I’ve lost this place I’m suppose to have
my place in this thunder, ringing, ringing clear
what I have, and trust in what I haven’t gained
with this losing war, I’ve won something?
I’ve lost my place in this thundering mess
that lightening tragically strikes on paper
clipping my worth together.
I need a bow and my own arrow to make this right
I need an exorcism done to baptize
my worried hands together
and into a pit of strangers I’d dive
un-bruised by bravado’s curses
I’d dive into this tidal wave of circumstance
I the interpellator, lose myself
Delirious with the minute by minute
how different it could have been, I realized nothing.
And then like a solution, I’m stuck again on If
If I was a time traveler. It interrupts the answer for why
like a sucking between the teeth, it’s juvenile. If I was
If I was a time traveler. Yes it is. Unconcerned about culpable
blame, ripe with unfortunates, If I were a time traveler I won’t have to
wait for an anomalous filler for fragmented voids, or even wish to delete a moment.
If I was a time traveler, unconcerned with real time
since change is my past and the present is my future
what once was a rabbit hole, no longer becomes familiar
with its miniature tea cups, with its no longer cluttered exclamation to the unknown.
I was getting rid of some boxes that’s been just sitting in a corner of my apartment. And I came across a book that I thought I had misplaced. It’s the Collected Poems of Robert Hayden. Flipping through the collection I came across a favorite, Snow. The reason I think I’ve always enjoyed this piece is that it uses so little to express so much.
Snow by Robert Hayden
Smooths and burdens,
endangers, hardens.
Erases, revises.
Extemporizes
Vistas of lunar solitude.
Builds, embellishes a mood.
Here’s my attempt at using as few words as possible to express my feelings on my hair:
Two Saturdays ago, I met up with the other members of my band, Telenovela Star, for the first practice in a long time. We went through our songs, which surprisingly wasn’t that bad considering it’s been like 6 months of not playing our set.
We played some new songs and some not so, but in the sense that it’s taking on new directions. I’m talking about Death By Meteorite (DBM) that’s off of our full length, Love, Lust, Sci-Fi & Monsters (LLSM).
The genesis of DBM began like any of our songs, out of a long and quite possibly frustrating day at work (you know what I’m talking about), and then coming to practice, and some douche played with and may have broken or stolen our equipment. So, we quite possibly spent a good half an hour venting, calling around to find out who messed with our shit, and then finally we channeled all of this stress and DBM was born. At which point, of course, we’re smiling because for the time being, we’ve forgotten about all of the ills inside and outside.
The first DBM recording was a total raw draft that was recorded on cassette tape. Feeling the vibe from that first draft, Maggie went home and started playing her acoustic. From there, she wrote the lyrics for DBM. I don’t know what made her decide to record what she was working on, but I’m so glad that she did.
Awesome was the first thing out of my mouth, when she shared the home-recording with Hanna and me. She did all of the recording for the DBM version on LLS&M by herself! Even the whistling, the effing whistling.
It was around the time when we were finishing up with the LLS&M album. So, we were so excited about including DBM on the album. It was the perfect ending piece.
After LLS&M came out, we hoped to come back to DBM with the whole band. And we so did last Saturday. I can’t tell you how excited I am about this song. Listening to it is like witnessing the sun about to set, you’re cruising down a road, and all you feel is this summer breeze. Maggie said it: DBM is very visual. You get the feeling of going across the country.
We can’t wait to share this experience.
The Love Lust & Sci-fi Monster’s Death By Meterorite version: Death By Meteorite
I thought I’d try writing something fun. Here’s my attempt at alliterative verse.
Living in lustful love with another
letting lunacy’s lingering lull end
and to never come again…To be
brilliance as a besake, with brighten
becomings for beholders, who beguiles
being as befitting beliefs while betwichted
with blasphemy’s backdoor. To be aware
to antagonise the anti-freedomist
and awaken the spirits of the dead.
it doesn’t matter if you’re sober now
those words remember while you weren’t
while you called me a whore, a bitch, a nigger
oh, just kidding
i was drunk, too
like the time that the Professor made it okay
to say the N word in his class, just because
his 9 year old son was singing it
(outloud)
at some point there’s a responsibility held by the facilitator
even if it’s an investigation? And even then it’s a fallacy.
Maybe you should look at yourself first before you try saying those words.
Let’s say that I might
as well be someone’s celebrity
because you know we’re all going to be celebrities
and celebrities are going to be as faceless like the rest of us.
Yeah, I’d be that celebrity
Caught in a collision
And because of my popularity
Everyone takes a picture
Instead of calling the ambulance
I lay there swallowing my own blood
I see the camera flash die.
And all those people
Who stopped to take a picture of my demise
Are rich and happier than ever now…
All because my Professor couldn’t afford to travel to Europe
And he found the information from his son while traveling through South America’s
Easy dollars, that anyone with just enough US dollars can buy the entire island,
Oh but they have, and still won’t want to live there
Calling niggers sons, and sons, niggers
He found it an opportune time to say nigger
And that’s why I love academics
They don’t get killed in the street anymore
for what they say, because their impact is knowledge.
Got, swallowing spurious
chucks of spotlights to choke on.
A golden casket, yawning
prominence, port of then rides!
Tripping channels like waves, your
servings: words gullible full
say and not say, drowning in
in a wild sizzle that burst.
Got, conjuring certainty
with prays on Fridays, drinking
on credit, flicking a lung
aside a curtain, Always hustles for platinum chains:
a diamond in a watch tells
time better, chicken wings and
chicken things, quick wicker sight
cruising down Broadway, Park Place
a Lexus teething gold rims.
COCOYEA 
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