We are one and the same.
We share the same heart.
No, not the same heart,
The same type of heart;
And we are so full
Of false pride.
Sometimes I feel
Like you don’t care.
No, that’s not right either,
Rather I am afraid
That you don’t know
How to care.
Maybe I mean love,
And what I truly fear
Is my own inability,
To accept your inability.
-conchita.
Thou art to me a delicious torment. – Ralph Waldo Emerson
I Miss You.
The worst thing about losing you
was your choice to END the dialogue.
Now, I have to smile and pretend that you are:
“Just someone I used to know.”
But my rebellious nature
holds the truth close:
You were always,
more than
just about anyone,
to me.
- conchita.
The Battle
She dreams of
Tattoos, girls and shiny guns
But in her life
Jesus is a brand name
Her mind is
A movie of naughty fun
But her life
Keeps her free from blame
She wants
To be so Christian good
She wants
All that’s ‘demonly bad’
Wants to be
Everything she should
She wants all
The porno her mother had
Flashy dancer
And loud
There to be seen
-Mitulsa (online)
Enjoy it…dirty! xxx c.
Still I Rise
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.
Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.
Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own back yard.
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.
I thought these words inspirational and fitting after such a tough month. Readying for conference and dealing with the suicide of a very close friend and lover…it hasn’t been an easy time. But, blogging has always represented a way of connecting…to others as well as, myself…and so…
I rise.
xxx, c.
Death has arrived
dancing the carisisqui
she has come to take with her
the visitors of Mixquic.
-Tacho, Street Poet
Source: Poem found in Mexico City, Mixquic & Morelos- Through the Eyes of the Soul, Day of the Dead in Mexico
As a little girl I adored marigolds. We planted them in our garden in all shades of yellow, orange and rust. Such a sunlike full flower they were hardy enough to withstand the torrential downpours of Seattle. How fitting then that they are such an integral part of Dia de los Muertos…
Flowers, symbolizing the brevity of life, are massed and fashioned into garlands, wreaths and crosses to decorate the altar and the grave. The marigold is the most traditional flower of the season. In Aztec times it was called the cempasuchil, the flower of 400 lives.
The fragrance of the cempasuchil leads the spirits home. Sometimes paths of the petals lead out of the cemetery and to the house to guide the spirits. A cross of marigold petals is formed on the floor so that as the spirit approaches the alter, he will step on the cross and expel his guilt.
(I wonder if it works if you are still living…xxx c.)
ODE TO NAKED BEAUTY
By Pablo Neruda
With chaste heart, and pure
eyes
I celebrate you, my beauty,
restraining my blood
so that the line
surges and follows
your contour,
and you bed yourself in my verse,
as in woodland, or wave-spume:
earth’s perfume,
sea’s music.
Nakedly beautiful,
whether it is your feet, arching
at a primal touch
of sound or breeze,
or your ears,
tiny spiral shells
from the splendour of America’s oceans.
Your breasts also,
of equal fullness, overflowing
with the living light
and, yes,
winged
your eyelids of silken corn
that disclose
or enclose
the deep twin landscapes of your eyes.
The line of your back
separating you
falls away into paler regions
then surges
to the smooth hemispheres
of an apple,
and goes splitting
your loveliness
into two pillars
of burnt gold, pure alabaster,
to be lost in the twin clusters of your feet,
from which, once more, lifts and takes fire
the double tree of your symmetry:
flower of fire, open circle of candles,
swollen fruit raised
over the meeting of earth and ocean.
Your body – from what substances
agate, quartz, ears of wheat,
did it flow, was it gathered,
rising like bread
in the warmth,
and signalling hills
silvered,
valleys of a single petal, sweetnesses
of velvet depth,
until the pure, fine, form of woman
thickened
and rested there?
It is not so much light that falls
over the world
extended by your body
its suffocating snow,
as brightness, pouring itself out of you,
as if you were
burning inside.
Under your skin the moon is alive.
RUMI
Sonnet LXXXI
And now you’re mine. Rest with your dream in my dream.
Love and pain and work should all sleep, now.
The night turns on its invisible wheels,
and you are pure beside me as a sleeping amber.
No one else, Love, will sleep in my dreams. You will go,
we will go together, over the waters of time.
No one else will travel through the shadows with me,
only you, evergreen, ever sun, ever moon.
Your hands have already opened their delicate fists
and let their soft drifting signs drop away; your eyes closed like two gray
wings, and I move
after, following the folding water you carry, that carries
me away. The night, the world, the wind spin out their destiny.
Without you, I am your dream, only that, and that is all.
Not Made to Hold
Zombie hands
aren’t hard
to draw.
They look
like paddles
or mitts.
Zombie sex
is unambiguous.
-Tom Beckett
***This post was inspired by my love of zombies/horror generally and specifically by a photo shoot done last night with Kat ForTra (of http://www.ForTraDVD.com fame), plus some of my favorite people (Mark and Jess’), and the Blood Manor Team (Liquidmatter Reverence, Roberto Garcia, artist extraordinaire specifically)…amazing night….images to follow (by BPS Productions Pics and Vids)***
And on this Monday…I feel a little like the undead…walking dead? brain dead? HAPPY MONDAY! xxx c
