Shuffle

So here's what happened. I picked up my powerbook for the first time in a week and I carreid it into the ktichen to try out what a friend of mine, dianna, suggested, which was to listen to music while doing the dishes. And so I'm listening to beyonce and i'm like okay, this is cool, this is cool, but then i realized that the itunes was on repeat single, so i turned it on to shuffle and

i let it ripppp....

first this soulful song about love for the parents came on, rapped by dynamic duo, on their taxi driver album, then i believe louis armstrong came on and he started to sing, if you smile the whole world smiles with you, and then lauryn hill came on and said that you can get the money and you can get the power, just watch out! for the final hour. and now dispatch is strumming and streaming about the general let his soldiers free but stayed to finish his duty, go now you are forgiven! go now you are forgiven! and then oh man, foo fighters blasted on with a mellow bass singing the rain is here, and you my dear, are still my friend, it's true, the two, of us, are back, as one, again.... a short song that has this smooth blue shell and a rocking electric core of a room party! my lonely heart it falls apart for you to bend! ouch!

and i peace out with the current song blastin' bomb
dilated peoples just tryin' to breathe
so all ya'll can try and see
it's my world till it's time to leave!

and swooooosh!

peace

Hold with your Hands

There is no such thing as an emaculate conception. I vehemently protest this idea applied to our living breathing and suffering bodies minds words thoughts images sounds songs shakes trembles dances embraces cold warms. I remind myself. There is no such thing as an emaculate conception. I fight the thought that birth can happen without blood without sweat without a violent burst of colors that pale the human skin without love without hateful exchanges without human animal and godly expressions often embodied in bodies embroiled in bed rituals dances debates debauch moments of fate. I tell myself there is no clean birth. There is no son no daughter no child without death without murder or unjust blame beaten upon the brows of a thorned and lowered head asking for forgiveness despite and because of all the terrible things the doubtful the hateful said. There are no poems blessed with a paternal moon that floats owning the world. There are no loves that escape lips without trails and tangles of bloody threads, fleshy breaths, and above all, there is no emaculate creation only an expression of something pure to be dashed like the first stupid idea that a lazy man has.

good weather

Man, oh man. what a job. what a mix. smells and feels like genius, brilliance. today's weather is an absolutely lucid experience. like a perfectly mixed hue of orange. or gray. just right so that it touches those untouched places in my brain, triggering warm memories. this is some sweet job someone's done. done it right. good timing, too.

love.

Hate Violence

Racial Slur Preceded Slashing of 3 in Manhattan, Police Say
By NICHOLAS CONFESSORE and KAREEM FAHIM
Published: March 5, 2006

A man with a box cutter slashed three men outside a Manhattan restaurant early yesterday, and the police said they were investigating whether racial bias motivated the attack.

The three men were entering the Gramercy Restaurant on Third Avenue at 17th Street with a fourth friend at 4:30 a.m., when two men on the sidewalk spoke to them, using a derogatory name for Chinese people, and performed mock karate moves, the police said.

The attackers were Hispanic, the police said, and the victims were of Asian descent. When the Asian men left the diner about 45 minutes later, the police said, the two Hispanic men had been joined by a third. One of them pulled out a box cutter, then cut three of the Asian men with it, slashing one in the face, one in the neck and one in the back.

The three were taken to the Bellevue Hospital Center, where they were treated and released. The injuries were minor, the police said. The victims' names were not available.

Officers canvassed the area around the diner, a mostly residential neighborhood near Gramercy Park, but had not made any arrests.

By the time the breakfast rush began yesterday, there was little sign of the attacks. On the sidewalk outside, a bloodstained blue dress shirt lay on the ground, alongside a torn white undershirt wrapped around a scaffolding pole.

Residents expressed surprise at reports of the attack and said such crimes were rare in the neighborhood.

"I eat here all the time, like three times a week," said Jennifer Connell, 28, who lives in the building above the restaurant and works nearby. "If it wasn't safe, I wouldn't live here."

http://www.nytimes.com/2006/03/05/nyregion/05assault.html

Landscapes

Flying low over the landscape, I can't see them cry. The engine roars so loud I can hardly imagine a dog barking outside on the front lawn. The bricks of the buildings blur into each other. I cross a thousand homes in minutes.

I want to hear a voice. Mine. I realize I'm speaking. It's my back I'm staring at. It's a summer afternoon and the apartment is so hot the fan blows only hot hair. My shoulders sag and I'm saying... speaking to a figure wavering before me. Is it the heat, am I seeing things?

It's so cold. I see my breath, and realize it's mine. My hands are wearing no gloves, so my skin is raw and numb. I've been waiting for an hour, watching bus after bus. Each one seemed different from the other. Each one carried a little less hope. At home, mail piles up. Telephone rings. I'm not aware of it. I don't know it, because I'm here.

I wake up with my forehead pressed against the glass. I look up to see that I've returned. A cacophony of cabs, smog, and suits are silent as I look on from inside the bus. A baby cries somwhere up front. The seat next to mine is empty. I feel nothing.