I forgot to say one thing

it was not the distribution merely how we were both great people like fertilizing bees with the use of placebos

the verb narrating the story as we discuss the importance of with in the sentence im fucking _ u

the vernacular grammatical importance of play

waving ways of the sense of four letters

congruent unconscious staples we mask in bones. past bones. how she says please hurt me

eventually a shield rehabilitating skin diseased into not unlike the best static electric

second bodies creatures forming patters to which is dividing. dividing. pagan. dividing. electromagnetic

comforters

divide the trope nor does the momentum verbally negate the formula of the lyric

doctored mold how you heat the house to french a blown up movie

cuddles my friend day are you dead

we cant find the dreams of the deer the young one I hit as her boyfriend misses her love

now in anime carved into my brothers shoulders bright dunk this

fuck you across his neck

his child

his blond

his fucking I wish to love

the one I hope to see and love

how that seems to be pouring more into sleep

how her navel is not a red plastic cup

how my mouth is not too small

how the keyboards talk about water

bright hatching thought threads three dimensional heads in his missing spleen dense humbles

quotation gills

infections

the skin remembers the aim how wrapped the myth is discovering the shitty fish

the water with

tucked he

tumble tumor turtle twelves months of this babe

the resigns the

blue minor solvent

muscles

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open

in eighty four I ate out of food containers and fell in love with dahlias met a woman named dahlia who fell in love with a woman named crystal

in my building we heard their walks on the dry fall apple pavement

with the dog

with the thin windows and the screaming

sweet home cooked bamboo meals

.

and she lost her mother to cancer

and she survived cancer

and she broke up with dahlia

because she was looking for more than petals

.

we drank too much wine and he talked to me about photography and pornography reading backwards

his hands untied his broken cloud buddha deviant outlines of dreams

he gave me a pillow and called me paranoid

he didnt know why I hurt when I talked about race or homophobia

.

she survived gypsy jazz

tasting her flowers as they flaunt

about her, waiting for her

roots, her whole tethered roots.

.

he could see both

.

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the calendar told us to bloom every year

do you ever feel like you are writing the same poem over and over

how you can fall in love over in over

adjacent to the garden a feather

adjacent

undressing windows

existing armatures talking about high school ap physics

tell me what people want to hear

tell me what to write

fuck my poem over and over again

covered new rape of human

blown boiled dove beats without sex in a fiery fit

decompressing silent sly transgressed plots of love

the distance is one of play

my sex

I cry because you dont care to remember this:

Im all for dreams as long as they are not pathological monster memes

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please

did the eucalyptus create the rust stains that make you sit in the guise of that woman speaking to the bus driver she or maybe comfortable meditative ska pleasing the gobbling tree may exist

we may exist in fur looking into a tunnel of trills sporadic fears of sleep his theories her theories bi sexual trans sexual hetero sexual red yellow black white turbulence of glass

here or whirling light over again

fuck you for your paper on my lap of course its impossible to say knees spread into a lottery as she begs blocks of  time priori di cast platitudes of overpriced fairies

in vain acquiesce the grated game the introspective events coming into the brainstems of a jazz riff

a panicked horse a snow temple filled to the ceiling with kittens that beautiful thing

curves and all uncertain

refusing to flat emotion repetitive of admirable strollers of the old of the weak of the hard of the soft of the sensitive of the love of the unreadable nice of the minds time like filler

who that is looking for

who id like to meet

who can see that I lie

in the back of the hearse

which is to say

I can counter

illumination

impressions

punctures

punctuation

that wish

unprejudiced

self love

.

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so as long as im alive I want to tell you that I love you

the one who said I was falling for you in the rain is not one to say I blame an orgasm

 

the one who said you are the type I fall for mindful designs of sober uncyclical dancing complicit unmodified mist

 

the one who drugged me beyond the image

the one who fought me the need for surgery matching chance with love

the name of a song mindful designs of war labia love

 

my inner voice your plasma the aim is to feel you make sense of the process of

the properties of my ghosts in a dictionary wherever you are to say heya

 

to say hello

to say yo to love the first time I held your hand

to say I wrote books about you

whole thick books I encode

the first time I said its complicated

it was very simple

.

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my first stamp means eternity

I laugh a jellymural pressed into the red type of choral prints

I dont feel like your turquoise    stranger

learning melancholic                       .                               keys built into dead

baby joke (corrugated colors

of cocoseed ink

.

I wish you here                  (when you fillfoil

leaves   burnt     hill

pieces

coerce

brass cottonwood

cordjointed        next to you]

I imagine our eyes.          (phantom

yucca milk moon, whistles           his lips

“where we have been something of history mostly”

scissor cut

you empty the ashtray

.

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do you believe this to be a coincidence?

(merriam webster dictionary defines coincidence as:

the act or condition of coinciding : correspondence .
the occurrence of events that happen at the same time by accident but seem to have some connection; also : any of these occurrences

“do you believe this to be a coincidence?”

(its both. the court system asks for a truthful opinion. my truth. is it black or white. do i believe i live in danger. yes.)

“no,” ethical. I am an ethical person. people. still i have to pick.

(my body feels number one. but this is learned fear. learned objectification. learned pain. learned sacrifice. learned duty. learned guilt. these feelings are not mine. but I need to protect. there is so much learned pain and fear everywhere.)

I know these are learned. logically.

(is fear real. chemicals electricity, stimulate thought patterns of familiar pathways. fear is both. the act of coinciding. and an occurrence of accident that is supported by the ego.)

my mind agrees with my body today. number one.

(note: there is a possibility of two. false. it could be. I used to think that love fell false. saving false confused my truth. truth always there somewhere. but it was both. and life more. it was something beyond the mind and the body. it was something that I had no words for. ) (survivor. from a biological point of view yes. body remains living. brain handles efficiently. plugged air. lifted. lucky, behavior. number one or two. for breath. for life. I believe in more. bless the fucked up ritual. abuse. tucked me back into beds of red echoes. pillows. tissue. dumps my bag. phone under the couch. he normally would have broken it. did the week before. this ones expensive.)

I ask the law to define my ethics. he drowns in reasoning. logics lies into logics. hes excited. angry. he wants to beat. his body feels his mind. reasons support the neurological pathways in his brain. this gives him pleasure. its ugly. court room. healed. no coincidence. depends on how well you can manipulate language. the ethical system is based on how well we can surreptitiously spin truth.

to split the both.

“do you believe this to be a coincidence?”

(I think. It could or not. it could be truth. it could be false. what do I believe. he will only listen to the law.)

I didn’t think that he would show up. his reasoning. he doesn’t want it to stain his record. he pled guilty a year ago. his neuro circuitry would never let me. now. wants to hurt. cut emotionally. like he used to. I sit and relive the experience. is this me now or was it me then trauma seared brains are we able to hurdle the circuits that message fly or fight. I want to fly. I fight.

an intelligent manipulator. I watch him and the judge. law. perjury. they don’t ask him to prove anything. but how do I prove it. I prove dates of significance around my chance. it’s really a matter of chance I’m alive. I am not speaking to the metaphorical antiquity of the statement, but rather acceptance. a point in my life I will always nurture and at time same time will never leave me.

(apart of me that will never define me, or anyone else around me. but will be visible because it will be a part of my life whether I like it or not. mentor tells me I have an experience that is very much my own. I did not grow up in the library. I know the world. this. is a gift.

I have experienced evil, if that’s what you would like to call it. others may call it abuse, domestic, violence, assault and battery. others may also want to call me abused, a dv victim, chick, battered woman. I am not any of these labels.

I am many including many more. but more importantly while my experience is unique to me, it is not to the larger community. in western culture, invisibility of power enables us to ignore the simultaneous multiplicity of the real. kaleidoscopes of varying bodes minds and spirits. or not. beauty of opinion.

domestic violence happens to one and four women. we will be friends, family, lovers, colleagues, neighbors, strangers to both parties involved. we will interact on a human level. love laugh cry judge forgive. human. can we love someone and not their actions. yes. how is this possible. does behavior define us?

does my visibility dehumanize me? now as an “other,” do you feel pity. because you know, as I have been told, “its just so embarrassing”. says my colleague, that’s her projection. for her. it was her mother. it can happen to anyone, and depending on multiple factors, intelligence, esteem, upbringing, really too many to list depends on how long you will stay.

abusive cycles are addictive fairytales. there is honeymoon, there is a crisis. there is climax, there is a resolve, there is a desire to get back to the honeymoon; happily ever after. but I was. shameful. because my own self treatment was worse. I had to face my shadow. the pull is seductive. even more so if the upbringing you received facing the cycle leaves you little weapons. if we don’t educate, talk about it, the cycle. invisible. continues.

7 in 10 people in abusive relationships are unable to leave. the emotion cradled in our limbic systems during this state: fear. perpetrators gorge themselves on fear. but the “perpetrator” is still human correct? the details of the final incidence that gave me the courage to leave will have to wait for another day. the point of the essay is in response to an excerpt written by a friend.)

the story is heartfelt, honest, introspective and extremely well written. it is about his experience coming to court with me and furthermore looking at violence on its inane level. the process, also celebrates another woman’s survival story and deconstructs my ex in his asshole attempt to fight a restraining order for fear that it would blemish his currently saturated (domestic violence and assault and battery) record. he is able to see the lack of humanity that i still struggle to comprehend. I highly recommend his blog that includes essays and poetry at http://cowardlywombat.blogspot.com/. accepting my own visibility in his story made me realize my own need for visibility. this essay is most in part an attempt to intellectually wrap my head around something generically absurd.

I can see my ex’s pleasure rise as he chews gum with a hard jaw and crass charming comments. he is given the opportunity to cross-examine, challenge, cut down, I can see every one of his moves before he makes it, every lie he hand feeds the judge. I no longer give credence to his lies webbed extravagant. there is a desire to dehumanize those who act in accordance. it makes me question if there was ever humanity there to begin with. how could it have been okay to stay with him in the beginning. can someone’s humanity change?

I feel sorry for him that this is where he lives. I feel story that he will not face his humanity. I also want to kill him without becoming him. it’s not right, but he’s still human. how human though if he has lost love and magic and multiplicity. we are bodies and minds, but we also love that is some self, spirit, or magic in us all to varying degrees. is fear of living merely a fear of death?

(are we more human when we are children? are we more human when we are dying? everyone lives. everyone dies. are we more human when we are closer to our cycles of life and death? what does it mean to live; love. if we lose love are we still human? what if we meditate in moments of the between. in-visibility.)

“do you believe this to be a coincidence?”

it could have still all been a coincidence. then what is coincidence. we can believe that everything is a coincidence or that everything is connected. the flexibility is intricate to the process of change. “truth” is a social norm defined in language that perpetuates its own destruction. to disrupt the cycle.

(he cannot manipulate the pictures. he won’t look at them. he says he already lived it once. I live it every day.)

when we apply this philosophy to language, we are able to manifest the playful dissemination of an aggressive form of control

a cycle of violence is inherent in western social structure. in order to disrupt this sacrificial component of language, contemporary feminism crumples definition and establishes coherence through difference. kristeva argues “anthropology has shown that the social order is sacrificial, but sacrifice orders violence, binds it, tames it. refusal of the social order exposes one to the risk that the so-called good substance, once it is unchained, will explode, without curbs, without law or right, to become an absolute arbitrariness.” (kristeva, 204)

yes a coincidence. both.

notley: “people kill each other/not because they’re animals/but because they’re demons./ this is obvious…keep/talking, anyway/ talking to You. is language demonic/obviously does/lead You astray.” (notley, 185) poetry, a form that encourages individuals to challenge the social notion of the “real,” language is redistributed in a personal/universal manner that addresses violence and denies sacrifice.

if violence occurs, the writer spins, shits, manipulates, dances, and celebrates the diverse possibility of human experience within non linear moments. kristeva: “mak[e] a game, a space of fantasy and pleasure, out of the abstract and frustrating order of social signs, the words of everyday communication.” (kristeva, 207)

hope. courage. love. multiplicity. will always encourage visibility and the question: what is it she will say next?

.

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language violence and visibility

i have felt lately of writing my right and left wrists. the computer screen my journal behind: skipping stones skirting potholes. i have been told by a writer of pros. many believe it is easier to write poetry. i always want to ask. why don’t you. find breaks in histories of human music meaning and illustration a language unique. that is voice. that is yours different and yet intimately connected to many at the same time. a space of refrain. a need to say that which cannot be spoken. a spoken spoken that will address many perspectives. and realities. those of mine and yours and dreams and time in non linear limber accusations. those of culture, learned, forgotten, translated. there is a play in the language of poetry, of dipping into violence and beauty and spinning it into a twist of red and grey. there is love and death, a light personal, a dark universal. there is work to be done.

we listen, we speak, we communicate, we educate, we run circles. we run cycles. we follow. we lead. i see patriarchy caught in its own cycle of abuse. a cycle of reprimand. punishment. a need for sacrifice to uphold. rules. a fantastic construction by the founding philosophers. in language, rule is turned into fact. fact is turned into truth. language is used to describe in a linear manner that which is truth. few people are given access to this language. education. truth becomes a tool used to control. fact. sacrifice utilized to uphold truth. law depends on how well one persuades. story. your version of the truth. hopefully it bends the fact to your desired evocation. in the patriarchal world, boundaries are defined through negative reinforcement. negative reinforcement is only tangible if it is faithfully reinforced. behavior yearns to act. without getting caught. behavior continues, abuse continues. this is cyclical.

western culture’s philosophical and linguistic structure is a petri dish for cycles of violence and abuse. a tool employed to demonstrate power and control. war. a control of the other. domestic violence. happens. in all cultures. people of any and every race, ethnicity, gender, sexuality, religion and class. the centers for disease control (CDC), reports domestic violence as a “serious public health problem” that affects more than 32 million americans yearly. that is of the cases reported. its estimated in the u.s. 1/3 of the cases remain. unreported. most women. physical violence; sexual abuse, emotional abuse, intimidation economic deprivation, threats of violence, harm to pets, unwanted physical contact, rape, murder. psychological; mental abuse, isolation, fear. manipulation. guilt, humiliation, denial. the cycle: fantasy. set up. abuse. guilt. excuse. honeymoon. it happens to anyone everywhere.

its uncomfortable. this topic of violence. its invisible. its easier. when it remains invisible.

every 9 seconds in the u.s. a woman is assaulted or beaten. domestic violence is the leading cause of injury to women more than car accidents, muggings, and rapes combined. everyday in the u.s., more than three women are murdered by their husbands or boyfriends. based on reports from 10 countries, between 55 percent and 95 percent of women who had been physically abused by their partners had never contacted non-governmental organizations, shelters, or the police for help.

we cannot change anything unless we accept it. condemnation does not liberate, it oppresses. – carl jung

when things become visible. they lose power. there are veins in this cracked cored cement. there is possibility outside of the foundation. because we dream and we love and we realize that this is one lens. it will not stop or change however. unless we look at the uncomfortable and make it visible.

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