Under Stress

21 01 2007

I was there watching myself fall apart, what was not needed was let go, what bothered me I fought, if it was reasonable then I let it win. I was stressed, yes, but there was in me a surge of panic such that I felt prisoner to my environment, fated to be defeated. What there was in these essays and lectures, these tasteless pages of knowledge reborn, was a sort of tragic opression in my soul (to say the least, in my mind) for on the one hand I knew the material and yet on the other it surpassed me.

But I could not, at least without having tried, give in.

To live, have lived, and die

8 01 2007

The wet, red canvas

I paint with who I am
And this is my art.

In ways that we do

Why must we kill
In all the ways we do
Is it some social commentary
To participate in the human hunt,
And does a death fulfill a life
In ways unnoticeably subtle
Submerged or tied up with a gun,
Are you more for the kill, my friend,
Have you become something I am not?


I can feel my tense terse breath hollow out the room,
I can see that I and she and they are all ready to go home,
Yet we sit and we stare – they pretend like they care,
As we express our love for ourselves;
Not that I challenge the feat of watching over the deceased,
As we stir in our seats, haven’t we cried enough for today?
Maybe I don’t understand – haven’t we loved this man

Still quiet sheets turn over to reveal hollowed cheeks,
A distressing scene unfolds over the minds of the living
We are all listening for the moment he goes
We’ve tried to prove ourselves
And is it out of love that we never give up
Or is it because these prayers are gifts to ourselves.

To What it Was

We parted ways with a kiss goodnight,
So I turned to write
Outside, with the flicker of her father’s hospital room light
I watched on from inside myself
Knowing that dying has to do with all the living,
Seeing the thousands tremble in the moments of faith,
All of them in earnest though dying all – asleep and awake.

“You don’t know what it means to die”
Words like that pierce through my skin
Like an angel that comes to take you away
She can break you as she’s sleeping,
She’s sleeping

I watched from the opposite end
Crying into the clouds of different things,
Not God or religion though the devil be in him,
Into the darkest rooms of the suffered and suffering,
For the mourners in black already, watch them,
Spilling rounds of the darkest coffee;
What is death but a friend who exposes our weaknesses
Or another chance to assess how we might deal with him.
We the dying walk on towards this room
Paying respect (an investment) only to comfort ourselves,
We strike a deal with the night to save us not him.

“You don’t understand” – fill in the blank,
A few words when she wakes up to see him
Quietly they commiserate as I vanish from existence
She can break you as she’s weeping
She’s weeping

And in the room there is nothing but silence
As death comes closer in all of us
As we so gently surround him.

Untitled No.2

I propose we find a shooting star tonight
even if it takes the rest of our lives