Which next?
Happy to be me
Yet easy to forget
Fickle stereotypes
Feed you lies
“Either be this, or this”
Constantly confused
“What am I?”
Neither you nor I know
Even when gender is unsure
No one questions
Where it starts or ends
When it lands on a label
How it decides
Which it will be that hour
Why it stops its game piece
On each label
How many times around
Will it pass
Before it chooses
The hours' gender?
Untrue
From the moment we are born we know absolutely nothing. It is only through teaching that we learn.
Our parents taught us to eat, walk, form sounds to form words. Our teachers taught us everything from reading to writing, mathematics, science, history and so much more.
We’ve learned about relationships from family, friends, bosses, coworkers, people we’ve dated and/or married, plus every other person that exists in our worlds.
I know I consider it a wasted day if I don’t learn at least one new thing, it doesn’t matter what it is.
Learning is a necessity, but also a desire for many of us. It’s what drives us to be better people, better storytellers and writers.
So, I believe that this statement is untrue, we can research and learn anything about any subject. In the end, it is up to us, but you can write about what’s familiar or what’s not, all it takes is the desire to learn.
like ants crawling up to a dead thing
the days follow
each other
like ants
towards a dead
thing
and after enough of
them pass
by,
you
finally realize you
are that dead thing
And that's supposed to
be alright. After
all, no one is
excused from this
All we can
do is make the journey
pleasant
However,
when the alarm wakes you
up at
6:30 in the morning,
announcing that there's
yet another day
in which you'll have to attend
your duties of
slaving away for others to
get rich,
when you're slipping
into the other
half of your life
not bringing along any
fulfilled dreams
despite trying again and
again...
Another day
in which you'll be assaulted
by questions
like,
"Hey, so when are you
going to get married?"
"Have you even
someone to marry?"
"Why don't you
get another job? Aren't you a bit
too old for this one?"
"How much do
they pay you?"
"Are you ready for your
cousin's wedding?
Oh, and then there's
the wedding of
this other cousin. Wow, lots
of weddings lately. What
about you?"
Slowly,
old friends become
mere acquaintances
and finally
strangers
and you just regret
that family can't
quite follow the same pattern
They say that if you're
the smartest person
in the room
you're in the wrong room
But what do they
have to say
when you're the most
unfulfilled person in
the room?
They'd probably ask
how the fuck
you got like that
You probably don't
even know
anymore
probably don't
care
You just watch
the ants follow
each other
on the trail to the dead thing
and the closer they
get
the more you
urge them
to hurry the fuck up,
stupid creatures
You just wanna give 'em
a hand.
Bring the dead thing
to them
Throw it on
top of them
***
INSTAGRAM:
https://www.instagram.com/bogdan_1_dragos/
AUDIO READING HERE:
https://soundcloud.com/user-937736610/like-ants-crawling-up-to-a-dead-thing
I’ve Spun this Record Before
Put it down
and pick
Life back up
the urge to
destroy
the urge to
Fuck
it all up.
Some Master's
Grand Plan
to cycle
Pain
over and over and over
again.
Lose the everything
and this
is
Zen.
The nothingness
contains everything,
they said,
what doesn't make sense
is true again.
The Universe laughs,
and the answers
disappear
into oblivion.
Frankenstein’s Monster Stole My Heart
I'm pretty positive my uncle Don was a pedophile.
He made creepy, leering jokes at me from the time I was nine onward.
Dad always refused to allow me to be alone with him, despite Don's apparent love and favoritism for me. My brothers were terribly jealous, because, while there was definitely a dark, sick undertone to his love, he bought incredible gifts. Just for me.
His wife (a mail-order bride from some secret location in Asia) also "loved me dearly." I never knew her name. Everyone just referred to her as Mrs. Wong. Their attempts to groom me and gain my trust were impressive to say the least. Dad had a long list of faults, but protecting me from his brother wasn't one of them. It was one of the only right things he ever did.
How on earth does this relate to cars?
I'm getting there.
Uncle Don loved old things. He loved the challenge of them. He bought old houses and cars and bicycles and really any old thing he could get his hands on and restored them. He bought and sold more cars than I can count. He had no problem letting go.
One car, however, he could not part with. No one knew the make or model. No one else had ever owned a car like it. It was Don's own creation.
It was the first car he ever built...
and it was a masterpiece.
Supposedly, Uncle Don had worked in a shop when he was a young man, and he had slowly stolen parts until he had the makings of an engine. Then, he'd taken to sneaking onto properties late at night, stealing larger pieces of metal off of old cars to weld together into something new. He finally saved up enough to buy some classic car (origin unknown-- he wouldn't tell anyone) to use as the base for the project, and then had spent the next half decade piecing it together.
He was left with something resembling an old fashioned bat-mobile. The car was the color of midnight, with smooth, rounded lines, velvet seats, and a shining chrome hood ornament. The car was legendary. He had never lost a show in which it had been entered. The car was famous in every town it frequented.
They say that Don never had any children. They're wrong.
He did. It was that beautiful black monstrosity of a vehicle.
He lovingly draped it in blankets each night after spending hours of the day tinkering on it, perfecting it, waxing its paint.
That car was his child: his creation.
No one was allowed inside--Not even Mrs. Wong.
Until.
We met Uncle Don at some car show in a small town. It was mid-summer and the sun had just set. The atmosphere was perfect for cruising. I was twelve. I was brave.
And Uncle Don invited me on a ride in his car.
Even dad couldn't say no to that. He'd been dying to sit in the thing for years.
Don treated me like the queen of the whole wide world. He read the warning look my father gave, nodded his head at the murder threatening in his eyes, and held open the door of his most precious possession for me to slip inside.
(He did-- behave, that is. Don never did lay an inappropriate finger on me. I know you were worried, but this isn't that kind of story.)
The velvet of the seats was even softer than it looked. It felt like floating on a cloud- it felt like luxury. The blending of leather and metal and wood on the inside of that car was artistry itself.
Don slipped into the driver seat and smirked, "Are you ready?" he asked.
"Yes." I'd scarcely whispered, torn as I was between awe and fear.
His smile widened and he turned the key. The engine rumbled and screamed and purred. I could feel it in my soul.
He accelerated and the engine roared, and we sped off down the road, and I forgot time had any meaning at all as the wind whipped my long hair and my skin melted into velvet and my heart pulsed with every nudge of the gas pedal.
When it was over, I could scarcely bring myself to slide out of the soft seat. Uncle Don waited with the door held for a long minute, a knowing glint in his eye. As I stepped onto the pavement, he whispered in my ear, "Now you'll never be able to say no to a guy with a fast car again..."
And he was right.
Passing Through
At 30k above the Earth
I had no idea we could
see both sides of the
rainbow in complete
Circle...!
If we were to discover
the base of its Apex out
upon the canyon floor
what would be found
Below..?
The cumulation of all
Energy is spilling from
the edge of the horizon,
where I've checked my
belongings,
In the bubble of color
everything is looking
very hopeful and real,
Even to the eye of the
Needle...
26 FEB 2023
The yellow umbrella
Hope is a funny thing, one second it's in your grasp and the next it slips through your fingers. All the light had fled from my life, I had no reason to exist. Nothing to look forward to, only things to look back at. I knew my best days were far behind me. It was school morning, the sun was hidden behind the clouds, not willing to witness my plan. It wasn't elaborate, but I had been thinking of it for a long time. I had been wondering when I'd finally snap and the day before I had. My last reason had left, the only way I could keep living was convincing myself things would get better, but I'm a bad liar.
"Of course, I can't even die peacefully." I mumbled as the raindrops hit the windows of the bus. I was standing up, the bus was full. School was a few stops away but I'd be getting off at the next one. Where I could look at the water rushing beneath me when I stand on the ledge. The rain grew stronger, the sky was crying for me, but I couldn't feel anything. I had reached my resolve and I wouldn't let myself waver. All of a sudden I was pushed forward, a man in work clothes had bumped into me.
"I'm sorry, are you okay?" He asked me, I bit back a bitter retort at the sincerity in his voice.
"Yes, I'm fine." I lied. He shuffled to his seat and in a few minutes the bus halted. I shuffled to the front and the doors opened. A gust of cold air made me shiver and I braced myself as I started moving out into the cold.
"Wait! Hold on!" The man ran up to me with a bright yellow umbrella in his hand, he offered in to me. I narrowed my eyes wondering if it was money he wanted. "As a apology." He explained, but I didn't buy it. He took my hand and placed the umbrella in it, securing my fingers around the handle. "You can return it to me tomorrow, I'll be on the bus." He went back to his seat and I stumbled out, opening the umbrella and shielding myself from the rain. I don't know what it was that touched me so much, maybe it was the small act of kindness, or maybe it was because I was scared, perhaps it was even the bright yellow color that made my eyes sore - whatever it was evoked cries I had never heard myself let out. I didn't feel like I was the one crying, I felt as if I was watching it happen. I had to return the umbrella, so I decided to struggle through another day. I never saw him again, he was never on the bus, but everyday I sat at the bus stop with the yellow umbrella in had. Something as silly as that had saved my life.
- Megan Menezes
Cosmic Ocean
I lost control. And that's all she wrote. But then, no joke, I saw poetry in motion. Reality rhyming while I'm mindful of minding business big or small. I came to crawl out of my ego-crib, proceed to promptly sit up straight, witness to reality demonstrate its way with the Way. Okay? And here's what the jam-band would say. It's all atoms dancing, electrons prancing, gluons laughing - but then keep diving, your scuba gear binding, you will get to finding, that there's no separation, just pure space-ness, and upon the amazement and elation that mind-brush will be painting, you will feel the utter and absolute opposite of anxious.