anewclade

eroded and weathered, tattered and torn.
adapt and evolve, a new clade is born.

  • 20th
  • March
  • 2014

mine is yours

empty greetings, hollow hugs, and how are you’s suffice
it’s care, it’s love, it’s empathy, with no sacrifice.
mine is yours, our struggles one, our scars and tears and pain
still learning to live, starved flesh and bones remain.

recessed and unnourished, a drop rises a wave
while hundreds are heroes, that drop is still brave.
an unwelcome relief, it crashes onto shore
with faith in words unknown, it rises up once more.

wreck and crash and pound and clash, i heard you could see
oceanic mayhem, waves trying to be free.
but soothing repetition muffles out the sound
acquainted with the crashes, you don’t notice the drowned.

no scars, no wounds, no witness, just stories of the dead
if you don’t see it bleeding, has it really bled?
peripheral, extraneous, unsubstantial, small
the strongest of the trees will unexpectedly fall.

fatality of ego, account for what we’ve lost
disappearance, death, the consumed ego’s cost.
if only you had listened and humbly recognized
that mine is yours, our struggles one, one’s fall is both’s demise.

  • 26th
  • February
  • 2014

The Bitch

In honor of ED Awareness Week, let’s make some folks who are supposedly already aware open their goddamn eyes.

THIS IS NOT ABOUT YOU.

Let’s say that loud and clear.

THIS IS NOT ABOUT YOU and your reaction to it is simply your reaction and you need to own that. YOUR REACTION IS NOT MY FAULT.

You people are fucking insane and for once I want to tell you exactly why and I want you to listen completely and don’t interrupt me. I want you to listen and then I don’t want you to respond. I want you to sit with the discomfort that years of failing me brings.

I do not want to see your pouting faces, the faces whose lines and contours express the years of “burden” you’ve been put through having an anorexic daughter.

I do not want to see concern, because you’re not.

I do not want your help with anything, because if I have to tell you how to help then it’s not really helping.

This is hard to say, but sometimes I hate you because

you

don’t

get

it.

And you never fucking will and it is so goddamn fucked that you don’t even try.

And even more hurtful is that you think I’m okay.

I’m not going to explain what I do that’s so destructive, lest it become precedent for the future. But you know. How can you not, after the majority of my life has been this way?

Yet, oh! You can’t make dinner because you’re at work.

Fuck you. When will I matter more than work? When will you fucking step up? When will you realize it’s not all about you. FUCK YOU.

I don’t want to say hi to you when you come back from work.

But I do, otherwise I’m “unfriendly.”

YOU NEVER ASK ME HOW I AM.

I don’t want to hear you gush about a baby. I don’t want to hear you complain about a client. I don’t want to hear you because I have been hearing you long enough, loud and clear, saying, “You are too difficult for us.”

It is insane that you expect - and completely take for granted - that your anorexic daughter makes you dinner every goddamn day. It is insane that you suggest we have leftovers. It is insane that you have to ASK what to do. It is insane that after being TOLD what to do, you couldn’t even do that. It is insane that you let me run on empty and still demand more of me.

Do not ask me questions. Do not hug me; do not love me. Do not tell me what to do or how I make you feel. Do not do anything.

I am so mad at you that I want to starve some more and I want to do it faster.

Yet I am the bitch for this.

I am so, deeply sorry for all the pain I’ve caused you while I’ve been starving. It must be so hard.

  • 13th
  • February
  • 2014

everybody’s wrong

just a bag of bones and everybody’s blind
cast away the purpose, singularly defined
starving, saturated, strung out but surprised?
an archetype of culture and everybody dies.

but maybe you and i can numb each other’s pain
maybe you and i can break each other’s chains
maybe you and i are each other’s missing part
maybe you and i can mend each other’s broken hearts.

and maybe not today, no maybe not for long
well, maybe not ever, maybe it’s just wrong.
maybe we just are and forever will be
itinerant souls, unattached and free.

just palpitating muscles, intermittent thought
captured, trapped and fleeing, is everybody caught?
we have infinite love and infinite grief
where is the liberation? where is the relief?

just a bag of bones and everybody’s wrong
truth and inspiration, we follow along
raging curiosity that quenches our dissent
we don’t give an answer and that is our consent.

  • 15th
  • September
  • 2013

through observation

rising up to conquer, to dominate, suppress 

religion of submission, the dominators blessed 

trademarked slaughter juxtaposing domestic suicide

success of rags to riches, a dainty princess bride

to singular power, a panopticon’s guard

accept our shoddy value, released into the yard

reactive vile swine, a calculated scheme

merciless chatter, melodious, obscene

gaseous poison above, injected below

we learn through observation

there’s nothing left to know. 

rising up in desperation, to aggress, to defend

untamed lawless beasts, space and time transcend

forgotten how to love, we fabricate some care

it’s a wireless connection, nothing’s really there

paradoxically, the liberators caged 

the singular power, satisfied, assuaged

as underground uproots, the trampled on reclaim

autonomy, esteem, barricades aflame

a severed body bleeding, a culture is condemned

we learn through observation

what are you teaching them?

  • 5th
  • September
  • 2013

"Earth Below, Sky Above, Fire Within."

I sit outside in the perfect fresh early fall air.  It smells so wonderful.  Soft hair, flowy scarf, and chirps of crickets and birds.  I sit outside in my favorite light.  Magic light.  Everything is glowing.  Maybe I am just a little bit too?

But I am empty.  I am physically empty and that’s not a good thing anymore.  As much as it feels like that’s the reason for my glow, it’s not.

It’s the air.

The sun.

The trees and barefeet and crickets and fluttering birds and the promise of rest and love and care from people and from myself.  The ground below and the sky above and the vibrancy in between.  I missed out on the in between.    

For nine years I missed out.  

I am going to say, oh so soon, that these days of emptiness were the old days.  

This will all be over and I will be victorious.

I can do this and I will.  

With the earth below and sky above; there’s fire within.

image

  • 25th
  • August
  • 2013

8 Simple Ways to Control a Populous

1.     Create unattractive and uniform identities for those you intend to exploit.  Examples include prisoners being “inmates” or “bad people.”  Bad people deserve to be punished, so we punish them.  Employees who stand up for themselves are “whiners” or “complainers.”  Whiners don’t deserve to be listened to, so we don’t.  By creating these negative alternate group identities, it is easier to exploit individuals as they lose inherent worth and value.   

2.     Homogenize standards for measuring success in order to make exceptional performance impossible. By setting (often numeric) blanket standards that focus most often exclusively on output, diversity of individual and community can be overlooked.  With homogeneity, a single system is depended upon for accountability, one that is simply incompatible with most environments and communities.  In this way, no individual can become exceedingly valuable, securing class hierarchy.   

3.     Make people believe they have choices. Offer people choices.  Whether or not they believe the choices really provide any useful autonomy, they cannot complain as long as the choices would be evident to an outsider.  Having choices also removes responsibility from those in charge, as blame for any negative externality related to the choice can be assigned to the chooser.

4.     Maintain popular paranoia and desperation just enough so group unity becomes impossible.  If individuals fear for their own well-being or ontological security, they will betray and backstab others to protect themselves.  Thus, it is important that no individual feels safe or empowered enough to take risks that would jeopardize class structure.

5.     Show people the door.  If someone is upset enough about a situation, tell them that the only obstacle preventing them from leaving is them.  By giving the person this option, the blame then rests on the individual if they choose to leave or if they choose to stay.  Also, present them with alternatives to their current situation, making sure any alternative is less desirable. 

6.     Keep people distracted. By keeping people’s attention off of real problems and real solutions, the status quo can be maintained.

7.     Never accept blame. Always find a scapegoat, whether it be specific or ephemeral.  This way, there is no place to assign dissatisfaction and it simply festers with the unsatisfied individual, disempowering and tiring them.

8.     Complicate process by creating opportunities for bureaucratic inefficiency. By keeping people busy jumping through bureaucratic loopholes, you can either exhaust them or confuse them enough to prevent them from feeling personally empowered.  

  • 7th
  • July
  • 2013

How dare you

You better be grateful for all your goddamn blessings because there is a cost to your fortune.  

It looks like death.

We are not dying; we’re being killed.  We sweat and starve and stay awake to slow the gunshots, clot the wounds, tend the fire. 

It’s the party for the end of the world.  Tell me some lies so we can keep dancing.  

There’s nothing wrong.  I’m fine.

  • 26th
  • June
  • 2013

A calm tranquility

A quiet discontent

We live, we breathe, we die

All are divine

For when we are born, we are

When we die, we are

And in the twists, tangles, and turns

We stumble and we are.

We are who we are

And we do what we do

All to see another dawn

When we are.

  • 23rd
  • June
  • 2013

Things I’ve Learned About Life

1. Being introverted means you are internally charged.  Being extroverted means you are externally charged.  Both are great.

2. Old habits resurface, or perhaps they never disappear.  Quitting a habit is like falling out of love.

3. Most people are actually quite selfish, but this doesn’t mean they aren’t nice or helpful.

4. There is a difference between understanding and internalizing.  

5. You’ll never reach the same high, but you will reach new highs.

6. All animals that aren’t mammals are underrated.

7. Most people prefer to drink water at a very specific temperature.  This ranges from steaming hot to ice cold.

8. Love is not weddings, roses, or rings.  Those things are expressions of love if done right and products of capitalism if done wrong.

9. Loneliness does not mean absence of company.

10. You will never be able to be with all the people you love at once.

11. Your hair is your hair and it’s going to do what it wants and that’s just the way it is.

12. Rich people have it easier but they hate admitting it.

  • 13th
  • June
  • 2013

We have always been reaching.

Arms and hands, they’re reaching, but never far enough 

The wanting and the absence form desire 

Starving beings dying, unitary mind

Any semblance of nourishment admired.

The arms, they reach, they touch, they hold

Then cling and hurt and lose. 

Creating worlds that don’t exist

They learn to love abuse.

Can a void feel better than the hope of being filled? 

Hope is just a figment of the mind

For we have always been reaching

Arms and hands and bodies intertwined.

  • 7th
  • June
  • 2013

Consent

Consent is a strange thing these days.  There is little to which it applies and even less that respects it.

The question “how far will I go?” used to play out in dimly lit bedrooms.  With each time the question was asked, the answer was further.

I will go further.

We will go further.

The response was intuitive.  It was natural.  In most cases, it was wanted.  

These days, this question has penetrated through the walls of bedrooms into every physical room and thoughtspace I occupy.  It is asked but not answered.

May bedroom intuition seep through the walls of our resting places so the answer can always be further.  

  • 30th
  • April
  • 2013

everything, goddamn it.

///iafjoweijiruq9rifaoeA/dac/kdasca/dcacd/ascd//

I want a slap of the keyboard to produce something other than letters.  Not numbers or punctuation.  Not space.

I can’t do this anymore.

The pretty “hey-here-I-am-with-pink-lipstick-and-I’m-going-to-tell-you-about-the-terrors-of-this-world” dichotomy.

Hey hey, I promise I’m radical!

And then hey hey, I promise I’m nice!

And finally hey hey, I promise I’d be a great (insert capitalist career choice here)!

When does it get to be hey hey, here I am?

Fuck everything.

I hate how accustomed I am to the comforts of capitalism.  I hate how in absence of these comforts, I am scared.  I hate how my mind has been colonized.  I’ve always hated my body and I hate the way it craves products of oppression.  I hate the disease that has defined my life.  I hate what is romantic to me.  I hate what I love.  I hate making connections.  I hate that I look “better” with makeup.  I hate that there is a better and a worse.  I hate knowledge.  I hate ignorance.  I hate patriarchy and corporatism and racism and imperialism. 

marginalized-oppressed-system-failing-privilege-power-movement-fuckthisiwanttotalkaboutsomethingelse

I want to be able to talk about what you talk about.  Tomorrow night, that party, that guy, surface everyday problems, romance, dreams, and job searches.  This is so fucking unfair.    

Fuck you.  Fuck your spaghetti dinners, soup kitchens, petition drives, formals, and philanthropy.  Fuck your shoe collection.  Fuck your perfect hair and your purses.  Fuck your institutions.  Fuck your churches and the “I am eternally saved" rhetoric that renders you useless in the present.  Fuck your vacations, beaches, tanning, manicures, perfume, allergies, period cramps, and Tylenol.  Fuck hybrids.  Fuck plastic.  Fuck diamond rings.  Fuck alcohol.  Fuck the TV.  Oh yeah, fuck the TV.  Fuck fucking and how you’ve distorted something I still hold as pure.  Fuck your machines and exams and grades and performance evaluations.  Fuck recycling.  Fuck dinner parties and disposable napkins and electric blankets.  Fuck birth control.  Fuck hair dryers.  Fuck accessories and 9-5 jobs and waitressing and pizza boxes.  Fuck trash bags.  Fuck your conversations and coffee and cat calendars.  Fuck camping gear.  Fuck laziness.  Fuck your relaxation. Your “oh-my-god-I’m-so-tired-I-need-a-nap.”  Fuck you.  You don’t know what it’s like to be tired.  Fuck the judgmental statements you make about about my friends.  Fuck your military.  Fuck your designer mug.  Fuck your “good life.”  I want to go to Greece on a honeymoon too.   

I can’t talk about any of this.  More things I hate.  Well, I hate everything, goddamn it.  I hate long distance relationships.  I hate rustic cabins and I hate luxurious mansions.  I hate texting and talking and conversations and loneliness.  I hate deeper understandings.  I hate entitlement. I hate that there is not one single place on this earth that I can be.  

I hate this world and I hate living in it.  I hate the way it’s made me.  I hate all of the secrets I keep out of fear.  I hate that no matter what role I play, it is not good enough.

This wasn’t eloquent or articulate or charmingly unclear and I hate it too.  

  • 27th
  • April
  • 2013

My Ecosystem

6:30am, The sun slowly rises.  Waves of warmth contrast the chilled breeze; the light mixes with the cool air.  The flowers and the grasses awaken; the leaves start to dance as the sun’s rays hit their sleepy faces.  Creaks and cricks are heard as the trees wake up and stretch, releasing any tension that has built up through the night.  The dew sparkles and the birds begin to sing, a soft melody alerting life that it is alive.  The world is stirring.  

3:00pm, The sun is high up in the sky, beaming down on all the life.  The animals are moving, feeding, playing, prancing.  The birds are flying, building nests, providing for their chicks, taking dips in the water.  The flowers and grasses and trees are slurping up the sunlight for themselves and for the animals who will take a few of them to feed their own.  The plants don’t mind, they are happy to provide.  There is movement and vibrance.  There is giving and taking and receiving.  There is curiosity.  There is purposeful and reasonless motion.  The world is active.  

8:00pm, The sun slowly moves down toward the horizon.  Birds return to their nests and converse with each other, speaking of the day’s joys and hardships.  The animals find spots amongst the plants to lie down; they nuzzle and burrow and nestle in.  The flower petals hang their heads and the grasses sink their roots into the soil, retreating for the coming night.  The trees shake their leaves, acknowledging the present and honoring the space in which they reside.  The world is thankful.

12:00am, The sky is dark and the stars are twinkling.  All the animals have long since retreated and the air is chilly.  Sounds of deep, cleansing breaths echo throughout the surroundings, a melody of regeneration.  The air is crisp and cool and calm, blowing and breathing softly along with the animals.  The flowers and grasses and branches have retired and contracted their reach.  All are resting; all are peaceful.  The world is still.

The sun rises; the sun sets.  Each part enriches another.  

Our bodies are our ecosystems so we must do more than take care of them, we must inhabit them.  They are our worlds.  They rely on the wax and wane of energy, productivity and rest.  They need balance.  They do not operate linearly.  We must do more than treat them with compassion, we must embody compassion, because  what we feel is what they feel.  We must absorb and reflect the kind of energy that nourishes.  What we do is what our ecosystem does.  We must act in accordance with this simple truth, because our ecosystems are meant to thrive.

Not live.  Not survive.

Thrive. 

  • 19th
  • April
  • 2013

Sentient Beings

So many words, the ists and the isms

But we are none of these

We exist as a cultural reaction to compartmentalization

Stripped of categorization, what is left to define us?

The wild and the unknown, the transient and ephemeral

The molecules colliding, firing, composing

The flesh and skin and reaction

That makes a being a being.

We are afraid of the collision

Afraid that we’d react.

We exist as a reaction to a reaction

We don’t remember how to act.

So many feelings, the tragic and triumphant

But we are none of these

We feel so deeply, if at all

Stripped of indications, what is left to feel?

The true and the intrinsic, the products of our past

The curious, the silly, sad

The body and soul and spirit

That makes a being a being.

We are afraid of the exposure

Afraid of who we are

We exist on a falsely aroused plane

We don’t remember how to feel.

  • 14th
  • April
  • 2013

Swan Song

you said write a fucking poem so here you fucking go

i can’t make a fucking rhyme or even think, you know

they said you weren’t good for me but you, you understood me

when i was crying, dying, lying you said baby, you can turn to me

paralyzed, heavy eyes didn’t know what to do

you said come over here hun, let me cradle you.

so my feet pounded pavement my lungs were on fire

my heart was beating fast, you were my desire

baby, we can do this any time of the night

sweetie, you’re okay it’s gonna be alright.

prison, love, and rape, you see, the things i love i hate

but this is how we do it baby, we regulate.

like clockwork, escape closed, you were there, i was scared mind was running, running fast, running body, you prepared 

them? they didn’t look, they just told me what to do

i thought we settled this, but fuck, they don’t know you.

you know, it’s so peculiar how you aren’t even real

but i am just like you, you make sure i feel

not too much not too little, just enough so i’m alive

this is how it goes, we don’t live, we just survive.

you want this in a rhyme, but this doesn’t express

that’s probably why you like it, that way you can write the rest

and now here i am again, efficient, astute me

without you i don’t know who i would even be.