Everyone's got a struggle,
everyone's got a demon,
some of us give in sooner than others
while there are a few who do the best until the end,
and that don't mean nothing
'bout stayin' away from money
actin' pure is just frontin'
so cut the bullshit homie
tell me where you goin'
let's see if we meet at the end and then
we'll see who been doin their best
until the end no rest
and then, peace to this young warrior
without the sound of guns
Friday, December 16, 2005
Friday, December 02, 2005
response to: Ishle Yi Park's "Distant Stars"
I listen
to this song and as she speaks words like hemming, and horizon, and fire... she says L train, and says that a thousand seagulls are flying, a lake somewhere, sunsets over bushwick, cursing singing and crying, she says, she speaks, the names of artists friends family who are the stars of her night as she writes:
We are like distant stars
we glimmer softly
and we live on our dreams
our small dreams
and we
dare to be beauty
to be beauty
she stomps her tongue a gun fires and a blade cuts she flowers the graves and she creates spaces where I see hope can be saved if only I listen and I speak with her words dotting my night as I write I search as if i am still young, as if i'm still young! she sings the names stars as they sit in different dark shifts passing like lights across the walls of our small apartments filled with so many bodies sometimes from somewhere the bricks sigh wishing they too were alive the beauty and strength of this song gives me knowledge gives me strong will the faith the hope I could not muster myself tonight as I cried searching for poetry from the insides, "because david will hold my mouth in his mouth" because we believe in poetry because we believe it will do more than set us free it will be, it will be...
we are like distant stars
we glimmer softly
and we live on our dreams
our small dreams
and we
dare to be beauty
to be beauty
*chorus and other parts of the poem are compiled from Ishle Yi Park's "Distant Stars"--the poet was listening to the poem recited by Ishle Yi Park as he wrote this response, thus her words dotted his song.
to this song and as she speaks words like hemming, and horizon, and fire... she says L train, and says that a thousand seagulls are flying, a lake somewhere, sunsets over bushwick, cursing singing and crying, she says, she speaks, the names of artists friends family who are the stars of her night as she writes:
We are like distant stars
we glimmer softly
and we live on our dreams
our small dreams
and we
dare to be beauty
to be beauty
she stomps her tongue a gun fires and a blade cuts she flowers the graves and she creates spaces where I see hope can be saved if only I listen and I speak with her words dotting my night as I write I search as if i am still young, as if i'm still young! she sings the names stars as they sit in different dark shifts passing like lights across the walls of our small apartments filled with so many bodies sometimes from somewhere the bricks sigh wishing they too were alive the beauty and strength of this song gives me knowledge gives me strong will the faith the hope I could not muster myself tonight as I cried searching for poetry from the insides, "because david will hold my mouth in his mouth" because we believe in poetry because we believe it will do more than set us free it will be, it will be...
we are like distant stars
we glimmer softly
and we live on our dreams
our small dreams
and we
dare to be beauty
to be beauty
*chorus and other parts of the poem are compiled from Ishle Yi Park's "Distant Stars"--the poet was listening to the poem recited by Ishle Yi Park as he wrote this response, thus her words dotted his song.
Friday, November 25, 2005
money
So Last summer I did a repeat of the summer before it, making money in Seoul, Korea, doing shit when I shoulda been doin some other shit--working at a hagwon, teaching english, trying to mix in my love for teaching with the culture of a educational system gone to hell. but that's for another day, maybe some poem.
what i realized just now, while listening to a recording of myself spitting a song i wrote last summer, was that meaning sometimes surfaces when you least expect it. it isn't entombed in some great book for someone to finally dig it up... it's after the expidition, it's after everything's happened already. it's kinda like what christians say about god, they say, be ready, cuz you never know.
What if you suddenly one day realized that your life has been way more valuable and meaningful than you thought. what do you do then? are you ready for this revelation? hold on to this. grip it tight and make it your sword.
cuz a lot of the time I feel bogged down by heavy realities that are elusive to me--elusive, because I have yet to make it a part of my life, out of fear, most likely. either way, i played this song today, blasted it juxtaposed to a kanye west song where he said about before he had a record deal, before he was a hot shot, he'd blast his demo tape in a car and almost feel signed. i played this song, meaning surfaced:
i was working last summer, and i was writing, and the written word spoken was remindin' me of what was keepin me alive, doing shit i wasn't supposed to be doin, despite all that, i was alive because I was blessed with not simply song, or rhyme, or beats, or word, but i was blessed with love to strike the steel while it oranged in the steamy black depths of hell. it was one of the most soulful things i had ever written. in the grind. keep up the good work, peoples. fight the good fight. kick ass, take names.
mad love,
sol
what i realized just now, while listening to a recording of myself spitting a song i wrote last summer, was that meaning sometimes surfaces when you least expect it. it isn't entombed in some great book for someone to finally dig it up... it's after the expidition, it's after everything's happened already. it's kinda like what christians say about god, they say, be ready, cuz you never know.
What if you suddenly one day realized that your life has been way more valuable and meaningful than you thought. what do you do then? are you ready for this revelation? hold on to this. grip it tight and make it your sword.
cuz a lot of the time I feel bogged down by heavy realities that are elusive to me--elusive, because I have yet to make it a part of my life, out of fear, most likely. either way, i played this song today, blasted it juxtaposed to a kanye west song where he said about before he had a record deal, before he was a hot shot, he'd blast his demo tape in a car and almost feel signed. i played this song, meaning surfaced:
i was working last summer, and i was writing, and the written word spoken was remindin' me of what was keepin me alive, doing shit i wasn't supposed to be doin, despite all that, i was alive because I was blessed with not simply song, or rhyme, or beats, or word, but i was blessed with love to strike the steel while it oranged in the steamy black depths of hell. it was one of the most soulful things i had ever written. in the grind. keep up the good work, peoples. fight the good fight. kick ass, take names.
mad love,
sol
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
that's food
feeling antsy
sat down for about 10 seconds, couldn't focus
life was feeling empty
gas prices is too high
then i realized the most important thang: love. fills me up, lifts me high, and there ain't no fear of falling. the best thing abotu love is that it's yours to give. another cool thing about love is that it's an attitude like ugh! ooh ooh ooh! you know, like that de la soul joint, or like that common song, "be." that shit gets me amped, positive vibes all around I feel ready to jump in the grind. feel the love. Love supports those who struggle, it's an email I got from an adult who i admire and respect very much telling me to find my calling, to not go through the motions. you hear that? sometimes it's not too loud, and sometimes it's damned near silent, but it's there, it's calling. you gotta make people around you feel the love, you have to write that letter, you have to make that phone call. like that ottis redding song try a little tenderness. that's my word.
sat down for about 10 seconds, couldn't focus
life was feeling empty
gas prices is too high
then i realized the most important thang: love. fills me up, lifts me high, and there ain't no fear of falling. the best thing abotu love is that it's yours to give. another cool thing about love is that it's an attitude like ugh! ooh ooh ooh! you know, like that de la soul joint, or like that common song, "be." that shit gets me amped, positive vibes all around I feel ready to jump in the grind. feel the love. Love supports those who struggle, it's an email I got from an adult who i admire and respect very much telling me to find my calling, to not go through the motions. you hear that? sometimes it's not too loud, and sometimes it's damned near silent, but it's there, it's calling. you gotta make people around you feel the love, you have to write that letter, you have to make that phone call. like that ottis redding song try a little tenderness. that's my word.
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
Searching for a Calm
Beneath my chest is a fast river, its anger a foamy web constantly tearing inside itself. Inside my heart are pine trees bristling unison, the sound of locusts, thousands of sharp needles push a dark green against the baby blue sky. A lost neighborhood rests at the bottom of my stomach and impoverished, neglected, homes stacked one upon another, are alight in dusty fires like burning books.
I am journeying daily through these lands searching for a calm.
The cellos are smashed, the people are paralyzed, and the stink of certainty is cement upon the minds of children. All has been used. All has been left. Only the lowliest and craftiest con-artists collect taxes, wielding the promise of relative gain, exclusive membership, and protection from the poor.
As I only know how: with one hand I grasp the gasping river and drink the electric blue, with another I hold fistfuls of proud pine and chew on the fresh green firecrackers, I exhale these in the form of words, and from the obscurity of poverty shine other voices like eyes desperate and determined, hungry.
who will give me a home to rest in? I sometimes feel i am a migrant of silence, speaking steps unseen.
I walk on in search of a calm. But first, there is violence.
I am journeying daily through these lands searching for a calm.
The cellos are smashed, the people are paralyzed, and the stink of certainty is cement upon the minds of children. All has been used. All has been left. Only the lowliest and craftiest con-artists collect taxes, wielding the promise of relative gain, exclusive membership, and protection from the poor.
As I only know how: with one hand I grasp the gasping river and drink the electric blue, with another I hold fistfuls of proud pine and chew on the fresh green firecrackers, I exhale these in the form of words, and from the obscurity of poverty shine other voices like eyes desperate and determined, hungry.
who will give me a home to rest in? I sometimes feel i am a migrant of silence, speaking steps unseen.
I walk on in search of a calm. But first, there is violence.
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
All we do is dance
It must be the beginning of a good day when your vacuum cleaner's hum is on key with the gorillaz song blastin'.
It's 1:06 pm as I write this. I note the time because it makes me anxious. It makes me anxious because it will move forward despite my staying still. Sometimes I partition my days out into squares and set goals for each square (Feel Good Inc just came on, yes.) and sometimes I simply chill and take it one thing at a time.
My lungs are tired, o lordy, my lungs are tired.
I done drank my self away, cuz' I had no thang to pay
My limbs is tired, o lordy, my limbs is tired.
I done smoked my health away, cuz' love done gone astray
O lordy! I'm a dancin' in this smokey room
the talk is mighty loud, but the music's louder still--
I stopped breathin' and I can't stop steppin'
cuz' even though I'm hurtin'
and the talk is mighty loud
the music's louder still:
August 16th -
"Nothing makes any sense. Failure? Am I a failure?
Can it be changed? Is this all in vain. Is my brith one big mistake?
we are complicated. - The Night before my Flight"
I had a nightmare on the plane that I was still in Korea and stuck in Korea. I woke up in the pressurized safety of many miles in the air. I would continue to have this dream weeks into my arrival in New York.
I'm here, now. Finally, here.
I look forward to dancing.
It's 1:06 pm as I write this. I note the time because it makes me anxious. It makes me anxious because it will move forward despite my staying still. Sometimes I partition my days out into squares and set goals for each square (Feel Good Inc just came on, yes.) and sometimes I simply chill and take it one thing at a time.
My lungs are tired, o lordy, my lungs are tired.
I done drank my self away, cuz' I had no thang to pay
My limbs is tired, o lordy, my limbs is tired.
I done smoked my health away, cuz' love done gone astray
O lordy! I'm a dancin' in this smokey room
the talk is mighty loud, but the music's louder still--
I stopped breathin' and I can't stop steppin'
cuz' even though I'm hurtin'
and the talk is mighty loud
the music's louder still:
August 16th -
"Nothing makes any sense. Failure? Am I a failure?
Can it be changed? Is this all in vain. Is my brith one big mistake?
we are complicated. - The Night before my Flight"
I had a nightmare on the plane that I was still in Korea and stuck in Korea. I woke up in the pressurized safety of many miles in the air. I would continue to have this dream weeks into my arrival in New York.
I'm here, now. Finally, here.
I look forward to dancing.
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
Dangerous
Now, this ain't no wise piece of advice. It's common sense, but when your chips are low, when you are rock bottom, that's exactly when you got to listen to me. So that's why I speak.
~
They won't even know it. Don't stop to see if they notice. That's step one to falling harder than you've already fallen. Step two is listening to the bullshit they feed you. letting others words have more meaning than your own is losing the rights to your mind. It's worse than going blind--it's seeing what they want you see. Step three is letting sorrow sing you to sleep. The rhythm enters your whole body and you start to walk like it, talk like it, sing and dance like it. even Fight like it.
like you're the same old sorry shit.
like you're the same old sorry shit.
~
(who is they? the ghost. the sea of silhouettes bulging beyond reach and seeping into your memory like spies in the night. Leaving burnt candles and open doors in the morning.)
~
Don't stop. Not for that. Not worth it. Assume no one's listening. those who stop to look behind them see only dusty roads.
Own words. Take back the power to think. Don't speak in untouchable tongues. All they hear is a mess of cliches and tired lamentations.
Sing your own song. find your blues, be beautiful, be born.
Own words. Take back the power to think. Don't speak in untouchable tongues. All they hear is a mess of cliches and tired lamentations.
Sing your own song. find your blues, be beautiful, be born.
~
It's not dangerous to love. It's not dangerous to trust. In fact, if you neglect these things, you will be worse off. Have a generous heart. Expect nothing in return. Always be surprised at kindness. You won't be taken seriously. Not yet.
It's dangerous to step forward into this world owning nothing. You'll have nothing to give. There are wolves, there are sheep.
And then there is everyone else.
Peace.
It's dangerous to step forward into this world owning nothing. You'll have nothing to give. There are wolves, there are sheep.
And then there is everyone else.
Peace.
Sunday, October 30, 2005
A brave new world
It is with dismay that I sometimes realize the pursuit of professional work is difficult when my heart has been set in other pursuits for so long. Because I have been so fervently and deeply invested in struggles pertaining to human connection, I feel the concentrating of my efforts in any other task is futile. Will professionalism only leave me dry of love and connection? Will it not isolate me in either a academic prison of steely logic or a professional drive off a cliff and into the abyss of personal ambition?
Foolishness.
I am the last person who should fear loneliness in a professional pursuit for I am both talented and loved. I must remember this. You must remember this. What you do in this life, all of it, is a reflection of the passion you have for humanity. Never will your pursuits be sterile in such vain words such as discipline, control, and mastery; you will connect, build, love, and struggle beautifully. Fear not. Fight the good fight. Kick ass, take names.
entry one, here it is.
Foolishness.
I am the last person who should fear loneliness in a professional pursuit for I am both talented and loved. I must remember this. You must remember this. What you do in this life, all of it, is a reflection of the passion you have for humanity. Never will your pursuits be sterile in such vain words such as discipline, control, and mastery; you will connect, build, love, and struggle beautifully. Fear not. Fight the good fight. Kick ass, take names.
entry one, here it is.
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