July 28, 2011 § Leave a comment
The word is weight. A set of symbols that are combined to make communication “easier.” Or harder. To help in the process of orienting oneself to the world. Or disorienting. Their role in defining, in naming, in identifying, in labeling, in relating.
They carry meaning. Words are weighty things. The whole “sticks and stones make break my bones, but words will never hurt me” bit— I do not buy it. Empires have risen and fallen on the utterance of words. Indeed the letter, the fragment of the word, when truly considered, is a wonder. The pen can cut. God swears by the pen in the Qur’an. Notice how I just referenced the pen, which is a reference to the act of writing which is a reference back to the word. Metonym. Words are elastic. Metaphor.
Words expand and contract. In these words, there is the history of Man. In Human. In words there are journeys that transcend space and time. In words there are windows to beginnings, to middles. To ends and back to beginnings. A glimpse into the origin of meanings. A glimpse into where I come from. Where you come from. In words there is metamorphosis. How has meaning changed and how has it stayed the same? Words cover. They reveal. They provide information and obscure information. They are keys and they are locks. They include and they exclude. There are worlds embedded in words, spaces, surfaces, ideas, objects, embedded in words. There are words embedded in worlds, spaces, in surfaces, in ideas, in objects.
There is something funny in staring at a word, in recognizing all of its characters, knowing that it contains some answer, and not knowing! It is an enticement. Visual puns, double entendres. Words are layers.
The nature of the word and its relationship to its referent –how these things come to embody characteristics of one another and vice‐versa. The process of saying or writing a word is weight.
The act of naming, of labeling, of referencing‐‐ is transforming. If I gave you a piece of chocolate, and told you that it was feces while you were eating it, how would it alter the experience of that chocolate, even if it actually was chocolate? How would it actually change the sensation, the taste? Isn’t the opposite true?
We must be careful. The word is weight.
“Say: If all the sea were ink to write my Lord’s words (the acts, decrees, and manifestations of all His Names and Attributes), the sea would indeed be exhausted before my Lord’s words would be exhausted, even if We were to bring the like of it in addition to it.”-The Qur’an, 18: 109–The Cave.
July 16, 2011 § Leave a comment
There are things that need finishing.
There are a few things that need mentioning.
There are lines that go on for days for nothing and I’m in more than one.
This is more than fun
less than real.
There is something faint– familiar in the air I can’t place the feel.
There are blind-men-bluffing-seers.
There are those stuffing oneself in the taxidermy fashion
with passionless action.
There are dizzying intellects that drop dead chasing their own tail racing their own snail.
There are mistakes that I intend to repeat; I repeat there are mistakes I intend to repeat
no way around it.
There is hubris in us that we need to defeat.
There are two sides to every Story—the one who wins gets accredited with the official version of Glory.
There is more than one way to skin a cat—aclysm.
There are screws-loose-cannons turned 180 dodge THAT.
There is a Scrooge Mc-(sitting)-duckin most of us.
There are claws that need clipping.
There are jaws plus laws that need breaking.
There are bones to pick–
Start with the skeleton in your closet—hows that for a calcium deposit?
There are Axes to grind.
Magnets that attract mankind to unkind acts from time to time.
Law of the land hindsight perfect every time.
There is no unbelief disbelief, There is only self-deception for a brief period of time.
There is grime to be wiped away.
crime to be paid for.
Climbs to be made— more— wars to be waged for— floors that are trapdoors–pulled from under feet
standing on false pretenses
soar or sink in a blink if you 40 wink it.
There are lines that go on for days.
There are days that go on for years, years that go on for minutes moments that were seconds
that were went on to for an eternity
that were never let go of.
There is weight in every breath enough to skip a scale either way.
There is still a way.
July 12, 2011 § 2 Comments
Violent regimes— tyrants with tireless schemes
these false fire breathing dragons blowing smoke and mirrors
have forgotten The Best of Planners
have forgotten the fate of scoundrels —their predecessors
they have forgotten their history lessons
how have they forgotten the lessons
the results of transgressions of pharaohs and kings alike
what delirium serum have they swallowed
what lowest of lulls have they allowed themselves to fall under?
all red hands reprimanded
all red hands reprimanded
every coward with its head in the sand is
every coward with its head in the sand of his
deluded mirage is
plucked from there
and dropped into a pot of his own concoction
every plan is but a part of the Plan of Plans
and no one can stop it.
there is no secret in no vault not buried so deep that it cannot be unearthed
every coward with his fingers in his ears (and i’m talking to myself first here) is an accomplice
every ignorer of cries is an accomplice
every ignorer of cries within an earshot of cries is an ACCOMPLICE
and you will have your reward
every Goliath will taste the underside of his own foot
and he will never be satiated
all vermin will drink their own rabid foam
and they will never be satiated
every cheap trick conjurer
every oppressor every transgressor
were they to escape to some foreign land distant place
do they think they would not be greeted with the hideous face
of their own misdeeds are waiting for them there even!!!
what spell have they cast on themselves
i ask what hell have they cast themselves into
what dungeon what maze what labyrinth???
every crown topple from a corrupted crown
every puppet cut from his strings and lay as pile on the floor a pile fuel for a fire
every clown must be made to fall and break his crown of horns
ever devil impaled on his horns
every Hamman’s tower crumble
every coward made to humble himself
every plot must amount to not
but a plot inside of The plot of Plots
just ask the pharaoh
ask the pharaoh
who raised the bringer of his destruction in his own household his OWN household
ask him if he knew that his plots were but a plot against him own self
his own household
there is no mousehole no snake hole fox hole there is no billfold deep enough to buy your way out there is no place to trot on this globe the size of an atom that will not be combed emptied out and turned over and made to laid bare the actions that took place there
July 9, 2011 § Leave a comment
that just get in the way of what we wanted to say
Sometimes words is all
We think we have
Slurred smashed balled up slabs
And hurled against the wall
Hopin these new words would cause
it to fall
but they just ended up making it taller
and harder to call to you
too thick to call through to
plus never paused long enough to see that the cause
of us not hearing one another—
all this piling up of words
like the handiwork of bricklayers going berserk
now this wall is so tall
plus we’re all thumbs
and it’s a hard climb
cuz we made it so tall
now drowning in the sound of this loud
wall of words that says nothing
to break it down….
the wall was disturbed
by the Silence
and I heard you breathe
and in that
you said everything perfect.
July 4, 2011 § 2 Comments
a series of attempts
at trying to grasp the fact
i am merely a glimpse
a glimpse in a mirror
a mirror held before something that i cannot fathom
twinkle in the eye of Atom
a series of attempts at coming to grips
with the fact i can’t tell
holy water from spit
dust from a gold bar
friend from a faux-pas
i am so far
from my north star
so off the mark so far in the dark
a series of attempts at honoring a covenant
made long before a single burst of oxygen
entered these lungs
a series of attempts at coming to terms with
this tempest as a temporary turn of events.
these are attempts at solving the ancient riddle of the sphinx-
coming to terms with the lengths
the lengths i must go to
in being a human
feeding on my own ruins
series of attempts
at accepting what is clearly not meant
at accepting what is sent
so be it.
a series of attempts at being entrenched
by the wayside everyday abides by
the same rules
these are attempts at coming to terms
with the fact i can’t often discern
between a hand of Mercy and a Fatal grip
between the guiding lantern and the flame that
burns the wings of this moth
these are attempts at coming to grips
with the fact this flesh is not nearly as dense as
these breaths that i’m holding in
till i’m suffocating on em
forcing me to let go of
only to try to grasp them with my hands
what i want to become
these breaths that are crawling in and out of
as i’m bowing before Your Crown of
as i’m fallin in and out of
love with an Illusion that I don’t want to let go of
a series of attempts at coming to grips
with the fact I am not nearly as dense
as these mirrors suggest
I am going through the steps of holding this breath
only to let it it go only to try to catch it
in these fingers but i can’t grip it
it always slips through
a series of attempts
to sincerely repent
to be near You
to be in perfect Awe.