raging storms of your own neurochemical electricity
will give birth to their own silence
all thought is designed to produce its own resounding negation
all speech is born to fade beautifully
all music is played until it is over
and it's closing time
and the bars empty
and the streets grow silent and still under the street lights

and the last enemy, who you fear with the Great Fear
unmasks herself, a friend and a lover
The Lover of lovers
and trembling
you fall forever into her holy and ****** embrace
Written by Justin Aptaker ca. 2013 - 2014
Debopriyaa Dutta May 2019
buried alive; (in) sane; or harakiri?

a trifecta of horror
cuts through the lush foliage while i
writhe in a nest of
eldritch entrails

rises up like an ophidian
coils shedding every quarter of a noon
ready to strike -
i lose movement
and falter through the streets
the meeting rooms,
and the endless conversations that end in stalemates;

my anxiety
an ouroboros of volcanic self-effacement
spills into posh mental facilities (lies)
and shoddy hospitals that turn the sick into the living dead

burns bright red (magenta)
and brands my delicate skin with age-old glyphs
they mark the end of a civilization

the birth of a metropolis
with twin suns and dark monoliths
where the mob guillotines the visionaries
and the artist dies a dog's death.
A slow descent into methodical madness.
untitled Aug 2018
those that see beauty in everything feel the most discontent.
there are extreme emotions that one who is creative must process--
an unforced authenticity and tenacity to stay focused on a subject,
and to devote the same amount of attention to each entity, that you lose a sense of self and a sense of the world around you.

we use stress as a way of pushing us forward,
and only in moments of extreme stress does an amazing happening occur.
and for this, we are deemed odd, as a normal person thrives where they are most comfortable.

the originality that visionaries possess is exhausting, yet we admire it.
we allow for many things to flow in our minds without halt,
all notions and ideas taking up precedence, and this may be our greatest fault.

day break to sunset, my mind is racing non-stop, constantly,
to the point that sleep does nothing to quell the overthinking brain,
as my lucid dreams act as a force to keep me awake at night.
my mind is in a perpetual state of fantasy, sometimes during everyday life in bouts of daydreams,
imaging new situations and being unable to describe it all.

when I try to silence the thoughts that persistently flux through my mind,
my talents feel wasted during this time of artistic deprivation,
and only do I feel truly sound when I create new artworks for a few to discern.

sometimes I feel as though my mind feeds off on my depressive states,
as it takes the deepest of emotions to generate proufound art.
while I wish to be happy, I have a need to be in a bit of a sustained disarray.
something I wrote in December
(after my finals)
C Cavierre Apr 2016
Illogical, crystal clear--
this contradictory of fear--
I am caught for one precious moment by
the horrible visionary
of my grotesque fate
as promised, the continuation of Fear
Francie Lynch Jun 2015
My girlfriend has coveted
Installed bookshelves
For over thirty years.
She has imagined them
Bookending her hearth,
When a visitor walks up
To scan her collection.
She has books lying about
On her tables, my tables,
A few on outside tables.
She is an insatiable reader,
But never had shelves.
So, as a double gift,
I fabricated,
Installed and stained
To match her gum wood mouldings.
From vision to reality,
Better than Plato.
She's so pleased and proud
She refuses to use them;
To distract the viewer's looks
With books.
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